1 - The Emir

2 - The Bey

3 - The Spy

4 - Captured





1 - The Mating of Carmen

2 - Henrietta

3 - Matrak implements his Plan

4 - Henrietta's Punishment





1 - A slave is displayed

2 - The rosebud treatment

3 - "I'll take all three!"

4 - On their way to slavery





1 - The galley slaves

2 - A certain white galley slave

3 - Rory is pleasured and reads some extraordinary news

4 - Rory is sent on a special trip





1 - Waiting in the wings

2 - The Emir inspects his new slaves

3 - Diana loses her virginity

4 - The black eunuchs make their plans

5 - The Emir enjoys his new white slaves





1 - Rory is offered two women

2 - The Emir shows Rory his Haratin breeding farm

3 - The Emir puts on an entertainment for the Bey

4 - The Emir receives some good news





1 - Rory gets an unexpected order

2 - Rory buys some milkmaids

3 - The cattle boat

4 - Egypt

5 - Rory learns of a certain experimental plantation

6 - The white slave plantation

7 - Found and released







1 - The slave dealer explains his methods

2 - Hassan's School of Motherhood

3 - Makumo sees the breeding process

4 - The School of Love - Classes 1 to 3

5 - Slave training










The Emir of Gondah sat cross-legged on a large cushion, under the shade of a date palm, in the middle of a highly fertile oasis.

            He wore a colourful embroidered robe and a large tulip shaped blue turban, as befitted the wealthy and despotic Arab ruler of many Berber tribes - tribes that he and his forbears had subjugated.

            His local annual Majlis, or public court, was well under way. It formed a key part of his visit to the area - an event which loomed large in the life of the tribesmen.

            He was a rather small, fat faced, cruel looking, bearded man of perhaps fifty. He had an aura of wealth and power and his eyes were penetrating and hard, those of a man who had extended his fief by ruthlessly subduing yet more proud Berber tribes - and who had then successfully kept them subdued through fear.

            His local Khalifa, or lieutenant, who was his tax or grain harvest collector, stood proudly at his side. It was the Khalifas who were responsible for enriching the Emir - and this one had done well.

            Surrounding the Emir were his stony faced Black Guard, composed of black slaves specially chosen for their strength and loyalty to their Master. They were armed with razor sharp scimitars and simple muskets.

            Behind the Emir was a small tent, guarded by his large chief black eunuch, Makumo, together with two younger black eunuchs. All three were dressed in sumptuous red robes and the strange high white cylindrical shaped hats that, together with the black short handled whips tucked into their belts, were the mark of their craft. Makumo himself also proudly carried the thin silver tipped bamboo cane that publicly marked him as a chief black eunuch in charge of a harem.

            Their's was a craft that was based on controlling the pleasure that a harem of women can provide for a wealthy man. It was a skilled craft whose practitioners enjoyed a high status and rich rewards - even though technically they, like the women in their charge, might be slaves.

            The Emir's chief black eunuch was the only person who could disturb the Emir in his harem. He was the only man with whom the Emir discussed his women and the pleasure that they each provided - or might be forced to provide. He was a man of influence and clearly not someone to be trifled with.

            Already there were two pretty young Berber women in the tent, kneeling on the ground, terrified, their necks chained to different tent poles. The were naked except for thin cloak-like shawls that they were nervously clasping to their bodies.

            Outside the tent, watching the scene nervously, under the guns of the Black Guard, were members of local Berber tribes, men, women and children, all subjects of the Emir. It was they who tilled the fertile land around this oasis and several surrounding ones.


There was a stir as an Amgah, the leader of his tribe, came forward, urging before him a very pretty slender Berber girl. Unlike the women of their Arab conquerors, Berber women were relatively free. They did not go veiled, nor were they confined to a harem. They were well known not only for their independence but also for their beauty, being tall and slim with fine features and a slightly olive complexion.

            The Amgah nervously fell to his knees in front of the Emir and prostrated himself three times, his forehead touching the ground. The girl did the same. Then the Amgah reached forward and humbly kissed the hem of the Emir's robe.

            "In the name of Allah the Merciful and of his prophet Mohammed, I welcome you, our Mighty Lord, to our humble tribe," he began. "And as a sign of our obedience and subservience, I beg you to accept this gift of the most beautiful of my daughters."

            He gestured towards the girl, who was now kneeling up and smiling enticingly. This could be the chance of a lifetime for her. Perhaps to become the favourite concubine of the Emir! Even the mother of one of his sons! And to live in the sheer pampered luxury of his harem!

            But still she shivered with fear. She knew that he was a cruel man and would be able to abuse her as much as he wished, and his penetrating look had convinced her that that he would enjoy hurting her, but she had no choice in the matter of her disposal.

            The heart of the Amgah was in his mouth as he spoke. Would the Emir judge his daughter to be sufficiently beautiful to be accepted? He was a hard man to please.

            The Amgah remembered the story, that had gone the rounds of all the tribes, of another headman who had tried to fob off an ugly duckling of a daughter. The Emir had contemptuously given her to his Black Guards for their pleasure before handing back the now dishonoured girl to her equally dishonoured father - and imposing a huge fine on his tribe.


The Emir looked down at the kneeling girl. The gift from a tribal leader of a daughter for his harem was quite normal. This one had an attractive and lively look about her that amused him. He gestured to Makumo, who came ponderously forward. There were gasps from the watching crowd, particularly the women, as they recognised the Keeper of the Emir's Women, his jet black skin contrasting with his tall white hat. He put down his silver tipped cane. His small red-shot eyes gleamed as, reaching down and holding the girl's hands behind her back, he pulled her up off her knees and deftly pulled open the front of her robe, baring her breasts and belly to the sight of the Emir.

            The girl's father remained kneeling at the Emir's feet, his head to the ground. This was, he knew, the moment of truth. Would he and his tribe be honoured or disgraced?

             Whilst the Emir was looking nonchalantly at the girl's firm full breasts, Makumo was also feeling her body, running his hand over her breasts and body, and down between her legs, smelling her breath, examining her teeth, the flawlessness of her complexion, and the soft texture of her long black hair. But he was also testing the responsiveness of her nipples and beauty bud.

            He turned to the Emir.

            "Your Highness, I could train this one well," he reported. "She could be made to give you great pleasure."

            The Emir nodded, and gestured to the large black figure standing behind him. The blacksmith was naked to the waist and his muscular torso was oiled and gleaming.

            There gasps from the watchers as he stepped forward again. This time Makumo handed him a shiny brass collar on which some Arabic writing and numerals had been engraved. There was a ring on the front of the collar and another at the back.

            As the crowd watched breathlessly, he pushed the girl down onto her knees and, pulling the collar open, fastened it round her slender neck. His muscular arms swelled as he strained to close it again so that two flanged rings at the ends of the collar were overlapping.

            Then he pulled a lead pellet out of pocket and slipped it into the rings. Again the muscles on his arms bulged as with his huge pliers he flattened the lead pellet so that it held the rings closed and yet could not be removed. Moments later he fastened manacles, linked by a short length of shiny chain, to her wrists.

            The crowd gasped yet again as they saw that the girl had been fitted with the Emir's symbolic emblems of female subservience, as worn by all his concubines: the brass collar beautifully engraved with his crest and the girl's harem number, and the manacles.

            "I thank you for your gift," the Emir said to the still kneeling Amgah. "It will serve to remind of your obedience and devotion - and that of your entire tribe."

            Overwhelmed with relief, the Amgah again kissed the hem of the Emir's robe and withdrew, walking backwards with his head still bowed as Makumo lead the girl into the tent.

            The girl was now the Emir's property, to do with as he wished.


There was a sudden chinking of chains, and the Black Guards led forward another Amgah. He was in chains and followed by his attractive wife and two pretty teenage daughters, also in chains. Being Berbers all three of the women were unveiled. They looked terrified.

            "His tribe tried to avoid giving up half their grain harvest," reported the Khalifa to the the frowning Emir, as the chained man and his women fell to their knees in front of him. "I recommend Your Excellency to make an example of them."

            "Indeed, I shall certainly not tolerate such disobedience!" said the Emir angrily. The apparently insatiable demand for grain and fresh vegetables from the warring fleets and armies of Europe would keep him rich - provided his Berbers subjects were forced to produce them at no cost to him!

            He looked the trembling women up and down. "I sentence you all to hard labour until ten Haratin offspring have been produced as compensation," he announced.

            "Ten!" gasped the mother in dismay. "Not ten!"

            "Eleven then!" said the Emir, waving them away contemptuously. "Eleven between three. It is a light sentence. Have a care I do not increase it further."

            A huge blacksmith followed the women into the tent, the huge pair of pliers in his hand. Soon the horrified crowd outside heard the ringing of blows of his hammer onto his anvil. They shivered as they realised that he was heating and shaping the collars, this time made of simple black iron, for this was what the Emir's Haratin breeding women all had to wear.

            The Emir smiled cruelly as he heard the blows on the anvil. He smiled even more cruelly at the thought that riveting the iron collars round the women's necks was not all that the blacksmith would be doing. In preparation of what would shortly follow, certain other instruments would even now be being heated up in the blacksmith's brazier...

            Suddenly there came a scream from the tent. It was a woman's scream. There were murmurs from the crowd. But the Emir raised his hand for silence, smiling in the knowledge his orders were being carried out. The cowed crowd of Berbers fell silent. Half a minute later came another scream - this time that of a girl, and half a minute another.

            The terrified crowd knew only too well that the screams had announced that the now well heated branding irons had now been applied by the blacksmith to naked female flesh. The wife and two teenage daughters of the disgraced Amgah now bore their future breeding numbers, discreetly branded for ever onto their left buttocks - just as the brood mares in his stables had their numbers discreetly branded onto their nearside hindquarters.

            It was well known that the Emir insisted on accurate breeding records being kept and that therefore all his dams, both two legged and four legged ones, were branded with their individual breeding numbers.

            Just as mothers of recalcitrant children all over the world quieten them by threatening them with a local devil or a witch, so Berber women would threaten their disobedient little daughters with the Emir's much feared Haratin breeding farm.

            And yet, ironically, such was the natural pride and rebellious nature of his oppressed Berber subjects, and their resentment of his rapacious rule, that his Khalifas never failed to produce a stream of women and girls to be sentenced to replace vacancies in the pens of his dreaded Haratin breeding farm. Each would be sentenced to produce a certain number of Haratin and would not be released until she had completed her task.

            Even then, as a way of continuously impressing fear of the Emir on the woman's tribe, she would still have to wear the dreaded iron collar and the disc showing her breeding number - and would have to show at the Emir's annual Majlis that it was still in place.


            Haratin, of course, had formed the the main labour force of North Africa for many years. Traditionally they were the natural progeny of black slave women, brought across the Sahara from their natural homelands, and sired by their Arab Master himself or his Arab servants.

            But the Emir had gone further!

            He had effectively turned the traditional method of breeding Haratin on its head. He had found that he could obtain a much superior crop by using strong giant Dinka black sires rather than Arab ones - and then using these black sires to cover fair skinned Berber dams rather than black women.

            The resulting progeny were stronger, more intelligent and, in the case of females, much more comely than Haratin bred in the old traditional haphazard way. His black eunuch overseers had been concerned lest the slender narrow-hipped Berber women might have difficulty delivering the progeny of their giant Dinka sires, but in fact thanks to the small heads of the Dinkas few problems had arisen.


A chained young man was brought forward by Black Guards. With him was a young woman of striking beauty - also chained. Both were thrown to the Emir's feet.

            "To avoid paying their taxes," reported the Khalifa, "this couple planned, once they had gathered in their harvest, to sell it secretly to their neighbours and then run away with all the proceeds to another part of the country - out of your jurisdiction."

            A look of anger crossed the Emir's face.

            Then the Khalifa smiled slyly, for he knew the Emir's tastes.

            "They are a newly married couple, and reputed to be much in love."

            The Emir's frown changed to a smile. This news would make their punishment all the more piquant. It was always interesting to have a pretty woman in his harem who was pining for her husband - and yet who was also forced, by fear of the black eunuchs' canes, to serve the Emir.

            "Makumo!" he called out. "Prepare this young woman for examination."

            There was a gasp from the crowd as she was taken away into the tent. The Emir turned to his Khalifa and congratulated him on his thoroughness. The Khalifa blushed with pleasure. Perhaps the Emir would later send him one of the women from the harem, as a special token of his pleasure. It was a normal gesture for a ruler to make to a henchman who had performed his duty well and whom he wished to bind closer to him.

            It was also one that the Khalifa would much appreciate, for one of the Emir's concubines, bearing the Emir's crest tattooed on her belly as a sign that she had been trained to give pleasure by the Emir's experienced black eunuchs, would indeed make a much prized new wife. He had only two at present...


A few minutes later, leaving the the young husband still grovelling on the ground, the Emir rose and entered the tent.

            He saw that the first Amgah's daughter was now chained by the neck to the tent pole for women intended for his harem, her manacled hands coyly trying to hide her nakedness. The equally naked wife and daughters of the second Amgah were chained to the tent pole for women destined for either Haratin or vegetable production.

            The women gasped and one of the young black eunuchs raised his cane warningly and barked an order. They all fell to their knees and prostrated themselves in front of the man who was now their Master.

            But the Emir only had eyes for the beautiful young wife who was standing there still in her chains - but now also naked and sobbing with shame in her newly fastened brass collar. A grinning Makumo held her by a light chain fastened to the ring at the back of this new collar. Her robes lay around her on the ground.

            Then Makumo gripped the young woman by the hair, and pulled her head back, so that the Emir could get a better look at her slim tautly bent back body.

            The Emir looked her up and down carefully. He felt a surge through his loins. Her only blemish, in his eyes, was the hair that, in accordance with Berber custom, hid her beauty lips. But, he knew, that was something that his black eunuchs would soon remove.

            Yes, he thought, she will do very well, and having her husband locked up down below in one of the dungeons of his Kasbah, his castellated castle, would make his enjoyment of the woman all the greater.

            He would order his black eunuchs to parade the woman every time he selected her for his pleasure. She would be marched up and down in front of the bars of the dungeon so that the husband could see his wife. As they looked at each other, both would know that the wife was about to be made to satisfy the Emir against whom the husband had tried to rebel. Both would also know that if she failed to please the Emir, then both would be beaten in front of him, and in front of each other, by his black eunuchs.

