The Desert Nexus
Prolog. My Office
The phone intercom beeped, and the voice of Shirley, my secretary, came though. "Mr. Harris. There is a woman here to see you. She has a blue card."
Ahhh. Finally. "Send her in, please. And no interruptions." My blue cards were rare and only given out in special circumstances. My employees knew that the holder of the card was a very important person to me.
I got up as the door opened, a young woman - almost a girl, actually - entered and waited for me to approach. The door closed behind her and I said, "Welcome, Mademoiselle." I didn't offer to shake hands, but gestured her to a lounging area by the big windows of my office. She was a dish, totally poised and immaculately dressed, western upper class style, and with a delicate neck scarf topping off the entire ensemble - a green scarf.
She smiled and said, "Thank you, sir." She reached into her purse and handed me an envelope. "From Mr. Suliman," she informed me. I waited until she was seated, then sat down myself and said, "Excuse me," and began to read the contents.
As per my request, the proprietor of the courtesan academy had chosen a teacher for my use, one Mademoiselle Colette Renard. Also for my information, he included some suggestions as to remuneration and other items. It didn't take long to read and I soon folded it and put it back in the envelope. I looked at the green silk girl sitting there, back straight and composure perfect and waiting. I remembered my last encounter with a girl of her class - actually, I remembered both girls. They and the encounters were not forgettable.
"Mademoiselle Renard..." I began but she held up her hand.
"Please call me Colette, sir."
"Fine," I replied. She had a beautiful accent. "Please call me Rodger in private. Did Mr. Suliman give you any information as to my needs?"
She shook her head. "No, Sir - Rodger. Just that you had a girl who needed training."
I nodded. "Ok, here's the short version of the story. I have a bound concubine who was scheduled to attend Mr. Suliman's academy about a year ago, but unfortunate circumstances arose that prevented it. Very unpleasant circumstances. One result is that she lost her voice, and another that she had to have major surgery to repair her damaged face." I paused, more to look at the young girl, than anything else. "She is beautiful, but has that unfortunate American female deficiency. That is, she knows nothing about the art of sex other than to lay back and make herself available. I realize that she will never become a green silk girl, but Mr. Suliman assures me that any woman can be taught to a skill level far beyond the American norm."
She smiled and replied. "The only requirement for the woman is that she wishes to learn."
I nodded. "Of course, and she does. Also, she is a submissive and I wish that to be emphasized." Colette nodded and I continued, "What will you need?"
"Besides privacy, all that is needed is a set of willing male tools. Will you be participating?"
Wow, what a question. "Of course, I wouldn't turn that down, but I am very busy and can't be available all day. Or, for that matter, sometimes for days at a time."
"Mr... Rodger, please don't take what I am about to say as an insult." I smiled and nodded. "You are still a relatively young man and will be just fine for our use, but this training uses up male capacity at a very high rate. To keep this from taking a very long time, we would need at least two more very young and virile men, available at notice. Have you ever been to the academy and seen some of the training?"
"Yes," I replied, remembering with pleasure. "I was a guest of Tarkan and was given the tour. I even had the unbelievable pleasure of being allowed to service a green silk girl." I didn't add that when she was done with me, my nuts were as dry as the desert I once walked out of. A brass monkey would have sore balls after an encounter with one of... Woah. Back on topic. "I have tentatively arranged for two or three young men for your use as needed."
"Excellent. One other thing. You realize that I have to have full disciplinary rights over the woman?"
"Certainly. I would expect you to be absolutely in charge. If you need to string her up by her wrists and use a bull whip to stripe her, you have carte blanche." She nodded her agreement. "Now, one other thing before I show you to your suite. Your remuneration. This is a first for me and I don't know the forms. Do you have a figure in mind?"
"No, sir. I will leave that to you. Mr. Suliman tells me you are a wise man."
I grimaced. "I don't know about wise, but I always pay for quality. How about this... You will have your own three room suite, upstairs, an unlimited credit card in your name while you are here, and say, oh, twenty five thousand Euros as a termination bonus on your completion."
That got her attention. "Thank you sir. That is most generous."
"Not at all. Remember what I said. I always pay for quality."
Tarkan's slave market, the year before.
I was headed back to the States to meet with the team that the Sheik was sending over, but first, I had a loose end to tie up. I was in my room sitting on the bed and talking to Rita, who was standing in front of me. I had just told her that I was leaving for the US. My problem was what to do with her. She was still in mild shock from my speaking to her in colloquial English, with a western accent, and that I was an American.
"If I hadn't taken a liking to you, Tarken would probably have sold you to a kind businessman somewhere. You would still be a slavegirl, but at least you would still have your voice and neither of those scars." She just stood there with an apprehensive look. "I consider this to be my fault and I will try to make it as right as I can. When those completely heal, I can get you a plastic surgeon to repair your face. Your voice can't be fixed, but, after the surgery, I can take you back to the USA with me, set you up with a home and a decent income and you can try to start a new life. We might even lower the boom on your husba..." That is as far as I got. She just lunged at me, clamped her arms around my neck, and violently shook her head.
This was confusing. What was she wanting? "You don't want to go back to America?" She just looked at me. "You don't want surgery?" That didn't make sense. Surely she didn't want to stay at Tarkan's. She was still just looking at me. A light dawned. "You want to stay with me?" That was it. She hugged me as hard as she could, with her head under my chin, and crying a river.
Son of a bitch! I for sure would never understand women. Well, so be it. Once you have fed a stray kitten, a decent person is responsible for it from then on. What the hell, I was wealthy enough now to afford anything needed to take care of her.
Before I could take her back, I had to get her a new passport. That was no problem - the Sheik's accountant gave me the addresses of a half dozen places that made perfect replicas of the 'uncounterfitable' US passport.
I had chosen Texas as the site of my new business, for several reasons - no income tax, warm climate, lots of space, and far fewer of the nanny laws that were springing up all over. The recession was in full swing, and we found a fairly new, small high rise office building a few miles from downtown. Since it was in foreclosure, I got it for a song. It only had about a forth of the offices rented and I reserved the top four floors for myself and my business. The entire top floor would be my living quarters. A contractor and a decorator had it part of it turned into a home within a month.
Long before that, the business opened in a single office, three floors below, as R&R Import-Export. R&R? Roger and Rita - a whim, but I liked it. My days were full of being force fed business lingo and procedures by the pencil pusher sent over to nursemaid me. Actually, he was a nice guy - from California - but boring as plain paper. All he knew and cared about was balance sheets and profit and loss figures. Some days, my head wanted to explode. A secretary was added, then a couple of salesmen and buyers, and pretty soon, we were actually importing and exporting stuff.
The amount of actual transactions of my company that first few months wouldn't even be a dot on the trade charts of the country, but they were real. Sometimes I forgot what the business was a cover for. And in fact, my undercover business got its start far sooner than I had expected. But more about that later.
I flew to Saudi Arabia to consult with the Sheik, then up to Tarkan's to pick up Rita - and to finalize another transaction. One that would appear somewhat later.
I opened the door, then pulled Rita in by her arm. She looked around in wonder. Since the top floor used to be office space, every side of my home at the top of the high rise was solid windows, giving a breathtaking view of the metropolis, the sunrise and sunset, and everything else for about thirty miles around if the curtains were open. She started to run around and look, but I grabbed her arm and swatted her behind.
"This is my new home and you are the resident slavegirl. Understand?" Not really following what I was saying, she looked at me for information. I continued, "Slave girls don't wear clothes in the Master's house." She smiled and nodded with sudden understanding. Immediately she stripped off her traveling clothes and laid them on a sofa. "Put on your titty support," I said. She opened a suitcase and pulled out a halter - something that would hold up her beautiful knockers, but didn't conceal much and had round openings for her nipples. I had started making her wear one several months ago. Her boobs were a nice size and were going to start sagging badly if she stayed totally naked. With that she ran around the house, looking and discovering.
I was coming out of the shower, and she was waiting, standing with her head down, and her legs open - her way of offering sex if I wanted it. And her way of hoping that I would take time to do her also. Why not? A piece of tail before dinner would be a good appetizer. I pointed to the bed, then spun her around and popped her behind. She laughed silently and hopped on the king sized bed.
An hour later, my nuts were empty and her spasms were settled down and she was asleep. Jet lag - she was about eight hours out of sync with the local time. I got up, dressed and went down to the office.
Two days later, I had her dress for public, and we drove to a clinic a few miles away. I left her there for the morning while I ran around on business of my own. At 11:00 hours, I was seated with the surgeon.
"Forgive me if it's none of my business, but can you tell me how she got those? I assume it was a criminal act?"
I nodded. "Yes, she was kidnapped in Europe by a gang and branded with the initials of the leader."
"And her voice?"
"Same gang. A rogue doctor removed her vocal cords on a whim by the leader."
He shook his head, obviously deeply shocked. "I'm sorry. That's... a... Damn! It's unbelievable that she can still be cheerful after that. Many women would probably commit suicide after those experiences. She obviously has an iron will. I hope the perpetrators were caught?"
I smiled grimly. "I can guarantee that they will never be in a position to do it to another girl."
He shook his head again, still unbelieving. "Anyway, it can be fixed. Her scars, I mean. I don't guarantee a total removal, but I can assure you that it can be made to where the scars will be invisible under a minimum of makeup. One question? You aren't her husband? I ask, because your names are different."
"No, just a friend, so to speak. Actually, I am acting as her ward. I'm also paying the bills. In full and in advance." I leaned over towards him and handed him a signed blank check. "Now, when can you start?"