            His revenge would indeed be sweet!

            Perhaps after he had enjoyed her several times, he would have her put to his Black Guards in his presence. His revenge would then be even greater as she was paraded with a nicely swollen belly.

            By allowing the story to leak out discreetly back to the tribesmen, his reputation as an overlord with whom it was dangerous to tangle would be even further enhanced!


The Emir put his hand to one of her breasts, feeling its firmness and the responsiveness of the nipple.

            Alternatively, he could not help thinking, this leading tribal couple might make a suitable subject for his system of Enforced Inheritance whereby the young wife of a rebellious tribal leader was taken into his harem and the husband locked up as usual in a dungeon. He then used the wife to breed a son of his own who would, when grown up, take the leadership of the tribe from his disgraced step-father.

            The Emir nodded his approval and returned to the Majlis, ordering his Black Guards to drag the chained young man away and put him into the travelling iron cage reserved for male prisoners. A second iron cage, this time shrouded with a canvas cover, was for women intended for his harem, whilst the women destined to be mothers of his prize Haratin would be crammed into a third one.

            The sight of these cages, each drawn by a team of mules, was itself enough to instil fear into the Berber subjects of the Emir.


Tribesmen were now bringing him petitions and outlining disputes for him to settle.

            But the Emir's mind kept slipping away to thoughts of the Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca that all good Moslems were called upon to make at least once in their lifetime. He was planning to go next year, before he became too old.

            He would, of course, take several chosen slave girls of outstanding beauty to sell on the journey so as to keep in funds - they would serve as a useful form of currency for the journey.

            However he was also concerned about the stories of men being struck down during the crowded Haj with water-borne diseases. He had therefore, decided to take his own supply milk with him - milk from selected concubines whom he would previously have had covered by his Black Guards. Besides, they would sell even better, if in milk.

            Makumo was always urging him to try out the some of the European slave girls now being brought back to the North African slave markets in increasing numbers by the Barbary corsairs. With so many attractive Berber women in his harem, he had not hitherto been particularly interested. But the Haj made it all seem rather different. Certainly European women would be ideal as currency for they would, of course, sell particularly well.

            And he had heard that their milk was singularly sweet tasting.

            Yes, he decided, he would send Makumo to the coast with sufficient funds to bring back some white women for his harem. After he had used them for his pleasure he would see about having them put into an interesting condition ready for the Haj. In any case, he enjoyed having a few women in this state in his harem - it was indeed the natural state for a girl and one that brought out her beauty. He could never understand what he had heard about Christians - that they regarded women in such a state with distaste.


He glanced at his Black Guards. Could they be trusted to put down the slightest sign of revolt?Or, in his absence, might they be persuaded or bribed to rally to the side of a would-be usurper?

            He remembered how he had heard that the effectiveness and discipline of the Turkish Janissaries of his friend, the Pasha of Marsa, had been transformed by their new Agha - an Inglez, he had heard, now in the pay of the Sultan.

            Why not write to the Pasha and ask him to send a detachment of his Janissaries to keep the peace whilst he was away on the Haj? A tribal revolt would certainly not suit the Turks - it might even give the French an excuse to intervene.

            Yes, he would suggest to the Pasha that the Inglez Agha should come and visit him so that arrangements could be settled.




1 - 2 THE BEY


A sudden crack of Bashir's Agha's whip and a little cry interrupted the thoughts of the former Captain Rory Fitzgerald of His Majesty's Foot Guards, now Hussein Bey, Commander in Marsa of the Janissaries of His Imperial Majesty, the Sultan of Turkey.

            He saw that the big negro was standing over a girl half way up on the starboard side. On the forehead of the mask that hid her face was written the Arabic numerals 16.

            "Put your back into it, Number 16!" Bashir Agha shouted, curling up his whip again.

            The girl had been trying her best, Rory knew. Bashir Agha was just trying to impress him with his efficiency. He saw, through the eye holes of her mask, dark brown eyes, Italian perhaps, full of despair, silently and piteously begging him to save her, maybe even take her into his harem. She had a nice figure and looked a likely wench. But no! He must teach himself to be ruthless, he must not undermine the authority of his oar master.

            The unfortunate girl was now straining at her oar as if her very life depended on it. A little red line creeping out from under her armpit and across her breast showed where the tip of the whip, mainly applied across her back, had caught her breast.

            Bashir Agha was indeed a master with the whip - applying with just the amount of force to terrify the women into abandoning any idea of slackness whilst not really harming or marking them.

            Yes, thought Rory, looking down onto the rowing deck with pride, they were indeed a well trained and well disciplined team. They were a real credit to Bashir Agha - and to his whip. He certainly kept them fit and well muscled up, with the stamina needed both for fast sharp spells at the oars when he was in hurry to cross the harbour, and for longer ones when he had to visit estates of the rich landowners and merchants along the coast, or wanted to inspect his more outlying units.

            He glanced up towards the bows where two naked young women, 'spare oars' as they were called, were gripping the bars of their cages with their manacled hands. Doubtless their turn at the oars would come later, for Bashir Agha liked to change the galley slaves round, resting for a time any that were showing undue signs of distress or exhaustion.

            The young women were used to long hours at their oars, and even to sleeping at their oars when lying off the villa of a certain rich Turkish widow who enjoyed entertaining their Master for the night!

            He was, Rory ruminated, as well served by Bashir Agha in charge of his galley slaves as he was by Matrak, his chief black eunuch, the overseer in charge of the his harem - his concubines.

            Both took all the responsibility for the women, for their health, their discipline, their training, and their emotions, completely off his shoulders so that he could concentrate on training his Janissaries.

            The pair of them produced both his white galley slaves, and his concubines, well groomed, slim, smiling and eager to serve their Master whenever he required their services. What more could a man want? Not for him all their minor feminine problems, moods or jealousies. Let his whipmaster and his harem overseer sort all that out!

            Moreover, the rowing deck itself, like the individual slave pens in which the women were kept chained up when not at their oars, was always kept immaculately clean and ready for his inspection - as were the rooms and patios of the harem.

            He did like to enquire too much into the methods each of his senior black eunuchs used - Bashir Agha had his whip and Matrak had his cane. Fear of both seemed equally effective.

            Moreover, Bashir Agha seemed to have a sixth sense that detected the slightest slackness in a galley slave. And as for his concubines, he only had to mention to Matrak that a particular girl was perhaps getting a little too familiar, or slack in giving him pleasure, and next day he would see six stripes gleaming across her buttocks through her silken transparent trousers. Nothing would be said but the girl would now be a model of eager submissiveness and obedience.

            At first, he had been appalled by the cruelty of using pretty white women as personal galley slaves - just as he had been shocked by the idea of shutting up a group of vivacious young white women in a harem and keeping them there, pure and chaste, and under the strict supervision and control of black eunuchs, for the exclusive sight and pleasure of one man.

            Such ideas would certainly have been abhorrent back in London. But the culture of the Turkish and British Empires were very different. Gradually what at first had seemed unacceptable soon became more and more normal and acceptable - especially when it directly affected his own pleasure and convenience. Indeed, it soon seemed only natural for a virile and important man to have women in his power who were dedicated to his service.

            As for using young women as galley slaves, the spread out nature of the town, and its surrounding villas, estates, forts and islands around a large sheltered bay, made a fast boat essential. He was now on his way to inspect an outlying detachment of his force who manned one of the forts on an island that guarded the the entrance to the bay and to the inner harbour, and this method of transport by fast galliot was ideal. And pretty young women, like a pack of bitch hounds, were so much more biddable than their male equivalents - and easier on the eye.

            Moreover, strange though it seemed, the women clearly took pride in being in the service of their of their handsome young Master, the Agha of the Janissaries. They were proud of the speed with which they propelled his galley across the harbour and along the coast, proud of the way they kept in perfect stroke, and proud of being allowed to wear the distinctive zarcola helmets and plumes of the Janissaries.

            At first he had been dismayed by the expense of acquiring sufficient galley slaves to man his official galley. But the sight of the galley of the Agha of Janissaries being slowly propelled by only half a crew, had quickly resulted in official funds being made available to buy enough women. Now, keeping the crew up to strength was no problem, for Bashir Agha was active in wheeling and dealing with his opposite numbers among the whipmasters of the rich.

            There was always a demand for white women who had been broken to the oar by an experienced whipmaster. Indeed there was no shortage of buyers for white women galley slaves with the Bey's crest branded on their bellies, and with the proceeds of their sale Bashir Agha was always able to buy more promising replacements to start breaking in.

            Certainly Rory now positively enjoyed the erotic sight - and the feeling of pride of ownership, and of power, that flowed through his loins as he watched twenty naked and beautiful young women being put through their paces at the oar by the threat of his whipmaster's whip.

            Yes, he thought, as he looked down at the women rowing in perfect time to a fast stroke, this is the life!


Rory felt the same pride of ownership of his white concubines when, hidden behind a lattice screen, he watched them laughing happily as they innocently walked round the garden patio of the well guarded harem, or splashed each other like children as they played with a large ball under the harem fountain.

            Matrak, his Chief Black Eunuch, or Abdul, his young assistant, would always be there supervising them, cane in hand. Matrak would smile approvingly as he watched the grown up young women in his charge playing happily, for he liked them to behave like little girls. 'The minds of innocent children and the bodies of sensuous women,' that was his aim.

            Rory's feeling of ownership and power was heightened by the knowledge that, at any time, he only had to ring a certain little bell for the women in his harem to all abandon everything and rush to beauty themselves before lining up eagerly in front of the screen for his private inspection.

            Then Matrak, cane in hand, would call each one forward in turn to show off nervously and shyly her charms in a well rehearsed, but still humiliating, little erotic display. Alternatively, if he rang the other bell and then went down to the galley slave pens, he would find each girl kneeling silently on all fourson the straw of the stall in which she was chained, only too eager to show herself off to her Master under the watchful eye of Bashir Agha.

            Yes, decided Rory, there were indeed compensations for missing the coming season in London!


Rory knew that owning a harem of white concubines, like owning a team of white galley slaves, had been widely regarded in Marsa as a test of himself, a Roumi or foreigner, of the genuineness of his conversion to the only True Faith, and of his masculinity.

            Indeed, it had been the Pasha himself who had insisted that the hesitant Rory should earn the respect of both his troops and of the populace by being both seen to own and use both - like all important men in Marsa.

            Officially the Sultan, in far away Constantinople, might distance himself from the activities of the corsairs based in Marsa. Nevertheless its economy depended on them. They in turn depended on detachments of Rory's well trained Janissaries for their boarding and raiding parties.

            So, on the return of a ship from a successful Corso, it was by no means unusual for Rory to be presented with another pretty young thing.


But. as Rory well knew, there was more to the presents than mere generosity and self interest.

            It was well known that Napoleon would dearly love to seize North Africa. Quite apart from effectively turning the Mediterranean into French lake, closed to the hated British Navy, it would also solve his problem of how to feed his huge armies - for North Africa was a vast and fertile granary.

            The Janissaries played an important protective role, not only in garrisoning Marsa itself, but also in acting as a deterrent to any French plans to occupy other parts of North Africa.

            So the stakes were high.

            Indeed, this was one of the reasons why Rory had been specially sent by the Sultan to Marsa, the only port in North Africa still under direct Turkish rule. His task was to improve the state of training of the local Janissaries - and thereby also bolster the position of the Pasha, the Vali or Governor. But to achieve this the Janissaries had to respect him. Not only had he to show courage, which he soon did, but also devotion to his newly adopted religion and to its ways - including keeping a harem of white women.


It was thanks to the Pasha's generosity that Rory's harem included Henrietta Hamilton, the well born wife of a British Army officer.

            Henrietta bore the brand of the Pasha, and had originally expected Rory to release her back to her husband - not realising that for Rory to do so would a grave insult to the Pasha. In any case Rory found her far too attractive to let her go! What a ridiculous idea! Indeed, urged on by a few strokes of Matrak's cane, she had soon come to adore him.

            Nor was a cultured background in his harem confined to Henrietta. It now included two highly intelligent former governesses.

            Firstly, there was the fiery young Irish woman, Barbary Kennedy, who bore his own brand on her belly. To cool her temper he had deliberately let her serve her time as serving wench in a brothel and as a galley slave in this very galliot, before finally promoting her to his harem.

            Then there was the delightful Marie de St. SŠvres, the French emigr‚ governess, who bore the brand of the Emir of Zanda, having at one time been one of the girls who pulled his son's racing chariots, before being passed onto him by the Pasha.

            But he also now owned several other well educated European women with who he regularly took his pleasure. They all adored their handsome young Master, whom they erroneously told each other can have had no idea of the strict discipline to which his chief black eunuch, the dreaded Matrak, subjected them.

            Indeed Rory had to admit that when it came to women, the Middle Eastern ethic beat the European one hollow!




1 - 3THE SPY


The Mediterranean sky was a clear blue that spring, and a gentle warm Levanta wind was blowing over Gibraltar.

            Standing at the rail of the Sicilian trading brig, the three women passengers watched the cargo of muskets, bayonets, cartridges and gunpowder being embarked. High above them towered the Rock and nestling at its feet was the bustling, but well fortified, little town.

            Because of the now long drawn out war, Gibraltar was indeed a busy place. Not only was it the rear base of the Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet but also that of the small British army in Sicily.

            The ship's manifest showed that the passengers, who had recently arrived in Gibraltar from England, were a Mrs Amanda Forsyth, a thirty five year old widow, her sixteen year old daughter, Diana, and her twenty five year old Scottish ladies maid, Jeannie Campbell. They were on their way to join Amanda's betrothed, Colonel Fortescue of the 38th.

            Amanda was a strikingly attractive woman, tall and buxom with a slim waist and dancing blue eyes. Her blond hair peeked out from under a large bonnet. She was dressed in a fashionable travelling dress of that age - a long loose gown gathered in below the bust. Everyone in the drawing rooms of Gibraltar had agreed that Colonel Fortescue was a lucky man!

            Everyone had also agreed that it would not be long before her pretty and vivacious young daughter was off her hands, even though she was still scarcely more than a schoolgirl. The family likeness between mother and daughter was strong, though Diana's figure was not yet so well developed.

            Young though she was, already she had had a great success with the young officers during her short stay in Gibraltar. Clearly her huge soft eyes and her long, cascading, honey coloured hair would melt the hearts of many a young British subaltern in Sicily - and indeed those of many a Sicilian aristocrat too!

            Their maidservant, Jeannie, was a pretty red haired down to earth Scots girl from Amanda's family estate in Scotland. She had a ready wit and held all foreigners, especially dark eyed Mediterranean men, with contempt.


Amanda looked across the bay to the white painted houses of Algeciras and beyond it the hills of Andalusia. What a beautiful picture they made with the sun sparkling on the calm blue water.

            She turned slightly and looked out across the Straits, out towards North Africa. North Africa! She gave a little shiver of fear - fear of the unknown. Coming from England she had seen the mountains of Morocco as the ship beat her way up the Straits to Gibraltar. Here she realised was the very edge of civilisation. On the one hand Europe and on the other the mysterious, rarely visited and almost unexplored Barbary States.

            The Barbary States! What a strange and terrifying name. Wasn't that where Rory Fitzgerald had been sent after entering the service of the Sultan of Turkey, following his disgrace? All London had laughed at the story of the glamorous young Guards Officer being discovered by the Queen herself having it off with one of her own Maids of Honour.

            She had good reason to think of Rory! She, newly widowed at the time, had had a tempestuous affair with that same handsome and amusing young Officer. It had all been exciting, but secretly she had known that nothing would come of it for Rory did not have the means to support her and daughter - and finally her father, the fierce Scots Baronet, had come down and put a stop to it all.

            But she had loved Rory deeply. Perhaps she still did. But she must put such thoughts out of her mind, for she was on her way now to marry the kind Colonel Fortescue. Ah well...

            Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her maid.

            "Oh look, Ma'am!" cried Jeannie to her Mistress, pointing to a young itinerant peddler coming along the jetty, a roll of oriental silks and satins thrown over his shoulder. He looked scarcely more than a youth. "Oh what lovely materials!"

            "Oh yes, Mamma, do let's invite him onboard!" enthused Diana.

            Thepedlar looked up at the ship and seeing the interest in his wares smiled. But he strangely showed no hurry in coming onboard to show his wares to the British women. Instead he seemed more interested in watching the field cannon and cases of cannon balls that were now being swung up.

            Speaking in a mixture of Italian, Spanish and Arabic, the Lingua Franca of the Mediterranean ports, he began discreetly to questionone of the sailors on the jetty. He nodded eagerly as the sailor pointed to all the arms still waiting to be loaded. It was a very valuable cargo - one that would be much sought after in certain hands.

            Luigi, for that was his name, again nodded eagerly as the sailor told him that the ship would not be sailing for another two days. That would give time enough! And the sailor added that the ship would at first sail close along the North African coast to avoid any French privateers and then northwards to avoid any lurking Barbary Corsairs.

            As if in answer to a question from the pedlar, he pointed up at the waiting women. Passengers! Well, well!

            Now the pedlar came to spread his wares on the quarterdeck in front of the delighted women. Because of the war it had been difficult to get good silk in London.

            Both Amanda and her daughter knew a little Italian - they had indeed been studying it in London before leaving for Sicily. So they found they understood what the pedlar was saying as they bargained for his wares.

            Again, the youthful pedlar seemed strangely interested in the women and, flattering them on their beauty, asked a whole string of questions in his surprisingly high pitched voice.

             Where did they come from? Were they married? Was the mother really a widow? Why were they going to Palermo? Were they really mother and daughter, and maidservant? Were the daughter and the maid also engaged to be married? What! They had never been allowed suitors? So they had little to do with men? Well!

            Whilst he was bargaining and laughing with the women, his eyes were also taking in the small number of defensive guns and the rigging of the well designed and maintained ship. Heavily laden as she was, she would easy to catch - and with her quite small crew, easy to board!


An hour later Diana was surprised to see the peddler setting off to sea in a small felucca with a Moorish lanteen sail, apparently on his way to ply his wares across the bay in Algeciras. He waved cheerfully as she leant against the taffrail.

            But once clear of Gibraltar Roads, the felucca turned towards the mountains of Africa.

            Luigi smiled as he thought of his reception when he reported back to his Master, Mehmet Effendi, the Rais, or Captain, of the fast Corsair ship that was lying hidden behind a promontory on the African coast. His Master would be delighted with his report.

            They should have no difficulty in intercepting the wallowing Neapolitan brig, for the corsair ship was a Polacca-Chebec, designed for speed and retaining the huge traditional Arab lanteen sail, the pollacone, on the fore and mizzen masts. For greater flexibility in the often rough seas and changing winds of the Mediterranean, however, the main mast was square rigged.

            As the Corsairs relied on capturing a ship by boarding it, so as to capture its cargo and passengers intact, the gun armament of their ships was light - thus adding further to their speed.


Luigi was one of several well educated white eunuch boys that Mehmet Effendi owned and used for both his pleasure and for spying out potential captures in Christian ports. He came from a small but proud landowning family in Sardinia and had been captured in a Corsair raid when he was twelve. When it was clear that his family could not pay the high ransom demanded, he had been castrated by the slave dealer and offered for sale in the slave market.

            Now that the Barbary Corsairs used fast sailing ships rather than big galleys rowed by large teams of captured Christian slaves, with as many as four chained to one oar, the demand for large numbers of strong white male slaves had almost disappeared. They had always tended to be fractious and unruly, and constantly trying to escape back to Europe. The security precautions needed to prevent this scarcely made them worthwhile buying - and, anyway, as labourers half caste Haratin were more resilient to the heat and more obedient.

            There was still, of course, a limited demand for skilled artisans in the shipyards, foundries, and mills of the Barbary Ports and on private estates, but most of the crew of a captured ship would simply be thrown overboard or put in a boat and left to make their way back to Christendom.

            However, there was also still a good demand for another type of male white slaves: good looking boys and youths, like himself. Oncethey had been castrated they made ideal page boys, house boys, or personal attendants. Good looking and well educated European youths from good backgrounds and with good manners were particularly sought after by the Rulers and rich merchants of the Barbary States.

            White eunuchs were naturally docile. Like neutered dogs, they soon formed a loyal attachment to their Masters and were no longer interested in escaping. In any case, a young white eunuch knew that once back in Europe he would be a figure of fun and derision, whereas here the very fact that he had been castrated could enable him to rise in his Master's service to a position of great authority and even richness, serving as his Master's confidential clerk or as steward on one of his estates.

            Wealthy Arabs and Turks enjoyed showing off their good-looking young white Christian page boys, with their piping voices, beardless chins and tight little buttocks, as they humbly served coffee to their Master's guests.

            Moreover, being eunuchs they could safely accompany their Masters even when they were visiting their harems - and indeed remain present even when they being pleasured by their women.

            The mutilation of Moslems was forbidden by the Koran. But the castration of black pagans or of young white Christians was another matter - as he himself had learnt to his cost. In the Barbary States, both were as usual as the castration of young colts or bull calves.


Attracted by the Luigi's obvious good manners and good looks, Mehmet Effendi had bought him and used him not only as his attendant, but also for his pleasure for he was one who preferred boys to women for his pleasure.

            Indeed Luigi had soon become reconciled to the loss of his budding manhood - a manhood that that he would never now enjoy.

            Yes, Luigi told himself, his master, the Rais, would indeed be delighted with his report.A cargo of arms and ammunition would be worth a fortune back in the Barbary Ports. Moreover the Brig itself was in excellent condition and could well be converted into a fine Corsair ship.

            The Rais would also be delighted with his news of the three beautiful female passengers. especially since the two blond and blue eyed ones were mother and daughter, and the third one was a green eyed redhead - all rare items in North African slave markets. And it seemed that the daughter was still a virgin!

            The Barbary States did a lucrative business keeping the various busy Royal Navy squadrons in the Mediterranean well supplied with with bullocks and corn, as well as the fresh fruit and vegetables that, it was now known, were needed to keep scurvy at bay. It was, therefore, important that the Corsairs did nothing to upset this trade.

            Indeed, the various Barbary Ports had signed treaties with Britain agreeing not to attack British ships or enslave British subjects. There was therefore no question of British women being ransomed, for they should not have been captured in the first place.

            Nevertheless, Luigi knew, pretty British women could still be discreetly, but very profitably, enslaved.

            In this case, for instance, the women could be taken onboard the corsair's own ship so that when the captured ship was taken by her prize crew to Tunis they would not be onboard.

            Instead, when the corsair ship returned with them onboard, the officials of the Bey of Tunis would simply be told, with many a nod and a wink and a suitable present for the Bey himself, that they had been captured during a raid on a coastal village and that they were Bavarian women, visiting friends in Italy. Bavaria, of course, being a landlocked country had no seaborne commerce to protect and, therefore, no treaty with the Barbary States prohibiting the enslavement of its subjects.

            Any subsequent enquiries from the British authorities about the the disappearance of the women, would simply be met with bland assurances of sympathy and ignorance of the matter.

            Merchandise as valuable as these women would in any case be disposed of discreetly and privately through Hassan Effendi, the leading slave dealer. He had invested in the Corso in return for having first refusal on all captured women. He would, Luigi thought, keep the the women hidden away for a couple of months whilst they underwent training in his 'school'. This would increase their value and by then any hue and cry about the missing British women them would have died down. This would perhaps also give time for them to undergo certain little operations which would yet further greatly increase their value.

            Moreover, Hassan had many wealthy clients with carefully guarded harems into which the women would disappear for ever.

            And who would want to tell the truth?



Luigi smiled as he thought of how his news would reinstate him in the eyes of his Master. His main rival for his affections had been Juan, an eighteen year old Spanish eunuch page boy, who had earlier been sent to spy out the coast north of Malaga.

            Juan had returned with news of a convent school for girls that had rented a remote farmhouse near the coast for the summer. The Rais had quickly organised a night raid on the convent and now half a dozen nubile young Spanish girls and a young novice nun were lying naked and caged in the hold of the corsair ship.

            Back in Tunis, they would sell well, and the Rais had made much of Juan. But now his own news of the brig sailing from Gibraltar with its valuable cargo and passengers would eclipse even Juan's - and put his nose well and truly out of joint!

            Of course, he would not be in charge of the captured women. That was Samba's job. White eunuchs like himself, he knew, were traditionally regarded as being too susceptible to the wiles of white slavegirls to be be used in harems or by slave dealers. Instead, for centuries wealthy Turks and Arabs had always used black eunuchs to supervise and discipline the women in their harems - and the same applied to slave dealers. Black eunuchs had a reputation for standing no nonsense from white women in their charge.


Moreover, Luigi also reflected a little ruefully, his report of the the valuable cargo and women passengers, was not all that would please his Master, the Rais. He had also noticed a good looking young cabin boy amongst the crew and a well dressed handsome young Midshipman amongst the officers. He doubted if they would remain entire males for much longer.

            Oh, yes, Luigi thought, with the Brig carrying three beautiful white women passengers, a couple of handsome youths in the crew and a very valuable cargo of arms and ammunition, his Master would surely be well pleased with the news he was bringing to him.

            Surely he would now prefer him for his bed, over his rival white page boys!










It was just getting light, and Samba joined in the excitement that ran through the crew as they saw the sudden line of smoke rising from the signal pyre on the point. Luigi, had had seen and recognised the heavily laden Neapolitan brig as it ponderously made its way along the coast towards them.

            Hastily the Rais gave the order to raise anchor and set sail. Soon the ship was underway - now prominently flying the misleading yellow and red flag of Spain.

            Samba was rubbing his hands at the thought of taking charge of the three British women. All was ready. A spare stack of three cages, one above the other, had been scrubbed out and the securing chains for the women checked. This stack was next to the similar stacks of cages in which the young Spanish girls and the novice nun were chained. Another stack was available for the two boys destined for gelding.

             The fast corsair hung back behind the point until the second signal and, then letting all sails draw, rushed rushed round the point, ready to fall upon the helpless and unsuspecting brig.

            The boarding party of Janissaries remained hidden below as the corsair ship closed. The corsair crew, now dressed to look like Spanish seamen, exchanged waves with the unsuspecting watch on deck of the brig.

            Suddenly the corsair ship put up her helm and ran alongside the brig. It was all over in a minute as the Janissaries, swords and pistols in hand, swung onboard and forced the terrified crew up onto the forecastle.

            Members of the watch below were sleepily coming up the main companionway to see what was happening - only to find themselves also forced at gun point up onto the raised forecastle. Meanwhile some of the corsairs had seized control of the wheel aft. They swung the ship into the wind, whilst others lowered her sails. She was now drifting helplessly, the corsair ship secured alongside by grappling irons.

            Horrified, the Captain of the brig stepped onto his quarterdeck, his Letter of Protection and Indemnity, issued by King Ferdinand, in his hand. The Rais took it, glanced at it and tore it to shreds. Who was afraid now of a King who had lost his capital and half his kingdom?

            Other members of the boarding party now came running up from below, confirming that the cargo did indeed consist of valuable arms and ammunition.

            Meanwhile, whip in hand, Samba the ship's head black eunuch, and his young assistant, Napu, both on loan from Hassan Effendi the slave dealer, also swung aboard and made their way down to the cabins of the still sleeping passengers.

            Moments later three tousled and frightened female figures in white nightclothes were being bundled across to the corsair ship and hustled down into the hold used for captives. Here they were joined by the equally terrified figures of the young Neapolitan Midshipman and the cabin boy.

            Samba looked at the scared captives. The young girl was sobbing in her mother's arms. He cracked his whip.

            "Attenzione!" he shouted in the partly Italian and partly Arabic Lingua Franca that was used to address white slaves in the Barbary States. His meaning was clear even to to the British women as cracking his whip again he shouted in his high pitched voice. "Nudo! Immediatamente! Tutto nudo!"

            There were horrified gasps from the women. Samba cracked his whip again and Napu moved towards the cowering women.

            "Alright! But don't touch me!" cried Amanda, her hands going to the buttons of of her dressing gown. Her eyes kept darting to Samba's jet black skin and then to that of his young assistant. It was the first time she has seen a black man close up and certainly the first time thata black man had ever seen her in a state of half undress.

            "Silencio!" cried the young Napu, also cracking his whip. "Nudo!"