He looked at a schedule on the computer. "Next Tuesday at eight o'clock, if we can start doing tests on her this afternoon."
I stood up, opened my wallet and handed him my business card. "Have someone call me a half hour before you are though today, and someone will pick her up." He also stood up and offered his hand. I took but didn't let go until I said, "And one other thing, Doctor. Don't let anything stand in the way of the best job that can be done. Money, or anything else. If you suddenly need a left handed flidget from Australia, you call me." He gave a single nod and I left.
There would be three surgeries before they would be finished. Several weeks apart. Right now she was recovering from the first, thick bandages on either side of her face, and almost too sore to eat. I got her a refrigerator full of soft foods for now.
I had also engaged a young college girl who needed to make some money and who was an expert in sign language. An hour every day she would come over and teach Rita the art of signing, and that evening, if I wasn't too tired from trying to follow my paper pusher, she would teach me what she had learned.
I wasn't monogamous, and Rita knew it. In fact, I had laid that out long ago when she first shared my bed. Sometimes I bedded another girl, but the courtship ritual in this country almost wasn't worth the effort. I preferred Jean's setup - just snap your fingers and a broad hits the sack with you. I told myself that when I got established, I would stock my home the same way. There was plenty of room - square footage wise, my living area was huge and in fact, only about ten percent of it was furnished or even carpeted. The other rooms were empty and unpainted, waiting for some use some day.
However, one of the few girls that I laid was a co-ed, supposedly, and she tried the old jailbait trick. After a night with her - Rita was at the clinic for several days - I woke up the next morning and she was relaxing in the video room like she owned the place. And in fact, smoking a joint - an absolute no-no around me. Right away, I could tell that something had changed with her attitude. But I said fairly sharply, "Put that damn thing out. Aren't you supposed to be in class this morning?"
She just smiled and inhaled again. "We need to talk about that. Look on the counter over there." I did. It was a drivers license. "Look at my age." Well, well. She wasn't a coed, but a older looking seventeen year old. She gave me a few moments, then continued, "We need to come to an understanding before I leave, one with lots of zeros, and you won't have to go to jail as a sex offender." Nothing subtle about her technique. Not even any lead in. Just pay up or else.
I hadn't expected my real business to start up so soon, but what the heck. This might be fun. "How much do you want?"
She made a big deal about looking around, then said with a smirk. "You appear to be loaded. So, fifty thousand would seem to be a good figure - it's probably petty cash for you."
"You want that in cash, I assume," I asked sarcastically.
"Of course. How would it look if an underage girl showed up at a bank with a check for fifty grand?"
I sighed. "Let me see how much cash I have on hand. Wait here."
"Hold it." she said sharply. "Don't do anything dumb. I've already texted my girlfriend and told her where I am."
Hmmm. I shook my head. "Then forget it. I'm not paying you a dime if you've already spread the news around."
Now she was worried that her fifty k's were in jeopardy. "I didn't tell her about being fucked, just that I was in the Canopus building." Where? Canopus? Oh yes. That was the old name of this place before I bought it. She didn't see the new sign when she came in - she's working from memory.
I nodded. "Ok. Wait here." I went to a back room, rummaged though a box, picked up a pistol-looking device, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a vial. It was about two months past expiration, but I knew that those dates where very conservative - it should still be potent. I screwed the vial on the top of the gun, then made sure the batteries were still good. I put it in my pocket - it didn't fit all the way and the butt stuck out, but I doubt that she would notice, and it wouldn't make any difference if she did.
Back in the lounge area, she was still smoking. You should never dull your senses during a critical operation. I came up beside her and stopped.
"Where's the money."
"Wait a moment," I said. "You need to know something. In my real business in the past, I've had to make critical decisions on a moment's notice - decisions that meant that I or my men were dead if I was wrong. Decisions concerning what to do about deadly enemies, bad situations, and life and death choices." Now she was confused at the turn of the conversation. "I don't even consider blackmail threats from a dumb cunt to be worth two second's thought." I pulled the injection gun from my pocket, whipped the barrel to her neck and pulled the trigger. It made a satisfying "chunk" as the liquid was injected into her.
"Owww! You bastard! That hurt! Is that a BB gun? Why did you do that?" She stood up and rubbed the area with her hand, then looked at the smear it left on her fingers. "I'm bleeding, damn you! I'll have your ass, you son of a bitch."
"Yes you will, but not quite the way you think." She started to say something, then started wobbling, reached down to steady herself, missed and fell toward the floor. I caught her so she didn't bash her head on something, then gently let her down.
"Wadd chew do to me, you... I'm ummmmm snnn." She was out. My first capture in this country, and not even planned. I picked up her phone, looked at the model, then did a quick search on the "Net. It wasn't a GPS model - that was good. I checked to see when her last call was. Yesterday afternoon. She had lied about calling a friend. Dumb bitch.
I got some tools, then the collar and chain that I used on Rita on occasion, then went down to the fifth floor. There were no offices on that floor or on the ones directly above and below it. She could shout all she wanted and nothing would make it through to any occupied suite. I didn't take long to find a closet with an exposed building beam, wrap the end of the chain around it and secure it with two locks. One for primary and one for backup.
One elevator was reserved for my use - the building was mostly empty and its capacity wasn't needed at the moment. But, importantly, it only worked with my key, or the keys of my few workers. Today was a Saturday, so even that wasn't important. I deposited her on the floor in the closet, then locked the chain around her neck. Then put a nylon tie though the hold for good luck, although the chance of a padlock just suddenly failing open was close to asymptotic zero.
Now, I needed to get rid of her car. Of course, her keys were in her purse. As soon as it got dark, I drove it over to a mall, and, making sure my cap was down over my eyes and that I was always looking down, I walked away. I left the keys in the car - along with her phone. Maybe it would get stolen. Several miles later, I stopped in a fast food joint for a meal, then began looking for a cab. It took a while, because they were not that plentiful in this city, but I finally flagged one down and he dropped me off a mile from my building. I leisurely walked the distance.
When I got upstairs, and rested for a while, I got in my car and headed to the big box store. I bought a couple of thick blankets, a pillow, water jug, and a two large buckets. That night, I dropped the blankets, pillow, and a bucket beside her. Also a box of munchies. Oh, yes, I also stripped her naked.
That night, I opened the encrypted file I had been given, read up on the pickup and delivery procedure, then sent an encrypted email with certain info.
Rita was still gone, and I was lonely. She was doing great and her morale was sky high. I even paid the girl to visit her at the clinic to continue her lessons. I reminded myself to reward the little girl for her efforts when she finished. I also reminded myself to stop by the bank and get some cash - the delivery service I was expecting didn't take checks or credit cards.
The next day, an email came in to inform me that five tons of avocados were available. The price was fifteen thousand. What the hell? Some more reading in my instructions deciphered that to tell me that the pickup would be in five days and cost fifteen k's.
The next night, I visited my little blackmailer. Naturally, she had strong opinions about her living quarters. But, I had brought along some negotiating... stuff.
"You bastard! Turn me loose! You can't do this!" and so on.
Finally, I managed to get a word in edgewise. "How about a piece of ass, sweetie?"
"Fuck you, you bastard. I'll have the police take a piece of your ass, you cocksucker." Sweet seventeen, she wasn't.
"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow." I got up to leave.
"No! Wait! Give me some water! Please." Her voice finally faded out behind me, and after I closed both the closet and room door, was inaudible.
Downstairs a piece
Early the next morning, I checked on her again. When she saw me this time, she choked back the insults. "Please," she begged in a raspy voice. "Give me some water."
I stood there looked above folded arms. "Have you thought about my request for a piece of ass?"
"No. Please, just water. Please."
I pointed to the jug that I had set down, way out of her reach. "You're a fairly dumb girl, wouldn't you say?" She just looked at me, wondered what that meant. "A smart girl would have long since realized that until I get fucked by you, you do without water." I picked up a glass and the jug, then poured. I drank it as she watched, licking dry lips.
"Ok. I'll fuck you. Now give me some water."
"No. I'm doing the rule making here. Fuck first, water second. One glass for one fuck." I waited then said, "Make up your mind or I'm leaving."
She hung her head and quietly said, "Ok."
I started to shuck off my clothes. "On your stomach, spread your arms and legs out, wide." She obeyed quickly - she was desperate for a drink. Naked, I stepped behind her and could see her little dimple waiting between her spread ass crack. I wet my rod, set it against the hole, and began to feed it in.
"What are you doing!? You said a fuck!" She drew her arms in in preparation to raise herself. I grabbed her behind her neck and squeezed. "Put your arms back out. Now!" She did. "Remember, I said a piece of ass and that is what I am getting." I didn't want to dally, so I hurried on to completion and then stood up, watching her stretched hole slowly close up. Then I walked over, poured a full glass of water, and handed it to her. She gulped it down in seconds.
"Listen to me, sweetie. From now on, curse at me - you get no water. Raise your voice - no water. Refuse to instantly do what I say - no water. Capish?"
"Yes," she said quietly. Can I have some more?"
"That's better." I poured another glass and handed it to her. I look to see how many snacks she had left. She was probably hungry, but I well knew that hunger takes a place that is far behind thirst. I took the empty glass from her, set it beside the jug, still out of her reach, and left.
My home office
My phone rang. "Mr. Harris?"
"Yes", I answered.
"This is the driver for Sondor Package Express. You have a pickup scheduled for today." He asked directions - I gave them and went down to wait for him to arrive. Soon, a panel truck backed up to the rear dock and a man in a coverall climbed down and walked up to me. "Harris?" he asked. I nodded and he opened the rear door and dollied a wooden crate out and into the building, through the door I was holding open. We got off at the proper floor, I unlocked the room and we entered. I opened the door to the closet and he looked at the chained and naked girl standing there.
He handed me a purple pill and said quietly, "Give this to her. It'll take about ten minutes."
I poured a glass of water and walked over to the wondering woman. She knew what it was and totally and violently refused. He had to hold her head against her thrashing, then pinch her nose closed. When she finally opened her mouth to gasp for air, I dropped the pill in then poured her mouth full of water. Most of it went down her body, but the pill was swallowed along with the water in her mouth. While waiting for it to take effect, I took him upstairs to complete the transaction. I already had one hundred and fifty bills ready to go, and handed them over. He didn't even bother to count it - just stuck it in his pocket.
He passed the time by looking out over the city. In a few minutes, we headed back downstairs. She was out cold on the floor, so I unlocked her collar and helped put the limp form into the box. He hammered the nails in, stuck the dolly under it, and a few minutes later she was in the back of the van disappearing down the road.
Rita's scars weren't gone yet, but vast progress had been made. The next operation should do the trick. Meanwhile, she was getting very good at signing - in fact, so was I. It was fun. Serious for her, but fun. I also got her a smart phone so she could text me and use it as a writing pad for conversation that was too complex for signing, or with someone who didn't sign.
Sometimes, she was a little witch and it took a while for me to realize that she was trying to get punished. The sub in her was really coming to the fore. On occasion, after getting fed up with her nuzzling while I was trying to concentrate, I would drag her into the bedroom, spread her out face down with limbs tied tightly to all four corners, then lay into her with a rope whip, or a crop or even a cat. Of course, the force I used was far less than damaging, but it wasn't play - it hurt! She couldn't scream, but she would arch her back at the blow. Her muscles would tremble in spasms, her feet would point and all four limbs would be rigid or jerking. Afterwards, she would be contrite - bringing me a fresh drink, or snack, or just sitting there quietly watching. She would also be hotter than a firecracker and hoping I would release the tension in her when I was done. Usually I did, since the bondage play would have raised my pressures, also.
She was possibly the only real slave in existence who could just quit and walk out. I seriously doubted that would happen. I had absolutely no training in psychology or any other type of that mind BS, but in my amateur opinion, even after more had happened to her in her short lifetime than most women saw at the movies, she was probably happier than all her friends that she had left behind.
I got an email from, well... a contractor. He wanted to sign my men for another cruise. I had kept my five team members on a retainer, and for several months they enjoyed the lives of successful Men of Fortune, relaxing. But I didn't want them to go stale. Since my business was nowhere near far enough along to employ them in an operation that would use their skills, I contacted the Sheik and asked him if he knew of any need for the team anywhere. I should have known. He had more contacts than a spider's web in a spring garden.
I had contracted them to a shipper who had some valuable cargo, and a large, but slow, ship. His problem was that his fastest and most economical route was around the Horn of Africa and directly through pirate waters. My team went along as a security detail, and with them went my guarantee that I would pay his losses if his ship was hijacked. It was an excellent deal - excellent pay for all of us, and a chance to keep my men in action. Of course, I had provided my team with enough firepower to hold off a battalion of untrained pirates, and arranged for a ship fitter to build a hidden compartment in the bowels of the ship to hide the weapons when in a port of a country that didn't care for armed men arriving - white hats or not.
Of course, all of them were rutting at the hope that a boat full of AK and RPG armed young fools would suddenly appear. So far, in three cruises, nothing had happened. If it did, nothing was going to appear on the evening news. The only other people who would know would be the people on shore who would be waiting for a boat that would never come back.
A lounge in my home
"This is Rita. Rita, this is Colette, of the green silk." Of course, Rita knew what was going to happen and was looking forward to it. She bobbed in a greeting, her thin silk lounging dress hiding nothing, then typed a message on her phone and showed it to the guest.
Smiling, Colette replied, "Thank you, Rita. I also hope we will become good friends."
I turned to the woman. "You will want to unpack and relax today. I'm sure your body thinks its about time for bed, now. You can start tomorrow or anytime you want." I turned to my girl. "Rita, if Colette wishes to buy anything, or go anywhere, message Sam." She nodded, still smiling. Sam was my gofer. He was over fifty years old, barely educated enough to pass his driving exam, but was always cheerful and totally reliable.
Back to Colette, I said, "In two weeks, Rita will go back for her last surgery to cover those brand marks. So she'll be unavailable for several days. That would be a good time for you to sightsee around the country, if you want... What's wrong?" She was suddenly staring at Rita's face, then at me, then back to Rita.
"Excuse me, sir. I just connected the pieces - Tarkan, a woman with red hair and a branded face." Now she had a look of awe, as she asked, "Are you the man they call 'Mister Sergeant'?"
Sort of taken aback, I said, "Well... yes."
"Mon Dieu! You are the man whose woman was taken by the drug lord and tortured and branded!"
"...uuuh Yes, but..."
Now she had her hand over her mouth. "You stormed his fortress, killed thirty of his men, burned it to the ground and carved your initials in his face and turned him loose to beg on the streets as a eunuch! And rescued your woman - Rita!"
Rita walked over to me, took my arm and leaned against me, beaming and nodding to our guest. Holy Shit! I might apply to the courts to change my name to Conan the Barbarian. But for now, if I didn't get out of here, my ego was going to be too big for me to fit through the door.
"...Well, Tarkan has improved on the story a bit, but in the main, it's true. I'm sure that Rita will tell you all about it while you're here." I looked at my watch. "Sweetie, please take Colette to her suite and make her comfortable. Ladies, I have to get back to work."
A box arrived, by special delivery. I had it put in a storeroom on the empty floor just under our apartment. I hammered the lid off and looked in. There was my merchandise, still warm but unconscious. Since I had no idea how long she would be out, I left her a plastic bucket and a jug of water. I locked the door and left.
Business was growing, even in the recession. It was also absolutely legit. I had no truck with moving anything illegal - drugs, weapons, outlawed items. Taxes were paid in full and I made sure to stay in good with the authorities. My reputation as an honest businessman would be extremely valuable in my other undertakings. I now had a single cargo plane, a used DC-10 for high priority moves - imports mostly, but sometimes a load would leave the other way. The crew was under strict instructions to make sure that nothing got onboard that wasn't on the manifest - drugs were always a problem in air cargo. All ground personnel at overseas airports were constantly being offered bribes to get something on board - cargo handlers, ramp personnel, even refuelers. Well, actually, it wasn't just overseas - plenty of people existed in airports in the US who would accept money under the table. Anytime something was found we notified the proper authorities and helped in any possible way to discover the connection on the receiving end. As a result, the law thought of me as a patriotic and cooperative businessman.
Since I was only worried about breaking even, and had plenty of money to back me up, I had none of the worries of the usual starting business person. Between the girls and loot taken from the residence of the ex-Yilmaz the Fearless, I was a multimillionaire - even after giving generous cuts to everybody involved. And that wasn't even counting all the money I had earned from the French operation, two years before.
I was along way from being a shrewd businessman, but I could run the day by day operations ok. My mentor went back to his business in California, whatever it was, but was always just a phone call away. I only had about fifteen employees - on purpose. I intended to run lean and mean. I paid very good salaries, but for them I wanted good work and loyalty.
That night, I went down to check on my new merchandise. She was awake, just sitting on the floor. Unlike most captives, she was calm and just watched as I approached. After all, she had a fair idea of what was going on. "Get up," I said, in my butchered Turkish. She did, and I snapped a set of manacles on her wrists, behind her back. Then I pulled her out the door and to the elevator.
I took her to the far northeast corner of my apartment, the part that hadn't been developed yet, except for a single lounge in the corner, looking out over the horizon. I let her look out at the nighttime view.
She was, of course, the woman who ran Yilmaz's dungeon - according to Rita, a cruel mistress, although a lot of that was probably on orders from The Fearless, himself. She was in her late thirties, overweight by American standards, and not that bad looking, although she would never turn any male heads on the street. One thing she had, was huge pendulous tits. Massive things, maybe DDDD. When I last saw her, she had the usual body hair of women from her part of the world, but I had paid Tarkan to have her permanently depilated from the eyebrows down.
She also had the same operation performed on her that had been done on Rita. I could still see the little X scar on her neck. I have to admit that being an act of revenge on my part.
She had been the victim of a setup, planned by me, but performed to date by Tarkan. She had been given the notion that she and the girls had been stolen while her boss was away. And, somehow, word had gotten out to her boss that it was an inside job, working on information provided by her. Of course, she could well imagine what would happen if he got his hands on her. She was offered the choice - be set free on the streets of the city and take her chances, or become a bound female. Obviously, she chose the latter as the best chance to live longer than a week.
Slowly, because my command of her only language was bad, I gave my spiel. I pointed out at the sea of lights reaching to the horizon. "Do you see that?" She nodded. "This is America. You are here illegally, with no identification and no passport. If you are caught, you will be sent to prison." Prison in her mind was something different than existed here. In her country, prisoners didn't sit in air-condition comfort watching TV and eating free food with any necessary medical care available. In her part of the world, they worked long hours, and slept in crowded and fetid cells. And women had a totally different worry - many times they were just considered to be free prostitutes for use and abuse. "Then, you will be sent back to where you came from and everybody will know when you arrive, including Yilmaz." It might be true, that now ball-less bastard might hear though the grapevine that she was back, but the info would be of little meaning to him now.