            Then he and Samba stood back expectantly, the whips raised menacingly.

            Terrified, and taking their lead from Amanda, the blushing Diana and Jeannie also began to unbutton their dressing gowns. There was a series of rustling noises as the women dropped them to the deck of the hold.

            "Tutto nudo!" repeated Samba angrily.

            A moment later their nightdresses lay around their bare ankles.

            Samba looked the now naked women up and down with an experienced eye. They were a valuable set and would sell very well - particularly if they were sold as one lot.

            Amanda was trying to hide her body with hands. Angrily Samba knocked them away with his whip. She had well formed, firm, breasts and a delightfully slim waist. The contrast would greatly excite an Arab Master - and she would be excellent material for training by an experienced chief black eunuch. What a pity, he thought, he was employed by Hassan on the Corso and not in his training school.

            His only regret was that she was not, obviously, in an interesting condition. A swollen belly would have yet further increased her value when displayed running naked round his master's private auction ring or displayed in privacy to a special client - or his chief black eunuch. "Two for the price of one!" was a well known auctioneers cry.

            Diana was a younger version of the mother, with breasts that were already prominent. A beautiful white mother and daughter - and British to boot! The mere idea would drive many a wealthy Arab mad with desire. Certainly training them to perform together would be a fascinating task for their future Master's chief black eunuch.

             The red haired Jeannie had a lush and voluptuous young body that would contrast delightfully with the other two.

            The beauty lips of all three were hidden by golden or red curls, but he could soon remove them as soon as he got them into his master's establishment and off this gently heaving vessel. Hassan would, he knew, want to keep a thin little line of hair across the mound, the Slave Dealer's Moustache as it was called, to show buyers that the women really were genuine blonds and a redhead. Their new master's black eunuch could later quickly remove the moustache once they were locked up in the harem so as to achieve the smooth little girl look that men out here found so arousing.


One by one the three women were put into a long low cages, stacked one above the other. Soon all three were lying naked on their backs on the barred bottom of their cage, their hands chained helplessly to the bars above their head and their ankles chained apart to the bars at the bottom of the cage.

            There were several stacks of cages for women and one for boys. Below the naked buttocks of each woman and each boy was a piece of flat metal on top of the bars on which they were lying. It was shaped so that their liquids would flow harmlessly away into a container screwed down onto the deck.

            Samba looked at his now helpless charges and waived away the members of the crew who had been helping him. Then he locked the cover to the companionway leading down to this hold. From now on the security of these valuable women and boys was his responsibility. His Master would not be pleased if their potential sales value had been reduced by either the either the women or the boys being raped by lusty members of the crew!










Peering down through the screen that concealed him, Matrak took a look at the tall Spanish aristocrat Carmen. She was becoming Ripe, as the eunuchs liked to call it. She was now happily standing in the pool and innocently playing at throwing a ball to the other girls, under the watchful eye of Abdul. Matrak nodded approvingly - the exercise would help strengthen the muscles of her swelling belly and breasts.

            He looked down more carefully. Yes, the leather laces that neatly bound her beauty lips together were in place and the water splashing up from the pool would serve to tighten them further, and make it quite impossible for her to interfere with nature, or to get at her little progeny - and what a special one it was to be!

            Having a girl or two being Ripe and subsequently keeping them in milk for a year or two was a normal part of harem life - and was a field that Matrak, like all chief black eunuchs, was well experienced.

            In Europe men might keep away from a woman in such a state, but not in a harem. Here black eunuchs could take complete charge of the whole operation and relieve the Master of any involvement other than of enjoying the sight of the girl's changing body as she was paraded daily in front of him with her black overseer delicately drawing back her robe to disclose her curved belly.

            Moreover many black eunuchs recommended maternity to their Masters as an excellent way of achieving the much larger breasts that were so prized here. The progeny would not, of course, be fathered by the Master, but by a slave, for no respectable man would want a son by a bitch of an unbelieving Christian. The resulting progeny would immediately be taken away to be raised as another slave, but the girl would be kept in milk by the black eunuchs for the delight of her Master.

            But in the case of Carmen there was a further reason...

            Like Henrietta, she had been given to the Bey as a present by the old Pasha, and, like her, bore the Pasha's brand, prettily marked in green, on her belly.

            The Bey had still been a relatively junior officer, a Colonel and only Second-in-Command of the Pasha's Janissaries. But already he had caught the Pasha's eye. Dissatisfied with the then Turkish Commander of his Janissaries, the Pasha was planning to bring on Rory as his replacement.

            An essential part of the Pasha's plan was to portray Rory as someone who was not soft on his former fellow Christians - male or female - and for this he needed his subordinate to do something rather spectacular that would be the talk of the port. The Pasha thought long and hard and then, secretly summoning Matrak, he disclosed his plan...


The use of captured Christian women for the breeding of loyal followers of the true faith had long been considered in the Ottoman Empire to be a fine revenge for the humiliations that the Christian unbelievers had for centuries imposed on it.

            Traditionally, the Janissaries themselves were the children of the Sultan's Christian subjects, taken away as children. What finer revenge could there be than to use Christian women enslaved by the Barbary Pirates for the breeding of the next generation of Janissaries in North Africa - fathered by present ones?

            This was indeed an idea that had been discussed by Matrak and his opposite number the Pasha's own chief black eunuch, who had mentioned it to the Pasha. It would have been very popular with the Janissaries themselves, but the Pasha wanted something even more dramatic, something that might also seal the acceptance of Rory among the merchant community, something which would demonstrate that his attitude to captured Christian women was as cruel and ruthless as that of any Turk or Arab.

            So it was that when Carmen had arrived as a present from the Pasha to help start his harem, she had come with a recommendation to have her covered by the male pygmies that had recently been brought back across the Sahara by one of Marsa's leading slave dealers. The slave dealer himself was now looking for a spectacular occasion on which to launch his new service - a service that he was convinced would be popular with many of the chief black eunuchs in charge of the harems of captured white women of the richer merchants.

            A recommendation from the Pasha was, of course, as good as an order. Matrak had consulted his friend, the Pasha's chief black eunuch, to obtain details of Carmen's past monthly cycles. Then, on the day when he calculated would be the most likely to be successful, some of the leading Arab merchants in Marsa, together with several of the Colonel's own officers, had been invited by the Bey to witness an interesting spectacle.

            The Colonel and his guests had been seated, in Turkish fashion, on comfortable little divans and served Turkish coffee in exquisite little cups, by Tulip, the Colonel's young Italian white eunuch personal attendant - another sign that he had adopted Moslem ways.

            Matrak had, of course, hooded and muzzled Carmen before leading her by a heavy chain attached to her collar, and dressed in just a simple robe, into the room where the guests were seated. In this way the Bey's honour would be safeguarded for the guests would not see his white concubine's face, and she would not be able to see them. Moreover, she would not be able to see, or even try to talk to, the fathers of her future progeny. Her hands were also chained behind her back to prevent from trying to interfere with the proceedings.

            Matrak had then pulled back the girl's robe to display to the astonished guests the Pasha's brand mark on her naked belly.

            Several possible pygmy mates had then been lined up naked in front of the guests. Then, now naked but still hooded, Carmen had been made to stand alongside each of them in turn, whilst the seated guests, sipping their coffee, had discussed at length which of the pygmies would made the best mates. Finally they had agreed on two particularly well endowed ones.

            Muffled grunts of horror came from under the hood as Carmen felt the little naked bodies of the pygmies pressing up against her own body, and as she heard the laughter of the guests.

            First, she had been made to kneel down over a cushion on a carpet in front of the guests, so that her buttocks were raised.

            Then, Matrak, holding her quite still by the chain attached to her collar, and pressing his left leg down on her neck, had used his right hand to administer the usual warming up thrashing with his cane - a procedure that experience had shown greatly to increase the chances of a successful conception by getting the blood racing through the girl's loins. At the same time he had deftly loosened her muzzle so that the guests could enjoy hearing her cries of pain.

            Matrak knew of old that a not too violent thrashing nearly always also resulted in a girl becoming aroused and ready for penetration. After several strokes, therefore, he stopped and went behind her to feel between her depilated beauty lips.

            Finding, to his delight, that she was indeed aroused, he had nodded to the first of the waiting, and now equally aroused, pygmies to proceed whilst he again held the girl steady.

            Carmen still had no idea what was going to happen, and despite the now only slightly muffling effect of the hood, her screams of horror and protest as she was slowly penetrated filled the room. Soon, however, the screams died down, and the amused guests saw that despite the girl's initial horror, nature had taken over, and that her hips were now beginning to react in time to the thrusts of the littler pygmy.

            Then a final scream of horror announced that the pygmy's seed had jetted well and truly up inside her.

            But she was given no respite, for within moments of the first pygmy withdrawing from the now sobbing girl, the second one had thrust up inside her, producing a new series of screams from under the hood. This time there seemed to be little response from her body, until the same final scream as she again felt the fertilising seed jetting out.

            Now, as the guests continued to sip their coffee, and argued amongst themselves as to which of the matings was likely to prove the successful one, Matrak turned Carmen onto her back. Raising her legs high into the air, he had fastened her ankles to chains hanging from the ceiling, so that her buttocks were raised off the carpet.

            The guests laughed as they saw the girl's body lips twitch as with a sob of despair she vainly tried to expel the seed which was now slipping deeper and deeper into her.

            Then, picking up his cane, Matrak gave her the customary post mating thrashing on her exposed buttocks. Once again it wasa procedure that he felt decreased the remote possibility of the girl not now conceiving. Moreover, like the first thrashing, it would ensure that she did not look back on her mating as a moment of pleasure, but of pain - for the only source of pleasure allowed to a slave girl is, of course, her Master.

            Then to prevent her from interfering with what nature intended to happen to her body, Matrak had slowly and carefully sewn up her beauty lips, sealing the ends together with a wax seal. A tiny gap was left through which she could pass her wastes, but the laces would remain in place until her moment of deliverance arrived - an event to which they would also be warmly invited.

             Matrak had kept Carmen lying there on her back for several hours to ensure a good conception - long after the laughing guests had left. They had been most impressed with the spectacle, congratulating the Colonel on treating a hated Christian in a proper way, making tentative bookings with the beaming slave dealer for the hire of his pygmies for use in their own harems or on their estates, and promising to return for the delivery of the progeny. They had also generously tipped Matrak for having arranged such a splendid exhibition.


The story of how the new foreign Colonel had treated his Christian slave girl with the same callousness and cruelty as a man born into the True Faith, and was held in such esteem by the Pasha that he had given him one of his own white slave girls, branded with his crest, had quickly gone the rounds of both the bazaar and the barracks. Muttering against the formerly 'Roumi', Christian, Colonel had died away and Rory's reputation had been greatly enhanced.

            This now well publicised event had indeed played a significant part in his subsequent promotion to the command of the Janissaries and of the award of the title of Bey.

            Quite apart from helping Rory to overcome the suspicions of his troops and of the merchant community in Marsa, it had also greatly increased Matrak's own standing in Marsa. He now stood proudly among the leading black eunuchs in the town. Using the money that had been pressed into his hand by the much impressed spectators of the event, he now wore golden robes that for sheer sumptuousness matched those the chief black eunuch of the Pasha himself!

            His young Master had thoroughly enjoyed having a pretty girl in an interesting condition in his harem. Encouraged by Matrak he had taken a close interest in the progress of her maternity, enjoying having her paraded naked in front of him, and selecting her frequently for his bed - using her, as Matrak suggested, like a boy in accordance with Turkish custom.

            Matrak had told the Pasha's chief black eunuch of this, and the Pasha himself had been secretly delighted to hear of the increasing adoption of Turkish ways by his young protege.

            When Carmen's day of deliverance arrived, her tiny mulatto progeny would be sold to be raised as an exotic on a slave farm, whilst Carmen herself would become Rory's milk slave - a prospect to which he was clearly looking forward.


Looking down into the harem patio, Matrak counted the women. Ten! Yes, they were all there and everything seemed to be in order.

            You had to be so careful with these cunning white women - the little minxes were always seeking to outwit their black eunuch overseers and slip away to give themselves, or, worse, each other, a little relief. That,of course3, was strictly forbidden in the harem, and he regarded it not only as being unfaithful to the Master, but also a direct threat to his authority and an outrage.

            But the women were all now present and correct in the patio, chatting away happily or splashing in the shallow pool, under the supervision of young Abdul. Abdul had the makings of a good overseer. The women treated him with almost as much respect as they did Matrak himself - and, as Matrak well knew, a white woman only respected her black eunuch supervisors if she feared them.

            He pulled out of the pocket of his richly embroidered robe the note book in which he recorded everything about each of the women: the dates of their monthly cycles, their weight, their latest breast, waist and hip measurements, the state of their natural functions, their offences and punishments, details of the training they had been given in pleasing their Master, the dates of when they had been chosen by the Master and, most important of all, how and in what way they had performed.

            Against some of their names was a red star, meaning, though they did not know it, that they were being considered for possible disposal to a slave dealer. He, in turn, would be able to sell them on well, for there was always a good market for a girl bearing the brand of a well known man, known to have been trained and disciplined in a well run harem. They would then be replaced by fresh blood from the bulging white slave markets of Marsa.

            Against other names was a a blue star denoting that that they were being considered for mating either with a selected Dinka giant, or, once again, with a little pygmy.

            Naturally the Bey, like most other Masters, did not want to be bothered with children of his own by a mere slave girl. Soon the Bey would be looking to marry into some well known Turkish families, and have sons by his wives - but not, Matrak kept on telling him, by from a mere Christian slave girl, not even if she was a very pretty Englishwoman!

            It was these thoughts that had made Matrak consider suggesting to the Bey that Henrietta should be the next girl to be covered by the pygmies. But in his heart he had known that the young Englishman would never agree to so humiliate an Englishwoman - particularly one of whom he was fond.

            But he, Matrak, had a plan for humiliating the stuck-up Henrietta! Oh yes, a plan which would overcome that problem! The punishment would be terrible and would certainly teach Henrietta a lesson she would not forget in a hurry!






Henrietta was kneeling up on the beautiful large carpet that had been laid on the tiles of the enclosed harem patio. She wished she was allowed to sit cross legged, but she knew that slavegirls were not allowed to sit cross legged like their Masters.