"I give you a choice. Now. I will give you a set of clothes and you may leave now. Or you may stay as my slave. Choose now." What I would do if she took the first alternative, I didn't know. But there was little chance of an ignorant third world female wanting to be tossed onto the streets of a totally alien country, even if she had been told that the streets here were paved with gold.
From her expression, I suddenly realized that she was terrified. Of what? Me? Her old boss? Being tossed out in a strange country as a voiceless, ignorant female?
"Do you want to leave?" She shook her head violently. "Do you want to be my slave?" This time an affirmative nod.
I had no problem "hiring" two young studs for the training of Rita - not in the current job market. The hardest part was getting them to believe what they were being hired for. My pay was good, but my rules were strict. They would come to "work" at 9:00, and would usually leave by 16:00, although if Colette were finished before then, they could leave early. They had a lounge of their own, big screen TV, cable, Internet, refrigerator - no alcohol - and other stuff deemed necessary by young men these days. There was also a shower and they were to be immaculately clean, everyday. There was to be no talk about what they were doing and absolutely no sex with other females during the time of employment. I paid them well and legally and filed all the tax returns and withholding amounts.
A few times, I was the guinea pig. At the start of her training, I would lay there on a table as Colette and Rita pushed and prodded and rubbed. The woman's knowledge of a male nervous system was absolutely astounding, which I already knew to be a fact for any courtesan coming out of Suliman's. At night, Rita would be bubbling over with excitement over what she had learned, and would want to practice on me. That was usually fine with me, but sometimes she would want to practice longer than I wanted to be practiced on, and I would just flip her over and shove it in.
Rita was stunned when I brought her way over to the northeast side of the building and showed her the new slavegirl. The woman, now named Butterball, was just as stunned and not a little afraid to see Rita, probably remembering what she had done to the redhead in the name of Yilmaz. I explained to Rita what she was, how she got there and what she believed. And that she was now Rita's slave, to do with as she wanted, but mostly as a domestic. She would clean and learn to cook, American style. Her little living alcove wasn't uncomfortable, but it certainly wasn't luxurious, with not much more in the small windowless room but a sleeping mat and a shelf with certain female toiletries. Of course, she had access to a small bathroom with a shower and commode on her end of the building.
I left her alone with her new possession, still stunned and unbelieving, but monitored the situation to make sure that Rita didn't just throttle her. I have to say, I was surprised over the next few weeks. Rita was strict with her, and was obviously relishing the situation, but I never saw her treat Butterball badly, just for the sake of cruelty. But suddenly, our large home was even more spotless than it had been with Rita doing the cleaning - she made sure of that. Many times, Butterball's efforts in cleaning a bathroom weren't satisfactory, and had to be done over.
My office in R&R
I found my first employee of my shadow business, if you don't count my squad, who actually didn't know anything about it. As far as they knew, the girls that we had picked up from the raid were turned loose the next day. My new employee was a very bright woman, thirty two years of age, but handicapped with a major limp that required her to use a walker or cane most of the time. She had the bitter experience of seeing one job offer after another go to a much less qualified individual because of businesses' fear of hiring a person that might drive up their health care costs. As it was, she was just about submerged in credit card debt from her impairment, working for minimum wage even with a masters degree, and fending off ever more obnoxious debt collectors. But she was proud and refused to declare bankruptcy until it might be forced onto her.
She had physically come in to apply for a job with R&R - not because we were hiring - but for the hope. If it was a business she hadn't appealed to, then she would at least try. My secretary was sympathetic, but had to tell her that we had nothing open at the moment and, while she could fill out an application, Shirley could give no hope for the near future. I was in my office, half listening, and heard the woman say that she was a forensic data analyst, way back before the recession killed her chance of a job. I pushed the intercom button and told Shirley to send the woman in.
I met her at the door, and shook her hand. She was using a cane at the moment, although she had come in to the front office with a walker. "Good morning, Ms...?
"Sally Fergerson. I'm glad to meet you sir. Thank you very much for seeing me."
I waved to my lounge area, took the paperwork from Shirley's hand, and shut the door. "Sit down, Ms. Fergerson. My name is Rodger Harris." I waited till she was seated in an overstuffed chair, then sat down myself and said, "Excuse me while I read this." Of course, it was her resume.
Not Bad. A Masters in math, a minor in computer forensics. Good work history, but short. Because of her infirmity, she was always hired as a contractor - responsible for her own benefits and taxes, and fireable at will. Reading between the lines of her resume, I was impressed that she had held her own against the blatant - and illegal - discrimination. But she was obviously a person who understood computers and data - and unmarried. An attractive woman, overall.
I looked up. "So, your last position was lost because your employer shut the door?"
"Yes, Sir," she replied, then amplified it. "Actually, they shipped all the work overseas." I nodded. Bastards. I personally hated the businessmen who lived the good life in America, then shipped the work to sweatshops abroad so that they could build an even more ostentatious house and their wives could wear even bigger diamonds and drive a new Beamer whenever the old one got dusty.
"No luck since, obviously."
"No Sir." She stopped, wondering how much to say, then touched her cane. "They're afraid of this, although they won't say so. I can't say I really blame them, given the chaotic state of the healthcare industry now. They might be eventually stuck with supplying a nurse for every person labeled as disabled."
I liked her honesty. "Tell me what you actually did for those companies, and what your skills are. And keep in mind that you are talking to a computer neophyte." Not exactly true, but I was definitely not in the geek class of computer skills. She spoke for an hour or so, with me asking questions on occasion. She might be the one. Only time would tell.
"Ms. Fergerson..." "Please call me Sally." "...Sally, I might have a position for you, but to discuss it, you need to agree to keep what is said here confidential."
"Yes, sir!" I could have said that she would need to give me the rights to her first born, and she would have agreed for the chance of a job.
"Excellent. I have another business, besides the one outside of that door. It works in the gray areas of the world." I could see her processing that, and wondering. "It isn't openly illegal, but it isn't something that can be advertised, either. For instance, I have a team of security specialists who escort ships through the pirate infested waters around Africa. The nations around there can't be seen as consenting to having their citizens harmed, even when those same citizens are stealing ships and murdering crew members. But they can't allow it, either. We supply the protection, unnoticed and ignored by the governments around there." Her eyes were definitely wider.
"A while back, we were involved in a rescue mission of women who were kidnapped. And recently I was involved with a drug sting at an airport." All of the above was true, just not the whole truth. "Another reason for secrecy is our own safety. Some people in the world will stop at nothing for revenge and payback." Me, for instance.
"I am looking for a person who can find out facts - data mining, I think it is called. Not only on the Internet. He... She... would be responsible for hiring an investigative service to get information, if necessary. On rare occasions, that person might have to travel there in person to get the real scoop." Someday I might trust her with the whole truth, but she would have to show tried and true loyalty before that would happen. "Is that anything you might be interested in?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Harris! I'm your girl. That is right up my alley, skills and ability wise."
"One other thing. I pay well. Very well, but for that pay, I expect superior work and loyalty. I don't put up with being told that someone hasn't had time to do something yet."
"I can swing it, sir. I can't count the times that I ate leftover cold pizza and took a bath at the ladies room sink to get a project out the door on time."
I made up my mind. "Ok, Sally. I'll give you a try. A probationary period of several months to see if I like your work and you like working for me. At the end of that time, and if both answers are yes, the position will be made permanent."
Her relief was apparent. A job, at last. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Harris. All I'm looking for is to prove my value to your firm."
I stood up. "Come with me. I'll show you where you'll work."
Home - the western lounge
My team and I were sitting in my lounge on the western side of the building, watching the sun set. Rita was her usual bubbling self, roaming around among the men, serving drinks and snacks, thoroughly enjoying the attention she was getting from five young and virile male guests. Her last surgery had gone well and had almost healed. Very little of the brands could be seen, and the Doctor told us that even those remnants should fade with time.
Her filmy lounge dress - almost a negligee - would flare out behind her as she moved. It was opaque, but so thin that there was no doubt that there was a beautiful woman underneath. The guys were flirting and bantering with her - had we been in a bar, and she the waitress, her behind would have been black and blue from the pinches and pats, but in my home, my friends would no more show disrespect to my girl than they would have used our old regimental colors to wipe up a spill.
Colette was off for the weekend, traveling.
Telly was describing the action, with lots of help from the others.
"...Dolby was on watch, in the crows nest. At least, that's what we called it. It was a fishing boat, but it had way too much horsepower for any third world trawler. It pulled up abeam about a hundred meters away and this dude on a megaphone yelled for us to stop. At least, that's what the captain said..."
Chip interrupted, "Bummer and I already had the fifty cal set up behind a crate. At that range we could have sawed it in half with a single belt..."
Telly again, "The captain sent the crew below and to the other side of the ship, then cut the engines, but that size ship doesn't stop on a dime. They got impatient. Some dude fired an AK into the air, then someone triggered an RPG..."
"Shit. I think it went about a foot over my head," said Jonesie.
"... but it impacted way beyond the ship. They shot another and it hit up by the bow. Knocked a six inch hole in the plating, but didn't hurt anything. I had Chip wave a white flag on a stick, and they stopped."
"But the dumb SOBs just kept getting closer," Bummer said, from under his glass.
The liquor was really loosening tongues. Telly continued, "Yep. I thought they would send over a skiff, but they just motored in toward the ship. I changed the plan, and had Chip get a satchel charge ready..." "Twelve sticks," Chip interjected." "The dumb bastards pulled right up to the side and slung a grappling hook over the rail. Chip dropped the satchel into a hatch and we ducked. It blew the boat in half."
"Twenty four pounds of C-4!" I exclaimed. "I can believe that! Hell, that much would blow a hole in the bottom of a cruiser!"
Dolby spoke up again. "Then we just leaned over the rail with the M-4's and hosed down anybody who popped to the surface."
"Thank you, Rita, " said Telly, accepting his refill. "Then the captain put the pedal to the metal, and we played cards for the rest of the trip."
More talk went on, no different than with any group of men who had shared the dangers of combat together. The owner of the ship didn't need their services right now. His vessel was moving in a much more civilized part of the world at the moment. But, it wouldn't be long before they would be called again. Word of that kind of adventure, even though not published, would spread among ship owners. And the existence of a professional security team would be remembered.
The hour grew late, and suddenly Dolby stopped in mid sentence, staring at something past my chair. I turned around to see Rita asleep - curled up on her plush beanbag chair like a kitten and with her long red hair spread out over the black fuzzy covering. A strap of her silk dress had fallen down and one boob was laying out in the open enough to clearly show her nipple. The photographer for any men's magazine would have killed for the chance of a photo op like that.
The conversation had totally stopped. Finally, Telly said quietly, "Goddamn, Sarge! That is one beautiful barbie doll."
I got a message and notice of payment from Mr. Hassan, for the girl that I had shipped to him. He was purchasing her for himself and congratulated me on my selection. What the hell? I thought. She was just a young stupid cunt. Well built, without a doubt - as good looking as another young Rita - but just a dumb American female. Why in hell would he want her? Strange.
It was a slow day, I had helped Sally select her office stuff - actually, that isn't accurate. I had told her that I only bought quality, and instructed her to give the list of what she wanted to Shirley, unless it was something technical that needed to be purchased by her personally. So far it was a large desk, two powerful desktop computers and a laptop, and hardware to connect them. Besides standard office stuff, like white boards and filing cabinets.
Anyway, I went upstairs to relax, maybe even get a piece if they weren't engaged in a learning session. It was late - the two guys had long gone home for the day. The girls weren't in the usual places, but I heard them down the hall. At the door of the south east skylounge, I stopped at the door and watched, wide eyed. Butterball was on her knees, head back and mouth firmly planted in Rita's cunt, who was standing over her. Colette was just enjoying the view - views actually. She would look back and forth from the vista of Downtown out the window, and the two girls getting it on. Rita just had her head back, eyes closed and was in paradise. Colette, saw me out of the corner of her eye, looked around and winked at me.
Holy shit, I thought. I went to my room to take a shower and wait for the girls to finish.
They were taking a long time. I wondered if it had turned into a menage-a-trois with three girls on each other. A male's fantasy come true.
I was laying on the bed, reading some reports when, suddenly, Colette entered. I immediately stopped reading, and stared. She was nude, with just the green silk around her neck. Well, well. This didn't require any effort to figure out. She smiled and said, "You are paying for my services - would you care to avail yourself of them?" I just nodded, still staring. "I have not pleasured a real man since I left Europe. Skills unused will begin to atrophy."
"Rita and Butterball?" I asked.
She chuckled. "They were naughty. They are still in the south lounge doing... penitence, shall we say. We will not be interrupted."
I leapt out of bed and shucked off my robe, then lay back down and watched her slink onto the bed in one of the myriad ways that she had been taught. I knew what to expect - this would be my third Suliman girl - and wasn't disappointed. For the next hour or so, I was beyond pleasure. Suliman definitely hadn't fobbed off a ringer on me. She played my body like a concert pianist in front of an international audience.
When it was over, and I had given my all and more, we just lay there together and talked. I asked her about her future plans. So far she had none. This was her first commission since graduating. What she would do next was up in the air. Something suddenly occurred to me - if she was an unattached single girl, how the hell did she get into Suliman's in the first place, and who paid for her training? I didn't ask - it wasn't any of my business. We did tell each other of some of our past, but that particular question didn't come up. She was fascinated by the tale of Mr. Sergeant and the fight with the bad man in Turkey. I told her the real truth of the operation, but it had no effect on her idea that it was the romantic mission of the century.
Eventually, nature called, we got up and, afterward, wandered down the hall to the lounge that I had last seen the girls in. At the door, I just stopped and laughed. Both women were hogtied and laying on the floor. And not comfortably, either. Of course, Rita loved bondage, but Butterball definitely did not and was obviously exhausted from trying to get loose. I picked up a crop, and whacked both of them on the butt - hard - then we just left them there as we enjoyed a cocktail together.
To test Sally, I gave her a mark to track. She threw herself into it with a single minded, laser-like focus. Her gratitude for being given a chance to prove herself was palpable. I had to make her go home in the evenings or she would have spent all night at work. Her office now looked like a geek computer shop. At first, she was hesitant to ask for what she thought was needed because of the money, but I assured her that I wanted everything possible that would help her in her job.
My first real target couldn't possibly require as complicated an operation as I had set up in France. My organization wasn't even put together yet, let alone, tried and trusted. It needed to be simple, but the result had to be quality. The payoff on an ordinary woman would barely pay for her transportation. But I had a deserving target in mind. I looked forward to meeting the bitch.
Meanwhile, my team was back on the high seas riding shotgun for high value ships. Sure enough, the word had gotten around and I now had more requests for their services than they could fulfill. I had Telly contact three more ex-comrades who still craved the uncivilized life, and made two teams of four each. Of course, Telly had one and I made Chip the squad leader of the other. The money was excellent - my fees, as high as they were, came to only a minute fraction of the cost of the voyage and were just another write off for the ship's operators.
Rita was wearing out the young men that I had hired for her training. And she was getting really good. She didn't have the finesse of Colette and would never have the overall ability, but she made up for it with just bubbling enthusiasm. Occasionally, she would still deliberately try to piss me off so that I would drag in into the bed by her hair and stripe her with a whip. Colette, also, soon realized her occasional contrariness was a predilection for punishment, and asked me what she was allowed to do about it. I told her to string Rita up by her wrists anytime that was needed and beat her ass. Or, if Colette just wanted to do it for fun, have at it.
I was sitting in the top viewlounge with the Sheik, discussing various operations that had gone on in his organization after I left for the States. He had asked me to come over when I had a chance, and I hopped a plane the next week. He apparently valued my opinion, even though I was probably his junior agent, but there was nothing that we had talked about so far that was of any urgency. We had just come from the viewing window that looked out over his harem. He had showed me the little blackmailing cunt that I had sent him a short while before. She was sitting, naked, conversing with another girl.
"That one really has the fire in her belly," the Sheik said. "I haven't had her tamed yet because of the pleasure it gives me to watch her think that she is resisting. I thank you for her presence."
"No problem, Mr. Hassan. Glad you like her." I was mystified at what he saw in her. To me she was an uneducated, spoiled, teenage American cunt like any one of hundreds that you can see in any mall in the country at any time. But, if he was happy, I was happy.
But he didn't invite me halfway around the world to look at her.
He was just staring out over the desert, watching the sun drop lower in the west. I wondered what was coming - so far I had no hint. He finally turned around and said, "I am fearful of what is going to happen in the next few years. The debts being run up all over the world are going to open a hole, someday, that will swallow us all. I hope you still have the gold you took from that crime boss." I nodded. He continued, "I would suggest that you keep a minimum of your wealth in currency. I expect inflation to be ruinous eventually. Actually, I am sure of it. What I don't know, is what institutions and nations will fall because of it."
Wow. He had a seriously pessimistic vision of the future. But, one thing for sure, a lot of money was being spent that the people doing the spending, didn't have. I made a note to visit the way my wealth was structured. Possibly I had way too much in a Swiss bank. Maybe more gold would be wise. It was compact and easily hidden.
He sat back down. "But, that isn't why I wanted to talk to you. You are still building your team, correct?" I nodded. "I wonder if you could find a place for a daughter of mine?" To my widening eyes, he continued. "My youngest child is, well... she doesn't exactly fit into the society of this country. Actually, she is more like a teenager in America - headstrong, wild, self-assured. In fact, that is why she is my Chef d'ytat-Major."
I translated the French phrase into Chief of Staff. How could that be? I never heard of her. Then I reminded myself, that just because I might have become his current fair-haired boy, that didn't mean that I automatically knew more than a fraction of the Sheik's business and life.
He held up his hand. "Please, Rodger. This isn't a demand, just a request that you see if you can use her. If not, then it is my hope that you will sponsor her for a visit to America. I certainly don't expect you to do her any favors on my account."
He pushed the button on his desk as I answered. "Mr. Hassan. I would be more than honored to be her sponsor for a visit, however long. As to using her in my organization, I would have to say that if she has the skill to run yours, then assisting me with mine would be a minor task for her." I thought of something. "I'm not sure how to ask this, but... as a woman in America, she will naturally run into far more... ah... encounters... than she would here. Do you..."
He interrupted me with a laugh. "She is not a blushing virgin, by far. In fact, if she wishes a liaison with a man, I would suggest that you not get in the way. Katja has taught her a few things. But, that does not worry me. What does, is her forwardness and what will happen to her if she remains in this... well... shall we say, conservative country."