            It was a position that showed her off well. She was an attractive sight with her little tasselled gold embroidered cap perched on her head, her specially elongated nipples peaking round the edges of her stiff embroidered green bolero that did not meet in the front, and her thin silken harem trousers.

            She was Number Four, Henrietta, the Bey's young English concubine whom the Pasha had given to the Bey partly as a reward for his services, and partly to help relive the loneliness of his exile.

            She wondered whether Rory, as she dared to think of him, had returned from his tour of inspection. The eunuchs, of course, would not say. They liked to keep the women on tenterhooks. Oh when, oh when, would she see him again?

            Oh, how she longed to be in his arms again!But then so did all his other women. But she could whisper little words of love in English, which they couldn't - except for the Irish girl, Barbara.

            But, oh, how her nipples longed for his touch! How her body screamed for relief in his bed - even if it did often result in her so unfairly getting the cane from Matrak, for not having tried harder to give more pleasure to Rory.

            No, she had shared so many adventures with him. She was special and far superior to them!

            She had been his harem now for a year now. A year in which she had never been allowed outside the high walls surrounding the harem garden - except for a distant view of the sea when, in the evenings, they were taken up to the roof of the harem to enjoy the cool breeze.

            It had been a year in which she had never, not even when sleeping or in her most intimate moments, been out of sight of a black eunuch - except, of course, in those rare and precious moments when she was alone with Rory.

            But it had also been a year in which the black eunuchs had made sure that she was kept pure. All her life she had secretly played with herself, and it was so frustrating and humiliating now being constantly watched to make sure she, and the other women, did not. But, she realised, it was a cunning system that made her, and the others, all the more desperate to be chosen by him for his pleasure.

            It was also a year in which, to her jealous fury, he had acquired more European concubines - as befitted his new position as a Bey. And was a year in which Matrak had seen to it that Rory was the only man she ever saw or heard - other than the beardless eunuchs with their falsetto piping voices.

            Rory was, Henrietta realised, a busy and important man, largely preoccupied with his Janissaries, and with his relations with the Pasha and the merchants of the town. His harem, she knew, was only a part of his life. But he was the entire life of the women in his harem. He dominated her thoughts, and those of the other beautiful women shut up in it. By day she found herself constantly having erotic day-dreams thoughts about him, about his virile manhood and of pleasing him. By night she dreamt of nothing else.

            Like the other women in the harem, she had become jealously obsessed with her young Master. Just as the other women seemed to have forgotten about their husbands, betrothed or lovers, and had settled down to harem life under the supervision of a strict chief black eunuch, so she too hardly ever now thought about her handsome young husband, Captain James Hamilton of the 56th.

            She had been on her way to join him with the troops protecting Sicily from a French invasion, when the ship in which she had taken passage from Malta was captured by Barbary pirates, and she had been brought to Marsa to be be sold as a slave.

            And so much seemed to have happened since then that her former life seemed like another world...


Henrietta picked up a hand mirror and looked at herself. A cut back red velvet brocade bolero was fastened tightly below her bosom, thrusting up her naked breasts with their scarlet painted and specially elongated nipples.

            Apart from the humiliating heavy brass slave collar riveted round her neck, and her turned-up little Turkish slippers, the only other article of dress that Matrak allowed her were transparent pantaloons that were cut away in the front to disclose the prominent green coloured brand on her belly - the brand of the immensely rich Pasha of Marsa who had bought her for his harem.

            She would never forget her branding, being hooded so that she could not see what as happening, the heat of the blacksmith's forge, the sudden terrible pain, the smell of burning flesh and the sharp sting as the special pigment was rubbed into the wound so that the scar would be a brilliant green colour.

            It was in the harem of the Pasha that she had first been trained as a concubine, taught to use her mouth and tongue as well as her body to gratify the lusts of the elderly but still virile Pasha.

            The Pasha's harem was much larger than Rory's with many more white concubines, as well as his Turkish wives who were the mothers of his sons. Nevertheless, life there had not been all that different from Rory's harem. Like Matrak, the Pasha's own chief black eunuch had been a firm believer in making the concubines in his charge behave like little girls.

            Matrak, she knew, enjoyed keeping her in this half naked state, whereas some of the other concubines were allowed to wear lovely caftans and Turkish robes. Certainly, being kept half naked, like her neat brand mark and her heavy, and carefully polished, brass slave collar, constantly reminded her of her present status as merely one of the Bey's women slaves. It also prevented her from assuming, on the basis that she too was English, that she was the Bey's favourite.

            She knew that Matrak deliberately kept her down, hating, and even fearing, the idea of a Favourite who might flaunt her authority in the harem as a rival to that of his own. She knew that the fact that she came from the same country, and the same background and class as the the young Bey, made Matrak even more suspicious of her and even more determined to allow her no privileges or special treatment. She was just another beautiful concubine in the service of his Master and no more.

            But Matrak was still proud of her English beauty and ensured that her honey coloured hair, so unusual in North Africa, even amongst the European slave women, was always kept beautifully brushed and hanging down her back, like that of a teenage girl, from under her pert little sequined cap, with its long black tassel.

            Indeed, that very morning he had sent her to have her hair carefully groomed and dressed by Rosebud, the young Italian white eunuch harem hairdresser. Rosebud had also made up her beautiful little elfin face in the oriental fashion that Matrak required.

            Although she hated being made-up to look like an Eastern houri, it was pointless to complain, for Matrak decided just how each of the women in the harem was to look like, and what they were to wear and how they were to please their Master in his bed. He would not hesitate to thrash any woman who queried his decisions.

            Rosebud had also outlined her soft and alluring blue eyes. Itwas these that, with her golden hair, both rare in the North African slave markets, and the fact that she was the wife of an British army officer, that had resulted in the Pasha having to pay a very high price for her from Achmet, one of the leading slave dealers in Marsa. It had been a price, she remembered, well out of the reach of Rory Fitzgerald who was then only a Colonel in the Turkish employ and whom the Pasha had summoned to act as his interpreter in Achmet's establishment when he came to inspect her.

            Rosebud had put drops into her eyes, as he did with all the harem women, that made them seem huge. This was something that Matrak had done to all the concubines, even though it made them see everything as blur. He was only concerned with what they looked like - not with how much they could see!

            Then, as he did every day, on Matrak's orders, to all the concubines, Rosebud had bound silken threads around her nipples and had spent several minutes alternatively massaging them and pulling them out. After a year of this treatment they were now very much longer and prominent than normal - more like those of a bitch in whelp. it was humiliating, but as she now looked down at them, she could not help feeling proud of them, and of the way they thrust the bolero aside.

            It was a treatment that had made her nipples far more sensitive - just as had been intended by Matrak. Indeed they were now almost as sensitive as her beauty bud itself. It was one of the reasons why she, like her fellow concubines, now longed to feel her Master's fingers rolling her nipples gently between his fingers. It was a feeling that would drive her almost mad with frantic desire.

            The fact that the Bey was away for a few days did not seem to have altered the strict harem routine. They still had to look beautiful and groomed the whole time, never knowing whether their young Master had returned and was secretly watching them, hidden behind the grill on the balcony that looked down from his private quarters.

            So, the concubines were kept on their toes all the time, never knowing when their Master might suddenly order his women to be paraded in front the inspection grill, behind which he would be sitting hidden as he discussed each woman in turnwith Matrak. And woebetide any woman whose appearance was not perfect or whose smiling submissiveness was not judged to be sufficiently subservient.

            Henrietta gave a little shiver of fear as she remembered how even innocent mistakes made during a harem selection parade were judged to be Insolence - an offence on a par with Arguing with a Black Eunuch or worse still Answering Back.

            And although their beloved young Master seemed blissfully unaware of it, Matrak's standard punishment for Insolence, Arguing or Answering Back, was six strokes of the cane, three on the buttocks and three across the front of the thighs and belly. Alternatively a girl could choose to have four strokes across the breasts.

            Either way, it was a fearful punishment, carried in front of all the others. It was also one that not even being Ripe, as the black eunuchs horribly described it, stopped Matrak from carrying out.

            It was not so much the actual pain, for Matrak did not apply the strokes as hard as he might have, but rather the long drawn out waiting to be summoned for punishment, the humiliation of having to undress and bend over in front of the other women, and then again the long drawn out process of the actual beating, with as much as two minutes between each stroke.

            Even the lesser crimes of Slackness and Lack of Respect carried an automatic punishment of three strokes, and could be given to a girl even by Abdul on the spot - and Abdul took offence very easily, as she had learned to her cost.

            But despite the constant threat of being caned or, perhaps she wondered, because of it, there was a happy atmosphere in the harem. The girls would be constantly teasing each other and laughing, under the eye of a supervising eunuch, just as, when they had been when little girls back in Europe, they had laughingly played in their nurseries or school rooms under the eye of a nanny or school teacher.

            Indeed three of the concubines were now innocently playing with a skipping rope, counting out aloud the number of jumps - it just the sort of childish pastime she hated.

            She turned to the little pool with a beautiful fountain playing in the centre. It was only a few feet deep, but several concubines were splashing each other, like little girls in a paddling pool. One of them called to her to join them, but she angrily waved her hand in refusal. She was different from them. She was English - like the Master! She might now be only a collared and branded slave girl, but once she had been an English lady!

            She saw that Carmen, now nicely Ripe in the words of the black eunuchs, was also happily splashing naked in the pool.

            Poor girl! She remembered how the Pasha had been a great believer in the medicinal powers of the milk of young white slavegirls. Moreover, like many Turks, the Pasha felt that a swollen belly enhanced the beauty and attractiveness of a girl, and that a man's harem should always include one or two girls expecting a happy event.

            Recently Henrietta had seen Matrak talking to Abdul and pointing at her own belly...


            Watching the playing girls approvingly and unobtrusively from a corner of the patio, and at the same time keeping an eye on Henrietta, stood the youthful figure of Abdul, Matrak's equally strict assistant black eunuch.

            Henrietta looked at Abdul nervously. Was her hair still alright? Was her make-up smudged?Were her hands well away from her beauty lips?

            The concubines always had to be supervised by a eunuch, even in the bathroom. It was a serious offence ever to be found alone, or alone with other girls. If you were caught, then it was assumed that you were being Unfaithful, as they called it, for only the Bey was allowed to give pleasure to his women, and Matrak insisted on his women being kept completely pure, like little girls.

            To make sure that nothing untoward happened at night or during the siesta time, Matrak had persuaded the Bey that with more women in his harem a third black eunuch was now needed to patrol the dormitory when the women were supposed to be sleeping. Accordingly Matrak had recruited a now elderly former colleague of his, Nadu.

            The girls slept three to a bed, on their backs, and woebetide any girls ever found by Nadu not to have their hands displayed innocently above the bed clothes.

            Henrietta shivered as she eyed the boy's cane and remembered that the punishment even for what the black eunuchs called Attempted Unfaithfulness, whether with other girls or alone, was a terrifying six strokes of the cane, twice a day, for five days. And for second offence, Matrak had warned them, the Master might order their beauty buds to be cut off. Cut off!And Abdul's eye was on her her now! Quickly she moved her hands up above her waist.


Henrietta still could not get used to the way the black eunuchs dominated every facet of harem life and intimately controlled the women in their charge.

            In Malta, before being captured, she had heard stories about the use of black eunuchs in the harems of North Africa, but had just assumed that they guards, used to guard the women.

            How wrong she had been!

            She had no idea that these frightening creatures had the authority to control and punish the women in their charge - nor to monitor and record the most intimate aspects of a woman's life.

            She had never, for instance, got used to having to parade naked every morning with all the other white concubines, first in front of the Pasha's chief black eunuch and now in front of Matrak.

            Each girl in turn would have to step up onto a stool in front of the seated chief black eunuch. At a word of command she had to clasp her hands behind her neck. Then looking straight ahead, she would have to part her legs and bend her knees. Ayoung black eunuch boy, here Abdul, would then part her hairless beauty lips for the chief black eunuch's embarrassingly intimate inspection, after which he would make little notes in his harem notebook.

            Similarly, she could never get used to being instructed by these black monsters in the most intimate ways of pleasing the Master. It was, for instance, the Pasha's chief black eunuch who had first taught her to arouse the elderly Pasha by squeezing his nipples, or by reaching up and licking him as he sat over her face.

            Even worse was the way that they would check with the girl, after she had left the Master's bed, just what form the Master's love-making had taken, and whether she had carried out properly her previous instructions and training.

            Nor could she ever get used to the way the black eunuchs controlled their natural functions. Used to performing them in private in Europe, they were appalled to find that in the harem it was always to be done in front of a eunuch, and then held up, like those of a child, to be recorded and inspected by the chief eunuch himself.

            Did her beloved Rory have any idea of the discipline and control to which Matrak and Abdul subjected his women? Or did he just ignore it, despite his upbringing as an English gentleman, as he revelled in the pleasure given to him by his submissive women? Once, in his bed, and greatly daring, she had raised the question. Furious, he had sent her straight back to the harem with a note to Matrak instructing him to thrash her for Impudence. She had never dared to ask him again. Perhaps Rory was not so unaware of what went on in his harem as he made out!

            But, oh how she longed for his return!







            The blond woman kneeling on the rug spread out over the tiled floor jumped at the sudden noise. She saw that it came from the whip now in the hand of Abdul, the young assistant black eunuch, who stood in the corner of the patio from where he had been keeping a close eye on the women.

            The women who had been splashing naked in the shallow pool or dancing in and out of the little fountain, stood quite still, waiting for the next order. Two of them were blushing, but that was not all, for their breasts were swollen and their nipples erect - telltale signs, as Abdul well knew, of a forbidden mutual arousal.

            Abdul had noticed that two of the concubines in the pool, driven reckless by the frustration to which they were constantly subjected, had discreetly dropped their hands down under the water towards each other's exposed and hairless beauty lips. Kissing was allowed, and even encouraged in the harem, for the eunuchs liked the idea of the women forming innocent girlish crushes on each other - provided it went no further. Touching, licking, sucking or even merely kissing nipples or beauty lips was all strictly forbidden.

            Abdul pointed to the two offending girls, now red with embarrassment. Nervously they stood up, one displaying then Bey's red crest on her belly and the other the green brand of the Emir of Zanda from whom Rory had acquired her.