I could see his point. In this part of the world, allowing herself to get fingered could get her thrown into a hole and stoned to death. In fact, women in these lands were blamed if they were knocked down and raped. Not exactly a hotbed of feminism here.
There was a discrete knock on the door and a woman entered. I was expecting a teenager, but this was a mature female. Probably twenty two, twenty three or so. I stood up, as did the Sheik. "Rodger, this is my daughter, Zafirah." I smiled and gave a slight bow - women weren't touched by strangers in this part of the world, so shaking hands was out. "This is Rodger Harris from America."
She smiled, also. A nice looking woman, unusually thin for a women in these parts, long black hair. "Yes, Abbi. I well know about Mr. Sergeant."
Hassan waved us to sit, and waited for the drinks - tea, this time, which I despise. "Rodger has graciously agreed to sponsor you in your desire to visit his country."
"That is very kind, Mr. Harris."
"Please call me Rodger - the other makes me feel old. When would you be planning to visit, if I may ask?"
Hassan spoke up. "It will be soon, but not immediately. There are several... things that she will need to handle before she leaves."
I pulled a blue bordered business card from my wallet and handed it to her. "Show this to the guard, or anybody, when you get to my building."
We conversed for another hour. I learned that she definitely wasn't a bimbo - she had been educated at Cambridge in Britain, which explained her perfect, but slightly accented English. She also had an encyclopedic knowledge of the present world - far beyond mine. She also spoke a dozen languages. All in all, not the flighty, headstrong young woman that Hassan had described before she came in.
I was in my suite, about to undress and soak in the tub and was wondering where the bath girls were. There was a knock on the door. "Enter," I replied. In came Zafirah, followed by a slavegirl. That was easy to tell, since she was wearing a full sirik - collar, bracelets, chains and all - and nothing else.
"Abbi thought you might enjoy this girl for tonight, rather than our usual bed girls." She pointed, and the woman - not a teenager - immediately knelt in the floor with her head down.
"Uhhhh... Thank you, Zafirah. I'm sure she will be fine."
"Call me Zee. Everybody at Cambridge did. But not around Abbi. Good night, Rodger." She left and closed the door.
I looked at the girl on the floor and wondered why the Sheik sent this one in particular. She was fantastic - long black hair, nice tits - not large but high and firm, narrow waist and long legs under a really nice ass. Of course, in this place, beauty was the norm. "Prepare my bath in the big tub," I said in English. No response. I tried again in Arabic. She immediately jumped to her feet, chains jangling, and quickly entered the bathroom. Actually, there wasn't anything to prepare. The water in the hot tub was always hot and ready to enter.
Now, calling the bathing area of a suite in the Sheik's house just a bathroom is like calling a Ferrari, just a car. For one thing, it was about twice the size of the average American living room - upper class living room, I mean. There were two tubs - one a normal type and the size of large bathtub, and the other an eight person hot tub. And there was a high tech shower, computer controlled water jets, programmable at will from a gentle rain, to a horizontal blast of water that would almost knock you down. Two commodes and two bidets. Gigantic sink bench with mirrors everywhere. Thick rugs. And so on.
I entered the bathroom - she was standing beside the tub waiting, eyes still looking downward. By now, I had deposited my clothes on the floor of the bedroom, so I just walked down the steps into the water, then lay down. God, it was wonderful. I had been planning to install one of these in my apartment, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. I motioned for her to follow. As she walked into the water, chains clinking, and began to submerge her body, I was looking closely at her face. Had I seen her before? I was fairly certain I hadn't bedded her, but... What the heck. Who cared?
"Attend yourself to my bath," I ordered. She immediately picked up a gigantic sponge and began to rub me with it. Legs first. "What is your name," I demanded.
Quietly, and still without looking at me, said, "This girl has been given the name of Badriya, Master." Badriya. Badriya. I believed that was the word for moon. Maybe full moon.
No matter. "I will call you Dreea." I lay back and let her work. Well, not exactly just lay there. I did some close reconnaissance of the unfamiliar territory as it presented itself. It was hilly and had strategically placed valleys and hiding places.
Dried off by my bath partner, we were laying on the bed, me on my side and her on her back. I was idly tracing a finger up and down as I asked her questions. This woman was definitely not a vixen - there was no hint of a Rita, who, by now, would be giggling and snuggling up and tweaking things, unless it was one of those times when she was trying to be contrary to get punished. Dreea would instantly obey, but she wouldn't initiate anything on her own. "What is your past?" I asked. "How did you get here?"
She hesitated, clearly not wanted to discuss the topic. I pinched a nipple, not lightly. She squealed, but not as an erotic response. "Speak, slave! And the truth!"
"Yes, Master," she said, somewhat fearfully. "I... this girl was traveling to the airport... For a trip to Southern Spain - a holiday with other friends... The automobile driver and guards were suborned... It was confusing... but, this girl was sedated at that point. Nothing else is remembered until the Master came for me and I was taken here." All of this and more came out haltingly, and with many pauses.
"Master?, "I asked. "Who was the Master."
She looked at me as if to discover a trap. A long pause, then she gestured at myself. "This Master. Here."
What? "Me?, I interjected. Then, as a memory came back flooding back, "Holy Shit!, I exclaimed - in English. She must have recognized the phrase, because she flinched. "What was your name, then?"
She hung her head, and said. "I... this girl was called Princess Lenova Katlina of the family of Reuss-Greiz".
Son of a bitch. This was the girl capture that Marco, the idiot, had screwed up and that had almost gotten me shot. Now, finally, I recognized the haughty woman laying there in chains and now with clean and straight long black hair - the one that I had striped on her first day here. Nothing wrong with my powers of observation, I thought, sarcastically. I just lay back and thought about it. I assumed that she would go straight into the Sheik's own collection. Why was she sent to the bed of an associate? And why was she so afraid? I had already seen all of her body in the bath and there were no marks on it. As far as I knew, and Katja had also told me, women were treated well in his house, and never beaten unless they disobeyed or refused to learn. The Sheik was only far enough into the bondage scene to make a woman know she was owned. I don't think it was a matter of eroticism with him.
I looked at the woman for a moment. She looked back then away. "Why are you afraid? Is it of me?"
She nodded. I waited and she realized that I was expecting an explanation. "...The Master is... I have... This girl has heard of the Master's deeds... He..." She trailed off, obviously fearing my response. Conan the Barbarian is not a man to be insulted.
"Speak truthfully! You will not be punished."
"The Master is fearsome. No woman is safe from his acquirement if he wants her. And no man survives that angers the Master."
I lay still for a moment, bemused at how my reputation had grown with so little foundation. The French woman of my first operation was taken without my laying a hand on her until after the fact. The Princess was captured only because I was running like hell trying to get away and she just happened to be along. Rita was purchased. I admit, my recovery of my redhead was worth a story or two, but as far as being a modern day Attila the Hun, sweeping across the world slaying men and taking their women, well...
Looking at her, I said, "No woman needs to fear me as long as she gives me pleasure." I reached over to the stand beside the bed, picked up a small clip link, then rolled her over toward me. Pulling her braceleted and chained arms behind her, I clipped both wrists together, then pushed her back over on her side.
I then lay on my back, and said, "Address yourself to my pleasure."
Dreea wasn't an accomplished sexual practitioner, by any means. She didn't even know as much as Rita did back when I first met my redhead, which is definitely not saying much. But, so that she didn't displeasure the ruthless and savage desperado laying beside her, she tried - desperately. Raising up on her knees, and having trouble keeping her balance on the soft bed and without the use of her arms, she bent over my stiff johnson and tried to take it in her mouth. Her long hair kept falling in the way, and she kept trying to toss it behind her with a throw of her head. She finally got the end in her mouth and did a little sucking.
If I had been the man of my imputed reputation and expecting satisfactory sex from her, she would have been black and blue from a beating by now. Her skills were pitiful, but my enjoyment wasn't from her manipulations, but the pleasure of watching a totally unskilled woman trying to be sensuous. Finally, as she was just about to enter the final desperate stages of panic, I took pity on her, unhooked her wrists, and pulled her forward to lay beside me. I was blowing my reputation as a cruel taskmaster - I had no problem punishing a female, but I had never had fun tormenting helpless little kittens.
She was violently shaking with fear as I began to rub and feel of her body, but not the sexual parts and not in a sexual way, yet. In a little while, her breathing and pulse got back to normal, and I continued to play with her beautiful body. I'm not a Lothario by far, but by this stage in my life I knew where a woman's buttons were. It took a while, but slowly, as she continued to unbend and unwind, my rubs and twiddling of her clit and tweaking of her nipples began to get her to breathing heavier again. I didn't try to kiss her, since in certain parts of the world that is a disgusting turn-off, and I had no idea of her feelings on the act.
I had an idea that the fact that the lights were on was inhibiting her, so I reached over and flipped them off. Now all that was left was the blue night light and both of us were just shadows. I knew I was finally making progress when I felt her slowly spread her legs in response to the feeling she was getting from my gentle manipulations of her slit. Now it was just a matter of time, and eventually she went over the edge with a feminine squeal that she tried to suppress.
Now it was my turn. I rolled her over, chains rattling, lifted her leg, and entered her from behind. It didn't take long at all.
Tarkan's, in Turkey
We were examining my eighteen girls from the raid. They were ready for sale and we were discussing the upcoming event. But, I wasn't there for the auction - Tarkan could handle that without any input from me. All of them were beautiful, since Yilmaz obviously didn't collect plain or ugly girls. I had asked him to identify two or three that were intelligent, but not educated and not from a western country. He pointed to a the pair of young twins - an item of my collection that I didn't even know about until this trip. I hadn't noticed last time, but that was understandable considering the hectic wind-down to the raid.
Tarken said, "Those two would fit your description. Since they can't speak and apparently can't read, I have had no luck in finding where they came from." I looked at the two young girls - probably seventeen or eighteen. Identical twins and quite beautiful. That bastard had performed the vocalectomy, or whatever it is called on them. Actually, he had had it done on about half of the girls. And probably just from a sadistic viewpoint, since almost all of his girls were from the third world and couldn't have talked their way back home if they tried. According to Tarkan's physician, most of them had a sterilization operation, also.
I selected them and one other young girl - she also was an unknown. No vocal cords and wouldn't show recognition to any writing in any language that Tarkan showed her. The rest I told him to sell.
I woke up wondering why the alarm was going off if the sun was still down. Then realized that it was a phone. Suddenly, my hair stood on end as I realized that it was the cell phone that never rang. The emergency cell that only my two team leaders had the number to.
"Sarge? This is Bummer." He was on Chip's team, somewhere south of Africa right now. Shit, if he was calling, where was Chip? "We had an incident."
"Spill it," I barked.
"Part of the crew of the Empire Queen" - the ship they were contracted to - "was apparently paid off by someone. They tried to take the ship last night. They surprised the crew on the bridge - the captain and first mate are dead and four or five others. They had everything - AK's, grenades. Five of them total."
Shit! A goddamned inside job. "Casualties?" I crossed my fingers.
"Chip got it the worst. Bad wound to his arm and side. He's in the hospital. Sander got one in the flesh of his leg, but the SOB didn't live to brag about it. He'll be ok. Brinker and me are fine."
"How about the scumbags?"
"Feeding the fish."
"Where are you now?"
"The second mate pulled the ship into Cape Town. Called his home office. Don't know what they said."
"Keep your phone on and charged. I'll call you later."
I called my secretary, woke her up and said. "I need a plane ticket to Cape Town, South Africa, that leaves chop-chop."
That was a busy week. Fortunately, Telly's team had been paid off and was on shore. I flew them to meet the ship and got them there before the replacement crew arrived. I also suggested to the owners that they should check the paperwork of their applicants a little more thoroughly in the future. Chip and Sander flew back to the US as soon as the doctor ok'ed it.
I went up to the Hospital they had transferred to, not far from my building. Chip was laying in bed, and Sander was sitting in a chair. "Yo Sarge," greeted Sander.
"How's the shank doing?"
"Hah. All I needed was two bandaids. The only reason I'm still here is because Chip gets scared if he gets left alone in a strange place."
I looked over at Chip. His right arm was covered by major bandages, and from what I was told, under the sheets his right side was also. "You getting slow in your old age?" I asked.
He didn't laugh. "Yeah, I guess. That isn't all that is getting slow."
I already had the full reports of the team about what had happened. Chip had been caught by surprise, but I thought nothing of that. Anybody can be blindsided by a supposed friendly. But his setup of the team, and his plan never having all four of them together while on the ship prevented a massacre and another hijacked ship. And his team reacted instantly and professionally - proof of that was resting on the ocean floor as fish food.
He continued, "I guess I won't be world traveling for you anymore."
I looked surprised. "What makes you think that?"
"Well..." He raised the damaged flipper a little. "I won't be throwing frags with this, again. Maybe I'll work for a cruise line - I kind of like being on the briny deep."
"What the hell are you talking about? Do you think I'm going to let a man of your operational experience get away?" I needed to knock that feeling-sorry-for-yourself bullshit out of him right now. "So you won't be on the tip of the spear anymore. So what? You and I both are getting too old for that crap. I can hire all the young grunts I need to sling lead. When you get out of here, you're going to start helping me plan future ops. And don't lay around here patting nurse's asses - I have a heavy set of plans right now that need developing."
"Uh... Ok. Great! Thanks Sarge."
I turned around to look at Sander. "And you. When you get your honorable discharge from this place, come up to my office."
Chip had a small office next to Sally's. He was still recuperating and would never get full use of his right arm, but at least it wasn't unusable. He just couldn't lift weights with it any more. I made Bummer team leader in Chip's place and had Telly find another young grunt to fill it back out to four. All of them were now at sea on two separate ships.
The top three floors were now permanently reserved for my use. Of course the whole top floor was my apartment, although only a fraction of it was used by me. The rest of it was unfinished area for future use. The floor under it was for my shadow company offices, but only had two at the moment. The third floor down had been totally empty. I had a contractor build several nice suites on that floor, and gave Chip one for his use. The rest would be for guests or maybe future employees.
One elevator was reserved for my top three floors, and in fact wouldn't work with a key. At the moment, only myself and Colette had the key that would make it stop on the top floor. When the two young dicks arrived in the mornings, the guard in the lobby would call and she would go down to bring them up. Chip and Sally had keys that would access the lower two floors.
I had a meeting with Chip when he arrived, and told him a short version of my agency with the Sheik - mentioning no names or facts, of course. I needed to know if he had a problem with the idea of capturing women. He was somewhat surprised, but other than that, he was the typical professional Man of Fortune. He subscribed to the mercenary's first rule of thumb - don't get emotionally involved in the politics of what you are being paid to do, or fight, or destroy.
Jean had a rule that he would never take a woman who was married, or who was responsible for children. My rules also covered that area, but with the additional dictum that the woman had to deserve being taken. I wouldn't just kidnap a decent woman for any reason. Of course, that limited my choices to only evil unmarried women - so it wasn't a limitation at all.
Sally was working out fine, even though she had no idea what the data she was collecting was for. Actually, she probably wouldn't have noticed it the facts had been in front of her. She was a female geek - her entire world was computers, the Internet, data mining and so forth. A geekess?
But there was a subtle undercurrent that suddenly appeared with her. I finally called her in and demanded to know what was bothering her. I didn't need an employee that was having emotional problems or the like.
"I's sorry, Mr... I mean, Rodger. I had no intention of bothering you with my problems." To my questioning look, she continued. "My house is being repossessed and I can't seem to get it stopped."
"Repossessed?," I asked, mildly unbelieving. "You should be able to make payments on it now." Unless she owned a mansion. She was well paid by comparison to most office stiffs.
"Yes, sir." I've been making full payments and back payments since I started working here. I even have a catchup plan agreed to by the bank."
"So what reason did they give?"
"They didn't. Just told me that it was going through foreclosure and to get out."
Fucking banks. Took a bazillion dollars from the people to cover problems that they had made themselves, and then had no problem using those dollars to screw the same people who paid to bail them out. "Sally, with your permission, I would like to have my legal department look into this."
"I didn't want to bring my problem to you, sir."
"That's the reason I'm offering to help." I liked the fact that she was handling her own problems, and didn't come to me for an advance, or just to bitch about how life was treating her. She was turning out to be a tough little woman.
Chip's first mission was overseas. He visited Tarkan's, took some pictures, then visited a little shop known by Jean, outside of Paris. Back he went to Tarkan's with three passports with the pictures of my three selected females. They were then dressed in some decent clothes, given phony suitcases, and all four hopped a flight for Mexico City. I wondered what three young girls would think about getting on an airplane - something they probably had never thought would happen to them. If they even knew what an airplane was.
The head of the R&R legal department came to me with the news that Sally was being set up for a screwing. She had considerable equity in her house - far more than the amount that would usually make someone immune to foreclosure, especially since she was again making full payments. Someone was going to take the foreclosed house, probably sell it to a friend and cohort for a song, then claim that they didn't even get enough from the sale to cover what was owed, let alone have any equity left to give to Sally.
That was an easy fix. He got hold of the appropriate personnel at the bank, told them that if they foreclosed then he had a buyer that would purchase the house at full value. That meant that the bank would recoup nothing but what they were owed, and would be short one more paying customer - a rare one these days - one who didn't walk away from a note and was doing her best to pay it on time and catch up what was owed. He also mentioned in passing about a signed catch-up agreement with his client that the bank seemed to be abrogating, illegally. That fixed it. He got a signed statement from the bank that the foreclosure was ended, and she would not be bothered again as long as she kept up with the note.
While I waited for certain pieces to fall into place in my shadow company, and my household, I enjoyed learning how to run a real one. I never thought I would be a businessman, but here I was. I made sure to make myself slow down and enjoy life, especially while I was still young. On occasion, my redhead and I would sit in the southwestern lounge, and watch the sun set over the far horizon. My little vixen would snuggle up to me, and take a sip of the wine or other liquor whenever I held my glass to her up to her lips. Normally, there was little conversation, but sometimes she would tap out a message on her phone and I would reply. Apparently, now, the remembrance of being a newbie slave in Tarkan's place had turned into a set of romantic memories. She could discuss them at will and apparently without distress. I thought it strange, but I was convex, not concave.
But there was one item that she kept referring to, usually obliquely, or just in passing and, one day, I put the pieces together and realized that she was asking for a reenactment.
The next time she needed punishment I put my fingers in her beautiful long hair, pulled her head back, and said, "I have a surprise for my little carrot top bitch." She looked back with an apprehensive expression - she craved punishment, loved the threat of it, but feared the actual encounter with whatever it might be that time. My punishments were very real, but, of course, delivered without the slightest danger of damage. I would no more injure my red haired beauty than I would carve my initials on a veteran's memorial.