            Whilst the women watched open mouthed, Abdul slowly pulled out a small notebook from his voluminous red trousers. He started to write.

            "Numbers Nine and Ten" he called out pompously, "to be reported for Attempted Unfaithfulness to the Master, Hussein Bey, in the service of His Imperial Majesty the Sultan, the Padishah and the Shadow of Allah on Earth."

            This was greeted with sobs of dismay by the two young women concerned and gasps of horror by the others. They all knew what the punishment for Attempted Unfaithfulness was! And if two girls were involved, and they had actually obtained relief, then they might be charged with Adultery - the official punishment for which was stoning to death, at the discretion of the Master.

            Tearfully the girl or girls would plead for mercy, swearing that they would never do it again and would keep themselves utterly pure for their Master. Naturally, he might hesitate to have two of his pretty concubines killed, but might well not hesitate in ordering the removal of the tip of the girls' beauty buds, to remove the cause of future temptations.

            Abdul smiled to himself. How he enjoyed disciplining these white women! How he enjoyed the feeling of having authority over them! How he enjoyed keeping them pure and frustrated for the Master.

            One day he would be a chief eunuch in sole charge of a harem. Meanwhile life here was far more comfortable and rewarding than in his primitive village beyond the Sahara - even if it had meant being castrated by the slavers who had captured him as a young boy.

            He looked down at his dress. Instead of the simple loincloth that was all that he would have been wearing back in his village, here he was dressed in gorgeous white pantaloons, a red waistcoat, and a pointed turbans which contrasted with the nakedness of the white women in his charge.

            Moreover, instead of a dull and meatless diet of wheat cakes, here he banqueted three times a day on delicious kebabs and couscous, with lamb and rice - all of which once again contrasted with the simple diet of fruit and yoghurt which was all that Matrak would allow the women.

            He had heard terrifying stories in his village of other black people being carried off to labour as slaves under the whip for the hated white people across the sea. Well, he might be a slave here, but he was in charge of white women - and instead of being whipped by cruel white people, he had the authority to whip white women. Instead of being scared of white people, he had white women scared of him. Instead of having to obey white people, he had white women running to obey his slightest orders.

            He might not be able to enjoy a woman physically, but the feeling of having power over these beautiful creatures made up for that. He could feel and examine their bodies whenever he wished. He could humiliate them in ways that he could never have dreamt of being able to do to the girls back in his village. Above all, he, a black boy, could make these so-called superior white women treat him with respect and fear.

            Oh yes, life was very good, very good indeed!


From behind his screen Matrak had witnessed this scene, and was pleased to see the way it had been handled by Abdul. The boy was coming on and had the making of top class black eunuch.

            But what had particularly caught Matrak's eye was that the girls concerned, Number Nine and Number Ten, both former governesses, were great favourites of the Bey - much to the jealous anger of Henrietta. Moreover one of them, the quick tempered Barbara, being Irish had no love for a rival Englishwoman any more than did Marie, who was French. Could use them in his search for a way of bringing down Henrietta?

             Yes, why not? They would now do anything to avoid that terrible punishment of six strokes twice a day for five days - and perhaps being reported to the Bey.

            Matrak turned and went down the stairs to a large door, strengthened with iron bars - the door into the harem. He unlocked it and then carefully locking it again, stepped into the patio.


"Attenzione!" called out Abdul.

            Hastily the woman who had been kneeling on the carpet rose to her feet and now stood, now like the women in the pool, with her arms to her sides, and their heels together. None of them wanted to risk being accused of Disobedience by young Abdul or, even, mere Slackness. They were remembering that he had the authority to give them three strokes of the cane without reference to Matrak. They eyed him nervously.

            Theyall knew from bitter experience that young Abdul was always looking for chances to use the special punishment cane that was hung up so prominently on the wall of the main harem room for all to see - and that when he did it really hurt.

            The young eunuch now slowly drew his black leather short handled whip out from his cummerbund. He let the end of the lash lie on the floor. The women could not take their eyes off it. Suddenly he raised the handle of the whip and cracked in the air.

            "Show Respect!"

            Hastily the naked women in the pool now clasped their hands behind their necks and looked straight ahead, neither up nor down. As a sign of respect, they also bent and parted their knees, showing off, just below the brands on their bellies, their smooth hairless mounds and their equally hairless beauty lips, all identically outlined in black kohl.

            Below the pouting belly of Carmen, the beauty lips as well as being prettily outlined were also, of course, tightly sewn up.

            In the case of Henrietta, her black outlined beauty lips had already, to her embarrassment, been well displayed in the cutaway in the front of her silken harem trousers.

             There was a long pause and then, slowly and ponderously, Matrak walked into the patio. He was tall, burly and very black, and the tribal scars on his cheeks gave him a frightening and almost grotesque appearance. An amused smile hovered around his eyes, giving a deceptively friendly appearance.

            He was strikingly dressed in a gold coloured silken robe with a long black, red fringed, cloak over his shoulders. His head was covered in a cream covered turban with the red stripe of a chief black eunuch. The sumptuousness of his dress, reflected the esteem with which he was regarded by the Master.

             Just as Abdul carried a little whip as a sign of his authority, so Matrak carried a long whippy cane with a silver tip and an ornate curved handle. At the mere sight of it, out of the corners of their eyes, there was an intake of breath from the women, and they bent their knees a little more to expose their beauty lips better as a sign of respect.


Matrak was glad to see the way women all jumped up at his entrance and stood stock-still, at Attention. It was a sign of a well disciplined harem. He looked around silently, enjoying the obvious fear in the eyes of the naked trembling women as they stood in the humiliating position of Showing Respect - a position that was reserved for himself and the Master.

            His eyes took in each one, one at a time, as he counted them. Ten! Yes, they were all still there and everything seemed to be in order.

            "Carry on!" he ordered with a nod to Abdul. The young women nervously resumed their playing in the pool.

            They seemed a happy and contented lot, he thought, and indeed he was not surprised that his strict regime resulted in no sour faces in the Master's harem, and no truculence or even sulkiness. Indeed fear, and the constant threat of his cane, ensured that even the most resentful or bad tempered young concubine did her utmost to act the role of a happy young girl - just as he liked to see them all behaving.

            And as for giving their Master the utmost pleasure in his bed, he had two very effective answers.

            Firstly, if the Master had his concubines paraded in front of him for him to choose from, then those not chosen automatically were awarded three strokes of the cane.

            Then, as he lifted up the bed covers at the bottom of the bed for the girl or girls to crawl under, he would whisper a reminder that his cane would be waiting for them when they returned to the harem from their Master's bed. This invariably was enough to ensure an excellent performance by the terrified young women - for he did not approve of the Master choosing only one woman for his bed, saying that it gave the girl ideas above her station.

            The girls concerned knew that each would be given a sealed note by their Master marking of five their performance: the pleasure that they had given, and their show of loving obedience.

            What the Master did not know was that Matrak would then open the notes, brought to him by the trembling women, and read out each girl's score in front of all the assembled concubines. To avoid the cane completely, a girl had to earn five marks of out of five. Even a girl awarded a 'satisfactory' mark of three, would still had to bend over to receive two strokes of the cane.

            In this way, Matrak ensured that each girl would be thinking all night of little else but of ways of reducing her forthcoming thrashing by giving her Master the greatest pleasure, in ways that she had been taught to do by Matrak, and without seeking any for herself.

            And the Master would left wondering at the delightful ways in which his concubines behaved, licking, sucking and kissing him in a uninhibited way that not even his married concubines would have dreamt of doing to their husbands back in Europe before they were captured.

            Indeed, Master and Chief Black Eunuch had the usual clear understanding: provided the white women in his harem continued to perform well in the Master's bed, then he would not enquire too closely into the methods employed by his chief black eunuch to achieve this result - and would smilingly turn a deaf ear to any complaints whispered into his ear by any concubines trying to take advantage of their Master's kind nature.

            So it was that Matrak cunningly ensured that a mixture of fear of the cane, and the sheer sexual frustration of the harem, made each girl try desperately to be as alluring as possible at the daily selection parades in front of the grill, and then, once selected for the Bey's pleasure, more fear of the cane ensured they did their utmost to please their delighted young Master.

            "Nine and Ten," he called out.

            Immediately Barbara and Marie climbed out of the pool and ran over and obediently stood naked in front of him, their hands clasped behind their necks, their heads up and their eyes fixed straight ahead.


            He led the way out of he patio into an alcove where they would be out of earshot of the other women. The two young women dutifully and silently followed him, keeping their hands still clasped behind their necks.

            There he gave both women brief and clear instructions, making it clear that if they carried out their instructions properly then he would forget their recent Attempted Unfaithfulness. Satisfied he then went back up behind the screen that looked down into the patio and awaited events.







Henrietta saw two of her worst enemies coming towards her laughing and pointing at her. They were dressed in beautiful caftans, she was dressed like a harem slut. They, and not her, had been chosen by the Bey for his bed on his last night before leaving on his tour - and had both been given five marks, something that had enabled them to lord it over the others.

            "The Bey doesn't want you," they said to Henrietta scornfully in the Italian-based Lingua Franca that was the only language allowed in the harem. "He's sent word that he wants us to be got ready for him for when he gets back tomorrow. You're just too old and ugly, you stuck-up pig!"

            They went on for several minutes in the same denigrating vein. Henrietta tried to ignore them, but first one of them and then the other gave her a contemptuous kick.

            "You're just an old has been," Barbara cried, giving her another kick. "The Bey's going to sell you to a brothel and it'll be good riddance to you, you horrible old hag."

            "Sale cochonne anglaise," screamed Marie, breaking into her native French.

            "You think you're that because you're English you're superior to the rest of us," screamed Barbara, breaking into a sudden strong brogue, "You're just an ugly old cow who -"

            Henrietta's normal English self control suddenly snapped. Overcome with sexual jealousy, she flung herself on on them, trying if not to scratch their eyes out, then certainly to disfigure them with her long sharp finger nails.

            Within seconds the quiet patio filled with screams as the three women fought like cats, blood dripping down their faces, whilst the other women looked on in a mixture of horror and sympathetic understanding - the atmosphere in the harem of constant jealousy inevitably kept them all on the brink of fighting.

            Young Abdul rushed over, his whip raised. Furious that such a scene should take place whilst he was in charge of the women, he laid about indiscriminately. Like beaten curs the three women stopped fighting and knelt on all fours, panting and out of breath.


Henrietta was overwhelmed at the enormity of the offence she had committed. How could she have let her feelings run away with her? Now what would happen?

            Her thoughts were interrupted by Abdul loudly cracking his whip - the usual signal for the approach of Matrak. Hastily all the women stood up respectfully, including those still standing naked in the pool.

            Henrietta and the other two women who had been fighting remained kneeling humbly on all fours, only their heads to the ground.

            Matrak looked slowly down at the trembling women, his beady eyes taking in each one, one at a time.

            His eye finally rested on Henrietta. Dare he do it? Yes! Surely the Bey would have to confirm his decision, however much he would hate doing so? And, thought Matrak, it is in the Beys best interests that I am doing this at some risk to myself. Yes, it is no less than my duty!

            "You!" he shouted in his high pitched falsetto voice. He brought his cane down across her back. "You try to harm the Master's other women! For that you are sentenced -" He hesitated, but only for an instant - "sentenced to three months at the oars."

            Oars? What oars? Oh what a fool she had been!

            "Go, you Christian slut! Go with Matrak!" shouted Abdul, raising his whip menacingly. "Now!"

            Terrified, Henrietta ran behind the large figure of Matrak down some steps to the large solid door that led out of the harem - a door she had not been allowed to go through for over a year.

            Now what was going to happen to her? Oh, why was Rory not here to save her?


Still wearing her torn harem dress, her hair tousled and her make up a mess from that awful fight, Henrietta was led down by a now strangely smiling Matrak to some slave pens in the basement of the palace. She could hear the noise of waves.Shut up in the Bey's harem, she had seen practically nothing of Marsa beyond the harem walls, and scarcely known they were near the sea.

            Now they were met by another black eunuch. But whereas Matrak always carried a thin silver tipped cane, this black eunuch carried as his badge of office a beautifully worked short handled whip of pleated black leather.

            He seemed to be old colleague of Matrak and was addressed by him as Bashir Agha, or Master of the Oars. He was accompanied by a younger black eunuch of the same age as Abdul.

            Matrak was smiling even more smugly as he handed Henrietta over to the tender mercies of this other older black eunuch, whilst in exchange he received a lead fastened to the collar of a very pretty naked young Italian girl.

            Several months previously, this young woman had been the proud new the wife of the mayor of a village on the Italian coast. Then it had been raided by the Barbary corsairs. Whilst her elderly husband stood impotently watching with a sword held to his throat, she had been taken by the grinning pirates back to their ship, to join a score of other terrified young women chained up in the hold.

            When the ship arrived back at Marsa, she had been presented as a galley slave to the Bey by a group of merchants, in grateful recognition of the part that a well trained detachment of his Janissaries had played in successfully raiding the Italian coast line.

            With her strong young body she had proved an excellent galley slave. Now she seemed delighted, Henrietta jealously noticed, to have apparently earned promotion to her Master's harem whilst in her place one of his concubines was being suddenly downgraded from white concubine to ... what?


This second black eunuch held Henrietta whilst his boy assistant stripped off her meagre and tattered clothes. Meanwhile, with a special liquid, Matrak was scrubbing off the Arabic numerals 16 that were painted on the back of the other girl's right shoulder. Using a special permanent waterproof paint, the boy now painted the same numbers on Henrietta's shoulder.

            Never would Henrietta forget her shame as the two burly black eunuchs then led her and the girl she was replacing, both naked, to the forge of a huge negro blacksmith. Grinning, he first struck off the other girl's wrist manacles and their short connecting chain with a strangely enlarged link in the middle, riveting them, instead, round round Henrietta's slender wrists.

             Then the two girls were strapped down helplessly side by side on a bench with their legs embarrassingly apart. One by one five little silver rings were removed from each side of the Italian girl's beauty lips which were as smooth and hairless as those of Henrietta. As each of the ten little silver rings was delicately removed it was carefully, but a little painfully, replaced in the appropriate beauty lip of Henrietta.