For this new surprise, I first put two wide leather cuffs on both wrists, and snugged them tight, then, pulling her by the hair, took her way back in the unfinished area of the house to a very large empty space. In the center of the room, we stopped, I lifted her wrists and hooked a snapcatch through the rings of both cuffs. Then I stepped back to let her get her bearings. She looked around, in apprehension, and saw that her arms were being held over her head by a chain dropping from the ceiling. By following it back, she could see that it went over a pulley to the wall, down another pulley to a winch mounted on the wall. Just like the room at Tarkan's where she had been instructed in the wisdom of obeying commands - especially when told to get on her hands and knees and spread 'em.
On the floor at her feet she saw a bullwhip.
Suddenly, she looked at me and violently shook her head, and silently mouthing the word Noooo! "Yessss." I replied with a smile. I walked over to the wall and began to turn the crank on the winch. Slowly, as her arms began to rise, with her futilely trying to pull them back down, she turned into a lovely arrow straight and vertical struggling female. I didn't stop there. She raised herself on tiptoes as her body continued to rise, then just began to swing around from her struggles as her feet left the floor. I walked over, picked up the coiled whip, and rubbed it up and down her back. "Do you remember this episode, sweetie? How the leather felt as it kissed your skin? How much you missed it?" Apparently not, since she was vigorously shaking her head. To draw out the suspense, I just walked around her, feeling and probing, and making sure she got a good view of the leather.
Finally, I stepped back and uncoiled the braided rawhide onto the floor. Then with her looking back over her shoulder, I took a stance, aimed and laid one in the middle of her back. It coiled all the way around her with a loud crack, then fell away as I whipped the handle with a flick of my wrist. When it struck, she jumped as though she had been electrocuted - her legs first doubling up, then swinging back under her as her nervous system tried to alleviate the pain. He mouth was wide open, but of course, no scream came out. I walked up to look, and make sure that the stroke didn't do more than just pink the skin. She had a developing ring of a thin red welt around her waist, but nothing even close to broken skin.
I let her thrash for a minute or so to enjoy the full experience of the lash, then stepped back and let her have another one. She reacted the same way. The braided leather thong looked like a genuine bull whip, but was specially made for this purpose. Unlike the real thing, this one was hollow and apparently that characteristic made the loud crack when it landed, but not the damage that the real McCoy would have created. Nonetheless, the recipient of the business end of the tool knew that it was a real whip, and not one of those cloth toys that B&D shops sold.
After a half dozen strokes, she was still reacting, but much less vigorously as her muscles tired and became exhausted from the violent thrashing. I walked over to her and said, "Is that enough?" She ardently nodded. "Learned your lesson?" More vigorous head movement of assent. "Should I just let you hang her for a while, or would you rather show your appreciation for the lesson?" This time she didn't know whether to answer yes or no, so her head moved in all directions. Smiling to myself, I finally cranked her down, took the cuffs off and led her to the bedroom where I snapped her chain and collar on and left her until it was time for me to go to bed.
That night, she was a red haired siren, vamp, and temptress all in one. With the training she had from Colette, on top of her bubbly enthusiasm for sex, she emptied me twice and would have done it again if I hadn't swatted her bottom and told her to go to sleep.
Speaking of Mademoiselle Colette, she had reported to me that Rita was about as far along in sexual training as she could get from learning on a part time basis. So I paid her our agreed termination bonus, with my thanks. She intended to stay in the US for a while, just traveling around and sightseeing, so I allowed her to use her suite in my house so that she would have a base of operations, so to speak. It worked out well - we liked each other, she got a place to rest up from traveling, and I got to use her skills whenever she came through. Of course, when I bedded Colette for the night, Rita would have a fit of jealousy, although the two girls had become very close friends. That wasn't really a problem, since I would just chain her by the collar in another room. Both girl's skills complemented each other - Colette's clinical and complete knowledge of sexual stimulation against Rita's amateur, but wildly enthusiastic natural aptitude. Totally different - like sugar and salt.
The two young men were paid off and sent away with a set of tales that would get them marked as the world's biggest bullshitters if they ever told them.
Chip showed up with the three girls, having driven them from Mexico City to Dallas. Crossing the border with legal looking passports wasn't a problem - a young man with three young girls didn't fit any terrorist profiles, I guess. It didn't matter now - all three would effectively disappear as far as immigration was concerned. I had a small room fitted up in the back, with a bathroom, which they had to be shown how to use, and a window overlooking the city. For a while they just stared at the vista that was far beyond anything they had imagined. The probably knew they were in the legendary country of America, but I couldn't be sure. Since the girls had been mutes ever since I captured them, Tarkan was never able to determine their origin, despite using every language available to him to try to get a reaction from them. From their toilet habits, he was sure they were from a primitive village somewhere in the depths of Asia - pissing and pooping in front of a man or woman was not even a matter of notice to them. A Western or even an educated woman from the third world would have turned scarlet and locked up in that situation.
Now they were hairless from the eyebrows down, and were Western style thin, and, except for their coal black hair and somewhat brown skin, would have been taken for normal, if very good looking, American teenagers in any public setting. With a black magic marker, I wrote their new names on just above a tittie - Sugar and Spice were the two twins, and Cinnamon was the third girl.
Next, I brought Rita over to show her our new family members. After her surprise, and worry that she was being supplanted, I told her that she was in charge of the three. They would be bedwarmers for any guests that I wished to favor, and I wanted her to train them in deportment and hygiene. And she was to teach them to sign.
That last was just an experiment. None of the girls could talk, and none could understand a word spoken to them. Whether or not Rita could teach them under those circumstances would be interesting. They would have to learn like a child - from gestures and being shown by Rita.
I had made a change in the security of the top floor. Now the elevator wouldn't rise or descend without the proper key and the only persons who had the key to the top floor were still just me and Colette. And against all fire safety laws, the fire escape door was locked, although the key was very close by - just hidden. Now, nobody could leave my house without my knowledge. Butterball was the only one that I had mild worries about escaping - Rita would have pounded on the door to be let back in if I threw her out, and I was sure that the three new girls would no more try to go out in the strange and terrifying new world than an American housewife would go to the mall naked.
The phone rang. "Mr. Harris? There is a woman in the lobby with a blue card. She says her name is Zee." Ahhh. I had almost forgotten about the Sheik's daughter. I met her in the lobby and escorted her up. I had one suite left - I was going to have the contractor make a couple more - and I showed her to it. After she freshened up a bit, we met in a lounge. The rest of the afternoon was just chit-chat and I took her out to eat that night.
The next day, Zee and Chip were in my apartment for our first strategy meeting. I laid a huge folder of papers on the table and waved for them to start reading. I had my organization set up somewhat like Jean's in that I didn't want anything on any computer that could be subpoenaed. I tasked Sally to come up with some type of scheme. My reasoning to her was that in this day and age, anybody can be made to turn over everything by some tobacco chewing backwater judge. I told her that if that happened, I had clients who didn't understand civil law in this country and were going to be royally pissed if information about them and their business showed up on the Internet news sites. She was basically a thrifty gal and had trouble spending money, even if it was mine, but eventually I got though to her that if I ordered something, cost was not a factor. Eventually she came up with a scheme that would work.
I installed the outside unit of an air conditioner on the roof - well, not really. It had all the electrical connections and freon pipes, but it was a dummy that looked just like the six others installed in a row beside it. Inside this one was a computer file server and a UPS. I also ran a very small fiber cable from Sally's room to the computer inside of the dummy. On the wall behind her desk, easily reachable, was a normal wall socket - at least it looked normal. She could flip up the plate and inside was a socket for a fiber patch cable from her desktop computer to plug into.
If she was doing normal office work, her desktop computer would be used, but if she was doing sensitive work, she would have her desktop computer connected to the hidden one on the roof and it would be massaging the actual data - all her desktop would be doing was acting as a terminal. Nothing of importance was ever to appear on her office computer - nothing to be erased or encrypted and hidden. Should the need arise, she could just yank on the patch cable, it would unplug and the socket plate would fall back to the normal position. And to make sure that her data fiber connection didn't stand out, beside her desk was a rack with a fiber hub that connected to any and all computers on the top three floors. Of course, unless she was actively engaged in sensitive work, the cable was plugged into the normal hub. It wouldn't stand up to a major criminal investigation, but as far as civil suits went, anyone was welcome to subpoena any computer they could find.
The computer would be flushed, formatted and reloaded after every operation. Eventually, I planned for a panic button that, when pushed, would cremate the hidden computer, but that hadn't been made yet.
Sally had done a bang-up job on the data collection, despite the fact that she had done it all from her office. She was a very accomplished hacker, although the usual Internet connected computer was about as secure as a paper bag. Of course, she used a series of proxies all over the world so that nothing could be traced back to us.
We had a ton of data on the woman - almost back to when she was a little girl and her fingers discovered the little button between her legs. I let the Chip and Zee hammer out all kinds of schemes. Chip was learning from Zee about the capture business, and, in return, he could fill her in on what would work and not work in American society. I would just read their plans with interest. There was no rush - I was still building up the shadow organization. Well, I thought there wasn't a rush.
Chip handed me a paper. I read it and said, simply, "Shit!" She was about to put herself beyond the pale of our efforts, according to my rules.
Chip just nodded. "Yep. We have just about six months before she becomes a June bride."
End of Book 3
Copyright© 2012 by Morlock. All rights reserved.