            Then came the removal of two large silver rings from the Italian girl's nipples. From each ring hung a little bell. Henrietta screamed and writhed as the rings were inserted through her own enlarged nipples, but, strapped down as she was, there was nothing she could do to prevent the completion of the little operation.

            Even worse was when black leather laces were threaded through the rings in her beauty lips and drawn tight, so that the lips were now tightly compressed and held with a neat little bow, as on a shoe. But whereas, with a shoe, the wearer can readily reach down and untie the bow, here, Henrietta was to learn, she would never be able to do so - that was the prerogative of Bashir Agha or his young assistant.

            Finally the girl's iron collar, with its prominent rings hanging from the front and back, was struck off and riveted round Henrietta's little neck. The two young women were now released.

            Then, proudly tossing her head back and giving Henrietta a contemptuous sniff, the other girl was led away to start her new life as a concubine, leaving Henrietta to contemplate her now tightly bound up beauty lips, her newly ringed and belled nipples and her manacles with the enlarged single ring in the middle of the chain that linked them.

            Then the black eunuch snapped a leather lead, like a dog lead, onto thering at the back of her collar. He now made her kneel down on all fours and driven on by his assistant's whip, he led her crawling along to the slave pens underneath the palace.

            Still crawling on all fours, Henrietta was driven down a corridor and through a metal grille that the eunuch had unlocked and then, once they were through, had carefully locked again.

            Henrietta saw that the grille guarded the entrance to a long cobbled passageway with a little drain running down either side. There was a smell that reminded Henrietta of a stables. She saw that that raised on either side of the passageway was a line of narrow stalls.

            She gasped as she saw that in each stall stood a naked young white woman, chained by the neck to a ring at the back of the stall. They were all striking looking with made up eyes and long hair hanging down the back of their necks. Like Henrietta, their wrists had been manacled with a short chain. She saw that the ring in the middle of the chain had been fastened to the the ring at the front of their black iron collars, preventing them from lowering her hands below their breasts.

            Each stall was numbered with the same Arabic number as was painted on the girl's shoulder. Hanging from a hook by the side of stall was a black leather mask with little holes for the eyes. On the forehead of each mask was again the same Arabic numerals, prettily written with silver studs.

            The stalls were raised up above the level of the passageway. Henrietta saw that this would enable the eunuch in charge to reach and have access to the bodies of the women in the stalls.

            Henrietta saw that the breasts of all the women seemed surprisingly firm, especially considering that that their nipples had been ringed, just like Henrietta's, and that small bells of different sizes, which tinkled with their movement, hung from these rings.

            She also noticed that, just like most of the concubines in the harem, they bore on their bellies they bore the brand of the Bey. Moreover, their smooth and hairless beauty lips were also closed by black leather laces fastened by a neat bow.

            They were indeed a striking looking team of sleek naked young women with similarly painted eyes and long black hair hanging down their necks that contrasted with Henrietta's own long honey coloured hair. As Bashir Agha passed each stall, its occupant would silently come to attention, thrusting out her belly and laced up beauty lips towards him, in a gesture of servile respect.

            They looked inquisitively at the now similarly naked Henrietta as she was lead up to an empty stall marked with the Arabic numerals 16.

            She was made to climb up into the stall and then she, too, was secured by a heavy chain fixed to a large iron ring at the back of her stall. The end of the chain was attached to the ring at the back of her collar.

            Her manacles were now locked to her collar. She found that she too could not lower her hands below her breasts. Was this, she wondered, to stop her from playing with herself? A way of enforcing purity and of stopping her from dissipating her energies? But why? Certainly, after all the sensual frustration imposed by the black eunuchs in the harem, it was too awful to find that she was similarly kept frustrated here.

             Only now, when she had been properly secured in her stall, was the lead removed.

            She was now made to stand up. She could feel the weight of the heavy chain. Was supporting its weight intended to strengthen her muscles?

            Leaving her standing there, chained and naked, the bigblack eunuch turned and went down the passageway. But there was still silence in the slave pens - talking was obviously not allowed.


Moments later, Henrietta heard the black eunuch's sudden warning cry, in the Italian based Lingua Franca.

            "Faccia fontane!"

            Make fountains?

            This was followed by the crack of his whip. Nervously, Henrietta followed the other women in quickly moving to the front of her stall with her collar chain taut behind her. She saw that they quickly kicked the straw aside so that they were now standing on the bare cobblestones.

            Seconds later had come another crack of the whip and again Henrietta nervously followed the other women in parting her legs and bending her knees, whilst looking straight ahead with her head up, and with her wrists still manacled to to her collar, stretching her elbows out sideways.

            Then the eunuch came down the passageway to check her position. He made her thrust her belly right forward. It was a strange and humiliating position for a woman to have to assume in front of a man, even if he was a eunuch.

            Henrietta was suddenly horrified as she realised what was going to happen.

            She was even more horrified when Bashir Agha's young assistant now came down the passageway and, whilst each woman continued to look straight ahead and to keep her elbows stretched out sideways, quickly untied the bow that kept the laces tightly drawn across her beauty lips. Then he slightly eased them through the little silver rings, allowing the lips to open slightly.

            She was mortified when she felt the boys pudgy hands opening her beauty lips, but she did not dare to look down or say a word. Then when he had completed his task, he nodded to Bashir Agha standing at the end of the passageway.

            "Number 16!" called out Bashir Agha. "Prepare!"

            Henrietta bit her lip and tried to relax her muscles, as she knew she must. Bashir Agha seemed to be waiting for her, giving her, as a new girl, extra time...

            Suddenlythe whip cracked again. There was the trickling noise of a score of little fountains dropping musically down onto the cobblestones in the passageway, and then running away along the little drains at each side. Bashir Agha grunted with satisfaction as he saw that the the new girl, Number 16, was, after a slow start, performing just like the others.

            Then the boy came up the line again, a little sponge in his hand. He pulled each young woman's beauty lips apart, sponged them and then pulled the laces tight again and retied them with a bow.


That night it was a mystified and contrite Henrietta who lay chained in the still silent slave pens, lying in her stall on the straw. Her wrists were chained to her collar. She could feel but not touch her beauty lips held tightly laced together over her throbbing but helpless beauty bud.










             "I think this one might suit the Emir," said Hassan, the well-regarded slave dealer, gesturing to a black overseer to draw back the curtain of an alcove.

            There standing on a small raised platform in the alcove cove, so that her body would be was easily accessible to a potential buyer, was a beautiful white woman with long blond hair and blue eyes. She was half naked, her body covered by a simple silken shawl.

            She was held tightly up against the back wall of the small alcove by a short chain fastened to a ring at the back of her collar and her wrists were held up level with her head by two metal clamps. A heavy chain linking her manacled wrists hung down above her breasts. Her ankles were chained wide apart to rings in the side of the alcove.

            She was muzzled by a black leather gag strapped across her mouth. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, looking over the heads of the the men slightly below her.

            The overseer slipped the shawl off one shoulder displaying one large but firm breast.

             "Feel free to examine the goods," leered Hassan. He had a reputation being jovial and for taking his job in a fairly light-hearted fashion, and yet of being very professional in his dealings with wealthy potential clients and, of course, their chief black eunuchs.

            His listener raised a pudgy black hand and lifted up the tethered woman's breast, weighing it knowingly. He was a large negro dressed in a long red robe. He wore a eunuch's tall white conical hat and proudly carried the usual chief black eunuch's silver tipped bamboo cane wand of office with a curved handle - the symbol of his authority over his Master's women.

            He looked a man of importance, unusual for a black man in North Africa - and indeed he was, for he was none other than Makumo, the chief black eunuch of His Excellency the Emir of Gondah.

            Amanda gasped as she felt her exposed nipple respond embarrassingly, as it was now expertly rubbed by the terrifying and richly dressed African.

            She longed to brush his hands away from her shrinking body, but was quite unable to do so.

            She knew she must not look down and, nervously, she tried to keep her head up. She felt like an animal being examined in a market - which, of course, was exactly what she was.


The overseer slipped the shawl down over her other shoulder, uncovering Amanda's other breast. Makumo stood back for a moment, looking at them both, gave a grunt of approval and began to feel the newly exposed breast.

            She tried to cry out in protest, but all that came out from under her muzzle was a little moan that made the men laugh cruelly. Anyway no one spoke English and she could not understand Arabic.

            The big African seemed so self confidant and experienced in handling women's bodies. Was he some sort of doctor?

            "I can see these have already been in milk," said Makumo, ""but not recently."

            "Yes indeed." Hassan nodded to the, who slipped the shawl down to her feet, leaving her standing there stark naked. Her overseer gave her a tap on the thigh with his dogwhip and, blushing over her leather muzzle, she obediently slightly bent her knees and thrust her belly forward for inspection.

            Makumo noted her narrow blond 'Sales Moustache' running across the top of her otherwise hairless mound. Yes she was a genuine blond alright!

            The overseer now reached forward and, separating Amanda's fleshy beauty lips, with both hands, held them apart.

            "You see," said Hassan with a smile, "there's nothing there!"

            Makumo peered down. Where there should have been a pouting little beauty bud there was just a tiny scar.

            "Oh!" cried Makumo. "She's been doctored!"

            "Yes," replied the slave dealer. "She's a perfect example of a widow from House of Hassan."

            Makumo reached down and felt for himself the little scar nestling between the outstretched legs of the helpless and blushing Amanda.

            "Of course," the slave dealer added, "She can still give great pleasure to her Master - and a pleasure that will be all the greater for knowing that the pleasure of the woman herself will be greatly reduced."

            "Excellent!" cried Makumo, "Just what my Master is always looking for. Alas, the Berbers have no tradition of doctoring their girls whilst they are still small and we have no barber surgeons sufficiently skilled to do it to older ones."

            "Well, I can certainly you meet your Master's desires," said Hassan, adding with a cruel laugh. "And you, too, for of course a girl who had been doctored would be much less of a nuisance in the harem!"

            "Of course!" agreed Makumo with an equally cruel laugh.

            "But you'll find," warned the slave dealer, "that removal of the little bud that can cause so much trouble in the harem, results in the nipples becoming extra sensitive. The women just long for someone to play with them - whether it's a man or woman. So provided the black eunuchs make sure that it's never another woman, she'll still be desperate to catch her Master's eye."

            "Ah!," grunted Makumo.

            "Moreover you'll find that she can still get pleasure from inside herself. Indeed, it is the only way that she can get relief. So, provided you don't leave any cucumbers or candles lying around the harem, she will become increasingly desperate for the feel of her Master's manhood. Indeed, she'll soon find herself with an overwhelming desire to feel her Master's manhood rubbing up and down inside her - provided, of course, you don't allow her any alternative!"

            "Oh, don't worry," laughed Makumo once again, "I already insist on fruit and vegetables being sliced before they are sent to the harem - and make sure that there is nothing else that even our uncut girls might use to try and ease their frustration."

            "I should think not," laughed Hassan.

            "But as for candles, I must admit we do occasionally leave one lying about deliberately - but as a trap to see if any woman dares to pick it up. We watch to see where she hides it - and then pounce. The subsequent thrashing is not one that she will forget in a hurry!"

            "Good!" laughed Hassan. "Well, certainly, other chief black eunuchs have told me that our doctoring soon makes even the shyest young slavegirl dream all day about her Master's manhood and, almost against her will, become desperate to catch his eye."

            "And become all the more jealous of the other concubines," added Makumo.

            "Indeed!" said Hassan. "But, changing the subject, there's another point about our women: they've all been trained in our School of Love."

            "Trained?" queried Makumo, looking again at the naked blushing woman and imagining her in the Emir's harem, under his control. "Surely that's our job?"

            "Oh," protested Hassan, "please don't think that I am decrying the ability of experienced chief black eunuchs like yourself to break in and train any white women in their care. But, remember, these are educated European are often both prudish and proud - and used to having men at their feet. Thus, breaking them into their new dutiescan be a time consuming business."

            "Yes, so I have heard," agreed Makumo.

            "Moreover, many Christians believe that love making is intended primarily for procreation rather than for men's enjoyment. These Christian infidels have simply no idea of the refinements in love-making."

            Hassan then looked Makumo in the eye. It was important not offend him.

            "I find that chief black eunuchs, who buy upper class European women from me for their Masters, have so many other responsibilities that it is a great relief for them to find that a new white concubine is already trained. She will only need an introductory thrashing to establish his authority over her - and she will be ready for the Master's bed."

            "Excellent!" murmured Makumo.

            "In this way," the slave dealer went on, "a chief black eunuch, buying a European woman from us, can be sure that his Master will be delighted with the result whether she's a virgin or a widow. Moreover he will also know that his Master will certainly be even more delighted when he finds that there is no language problem in taking his pleasure from a woman who has been trained in the House of Hassan."

            "You mean you teach your women Arabic or Turkish?" asked Makumo surprised. "But doesn't this take a very long time?"

            "Indeed it would! No, the new Arab Master of one of our women will be intrigued when his chief black eunuch simply hands him a list of Arabic words of command that the woman has been carefully trained to to obey, instantly and without hesitation. These words of command cover the giving of pleasure in every possible kind of way - and thus greatly reducing the language problem."

            "Brilliant!" exclaimed Makumo. All this would be particularly useful with European women, speaking some outlandish language and far too full of their own importance. Clearly Hassan was a slave dealer who knew what he was doing.

            "What a relief for His Excellency to have such an effective chief black eunuch in charge of his harem," said Hassan ingratiatingly. These chief black eunuchs were always getting too big for their boots and this one did not even detect the mockery in his tone. "But I hear His Excellency already has many women in his harem, so why has he sent you here?"

            "Because, my brother, before he dies, he wishes, in obedience to the commandments of the holy Koran, to go on a pilgrimage to the sacred city of Mecca."

            "A long and dangerous journey," murmured the slave dealer, beginning to scent where this conversation might lead, "and one which can be dangerous for an older man - with the risk of picking up strange diseases from unusual drinking water."

            "Exactly!" cried the black eunuch. "And that's why I am here. His Highness is planning to take with him several women for their milk, and whom he can sell on the journey, as necessary, to raise funds."

            "Why not simply take some of his many Berber women?" asked the slave dealer.

            "Because," came the reply, "like Negresses or Italian peasant girls, they would not be sufficiently unusual to be sold for a high price. Blue eyed European women, like this one, would be far better, and he has heard their milk is exceptionally sweet and pure."

            "And moreover he can enjoy their charms on the journey and sell them, as required to replenish his purse," laughed Hassan rubbing his hands.

            "And also initially enjoy their charms in his harem, for he will not be departing until next year. Meanwhile, I shall have to arrange that they are in the right state before his departure!" added the black eunuch rather pompously. So, what I now need are several beautiful European women, initially for his harem, but also suitable soon to be mated so that they are ready to supply him with milk when he starts out for Mecca. And I would preferably like blond ones, partly to contrast with his existing Berbers and partly because, as you say, they would sell for a much higher price."

            "And, give more milk" added the slave dealer, stroking the cringing Amanda's breasts, "especially if they are the bigger boned type of women from Northern Europe, like this one. She'd milk very well and her good firm breasts, still in milk, would arouse great interest in the slave markets of Cairo or Jeddah. But they're still going to be pretty expensive here."

            "Oh, I can assure you that His Highness has authorised me to pay well for he wants," said the black eunuch putting his finger along his nose in a well known gesture.

            "Ah," replied the dealer, also touching his nose, and smiling. He hesitated. "I, er, I presume, he will have no objection to the usual commissions?"

            "There is no need to draw to his attention to that aspect," replied the big negro, with a similar conspiratorial smile. "He will not be concerned, provided the merchandise proves to be of a quality that merits the price he has paid."

            It was well understood in the slave dealing world that the chief black eunuchs of wealthy and important men received back-handers from the slave dealers with whom they did business - just as, for instance, their Masters' head grooms and falcon-masters received similar back-handers from horse-dealers and breeders of birds of prey.

            This was, however, something that Makumo had hitherto missed out on, with the Emir getting his women free of charge by accepting as gifts the prettiest daughters of his subordinate Berber tribal leaders - or by seizing the wives and daughters of recalcitrant ones. He was therefore all the more eager to make sure that he did well out of this particular deal.

            "And, of course," the slave dealer went on with a smile, as he patted Amanda's soft little white belly, "as well as enjoying having Christian women forced to pleasure them in humiliating ways, many Masters like watching European women belly dancing for his amusement - and so we train them to do this as well."

            Better and better Makumo, imagining this woman being made to dance in front of the Emir, with a gently swollen belly.

            "Yes," said Hassan, "we found her an excellent pupil. Thanks to her overseer's whip she's became very quick to obey the standard words of command. And being doctored has made her only too anxious to feel a man inside her. Yes, she'll make a first class concubine for your Master - and will also perform well for him with her teenage daughter."

            "What!" exclaimed an astonished Makumo. "You mean you're offering this woman for sale with her daughter?"

            "Oh yes!" laughed Hassan. "But for a very high price! Come and look at her..."






Hassan stepped back and drew the curtain covering the next alcove, disclosing again a slight shrouded figure fastened to the wall at the back of the alcove, though this time her ankles were left free.

            He nodded to the girl's black overseer, who reached forward and removed the shroud, disclosing a very pretty, slim, teenage girl, a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

            The girl moaned under her gag - a moan that sounded like a little whinny and which was answered by another from the cubicle next door.

            "The mare recognises her filly," laughed Hassan. "We have kept them apart here whilst being trained to obey some special additional words of command. For example, in response to the command 'Offer Daughter', the mother has been taught to drop immediately to her knees and say: 'Master please use my daughter for your pleasure.'"

            "But does she understand what she is saying?"

            "Oh yes, judging by the number of thrashings it took to get her to say it!"

             The Emir's chief black eunuch smiled and then nodded in approval as he saw the long honey coloured blond hair hanging down Diana's back. He nodded again as he saw her clear blue eyes. Both hair and eyes matched in colouring those of her mother, as did her beauty.

            "Yes, you can see the family resemblance," said Makumo. "This pair could be of great interest to my Master, especially if they have not yet been trained to work together so that he will be able to see their shame. He always likes it when a Berber tribal leader offers a wife and daughter."

            "And how much more so, if they are both genuinely blond Christian women!" urged the the slave dealer. "Look for yourself!"

            Hassan snapped his fingers and Diana's overseer delicately drew back his charge's robe to disclose a little blond tuft on one side of an otherwise smooth and hairless mound. Yes, there could be no doubt, both mother and daughter were genuine blondes. The Emir would be fascinated by them - and would reward his chief black eunuch accordingly.

            Then Makumo gasped in admiration as the overseer lifted the girl's robe to disclose more of her mound. Emblazoned there was a beautifully tattooed, flowering, bright red rose.

            He gasped again as the overseer slightly lowered the girl's robe to show that the rose was supported by a green tattooed stalk that disappeared between the desperately embarrassed girl's tightly clamped legs. Moreover the graceful green stalk was surrounded by beautifully tattooed rose leaves.

            Then he pulled the robe right back and gave the girl a sharp tap on the belly with his dog whip. Blushing, she slightly bent her knees and parted her legs. Makumo was fascinated to see that there was a bright little rosebud at the end of the green stalk.

            Hassan paused to give Makumo time to appreciate the sight and to imagine how it might stimulate his Master.

            "This is our standard treatment for young virgins," he explained. "After the girl has been depilated, a rose is tattooed on her mound, and her inner lips are trimmed back to avoid any protruding parts showing. Then our barber surgeon ensures her continuing purity, first by our usual doctoring and then by carefully sewing up the inside of the lips. When he's finished all that shows from the outside is just a narrow line running down, where before there were the pouting lips of a nubile young woman."

            "Ah!" exclaimed Makumo appreciatively.

            "Then," went on Hassan, "as you can see, our tattoo artist makes this line look just like the green stem of a rose with a few little green leaves sprouting out on either side. The final effect really is charming, is it not? The traditional operation requires cutting off the lips and then allowing what's left to heal together, but we think that is unnecessarily complicated. We consider our way is just as good and just as effective." He paused and glanced at Makumo. "It does, of course, call for a considerable skill - and that costs money!"

            "Of course!" agreed Makumo enthusiastically. "How very clever!" He had heard of this technique, but had never come across it before.

            "And then," went on Hassan, "our barber surgeon and the tattoo artist work together to leave a little orifice, tattooed to look like a small rose bud, at the bottom end of the stalk, between the legs, for the passing of fluids - and, of course, for the entry of the Master's manhood."

            "But surely it's far too small for that?" said Makumo. "My Master is quite -"

            "No problem!" laughed Hassan. "Our little rosebud can expand and flower just like a real rose whilst providing both the tight feeling and the erotic sight that a discerning Master demands."

            "Not to mention," added the now convinced Makumo, "the all-important feeling of power that comes from having the girl well and truly sewn up!"

            "Precisely!" Hassan smacked his lips. "We call this the Rose Treatment or Planting a Rose."

            "The Rose Treatment! Planting a Rose!" echoed Makumo. "What lovely expressions!"

            "And if you ever want to use the girl for breeding, then all you have to do is to cut the stitches on the day of deliverance and sew her up again afterwards to restore the high degree of control over her - to Re-plant the Rose!"

            "Re-planting the Rose! Even better," laughed Makumo cruelly. "Oh, what a pity our barber surgeons and tattoo artists are not sufficiently expert to treat the Emir's Berber virgins in this way."

            "All the more reason why he will be extra pleased with my merchandise," smiled Hassan.

            "His Excellency will indeed be very interested in possessing such a girl," murmured the black eunuch, "and in plucking her rosebud!"

            Hassan smiled. Better and better, he thought.

            "But there's one thing I don't quite understand," said Makumo. "If the girl cannot get at her precious beauty bud, what is the point of removing it?"

            "Ah," replied Hassan, "we find that unless you also snip off the sensitive tip of the bud, you don't get the new extra sensitivity of the nipples and you don't get the girl's new acute longing to feel something rubbing up and down inside her. These are Nature's way of making up for the loss of that precious bud."

            "Yes, I see," murmured Makumo. "It is all very clever!"

            "Well, the House of Hassan has been delighting its customers for a long time now," said the slave dealer.

            "So I can imagine," murmured Makumo, running his hand down the rose stalk of the helpless wriggling girl and finding that it was firm and tight - thanks to the hidden stitching underneath.

            Then he touched the little red rosebud between the girl's legs.

            "Yes, she's a perfect example of a well doctored white virgin from the House of Hassan," said the slave dealer, rubbing his hands in anticipation of highly profitable sale. "And now have a closer look at what will fascinate your Master, her crowning beauty, her little rosebud. Feel up inside the little rose bud itself and see how she can still be aroused there. Feel how soft the rose petals are, and satisfy yourself about the girl's virginity."

            Putting his upturned hand between the girl's now well spread thighs, Makumo accepted the invitation. A protesting moan came from under the gag, and again she wriggled in revulsion. Makumo felt carefully and deeply whilst the overseer held her still. Yes, the hymen was intact.

            "Now feel," added Hassan, "how this tight rose bud will expand like a rose coming into bloom to accommodate even the largest Master."

            Gently Makumo inserted another finger. He heard another moan, and felt the velvety soft sides of the rose bud slowly expanding.

            Then with an experienced hand he began gently to tickle a certain spot...


Moments later Makumo stood back from Diana, wiping his hands as he looked at the girl's now glistening beauty lips. The doctoring had worked beautifully. His Master would be delighted.

            "I must congratulate you and your barber surgeon on your skills," he said. "This is indeed a rose that my Master will enjoy plucking."

            "Indeed," laughed Hassan rubbing his hands. "Just imagine showing her off to His Excellency alongside her mother. He will certainly get an exceptionally good price for them on the Haj."

            Makumo felt a sweat breaking out on his forehead. What an opportunity! The Emir would, indeed, be overwhelmed with delight and reward him handsomely.

            "But you're largely interested in these women for their breasts," said the slave dealer. "You liked the mother's, now have a closer look at the daughter's." He reached forward and pulled back the girl's robe to bare her right breast. "Imagine this swelling and firming up as her belly swells."

            Makumo stroked it carefully. It was not quite so full as the mother's and the nipple was both pinker and less prominent, but the breast was rather firmer. Certainly it was a very provocative sight. It was, he decided, the right shape for being coaxed into milking well."

             "Now let us have an another look at the mother," said Hassan, guessing what was going through the big black man's mind.

            Amanda's black overseer gave her the same order as had been been given to Diana and obediently she, too, parted her knees.

            Standing back so as to look simultaneously into both alcoves, Makumo compared the voluptuous figure of the mother and the slim figure of the daughter. They certainly made a delightfully erotic pair as they stood stark naked in their separate adjoining alcoves, unable to see each other, their knees parted, both women blushing with embarrassment, their robes now lying at their feet, their eyes lowered in shame.

            The contrast between the woman's natural and voluptuously full beauty lips, and the virginal little tattooed rose of the girl, was quite delightful. They were, Makumo decided, splendid specimens of womanhood, both of breeding age.

            He had already felt both their bellies. The flat little belly of the daughter, he thought, seemed to be almost crying out to be filled. And she had inherited her mother's good child-bearing hips. They would both be able to deliver large Haratin progeny - something that was sometimes a problem with slim-hipped Berber women.

            His Master would be fascinated to have mother and daughter both covered at the same time, then to watch as, with their beauty lips prudently sewn up, they were made by the black eunuchs to carry their growing and kicking giant progeny.

            Again guessing what was in the black eunuch's mind, Hassan gave an order to the overseers. In response to each of their overseer's dogwhip both Amanda and Diana were now thrusting their bellies and hips right forward. Yes, thought Makumo, they would indeed make a fascinating pair.

             But all that was for later, in the short term they must please the Emir.

            "I shall have to slim the mother down," Makumo said, stroking Amanda's voluptuous waist and hips. "His Highness is used to the slim Berber woman. The trick will be to get both the mother and daughter's bodies almost identical."

            "Like their almost identical honey-coloured hair and blue eyes," said the slave dealer, rubbing his hands enthusiastically and sensing a certain sale.

            "Indeed!" agreed Makumo.

            "But I recommend that you do not try and slim the mother down too much or you will also slim down the breasts. You don't want to reduce the amount of milk she can give."

            "Oh no, and I'll have each of them put to Dinka giants. The size of Dinka progeny ensures that Nature arranges for the breasts to grow to give the extra large amount of milk that it will need - especially as we often get twins. I think I will put each of them to three Dinkas!"

            "Oh? Why three?"

            "Oh, partly to ensure conception and partly to prevent the mother from knowing which is the father of her growing progeny and so forming a annoying attachment."

            "Isn't it easier just to hood the girl, like we do here?" asked the dealer.

            "Oh no," replied the black eunuch, "His Highness likes to attend the mating of a woman selected for Haratin breeding, and to put on a proper show of it all. Having to submit to the assaults of three giant Dinkas makes it all a much better spectacle for the Emir and his guests."

            "Yes, of course," agreed the slave dealer. "What an excellent idea!"






"And now for the third of our little British party," laughed the slave dealer, nodding to another overseer.

            "What!" cried Makumo in astonishment.

            This time the drawn back curtain of the alcove revealed the red-haired Jeannie, stark naked except for a little row of beads that modestly hid her intimacies. Her eyes were looking around in in horror above her gag. Like Amanda's, her ankles were also chained wide apart.

            She realised that she now a slave, but kept separate from her former Mistress and her daughter, and and with no common language with the other girls in her class, she had little idea what was going on. It had been horrible, when the bandages were removed, to find that she had lost the source of her secret pleasures.

            But what had also mystified her was the trimming to which her beauty lips had been subjected in the treatment wing. She was rather proud of the way they now looked - and had been astonished to see that all the other girls in her class had also been trimmed in the same way.

            She wondered, however, what her simple tough Highlander lover-boys, back in Scotland, would make of it all. She had always been such a jolly girl and a loyal maidservant, who had enjoyed playing with her body or offering it to a laughing kilted Highlander to play with. But of course she would never see them again...


"This is the mother's young red-haired maidservant. Alas, she's not a virgin - but, as you can see she's very pretty. And she's large breasted and would make an exceptional milk slave."

            "Well," cried Makumo, thinking how delighted the Emir would be if he brought back all three. "And what nationality are these interesting items?" he asked.

            "British! The mother and daughter come from an English aristocratic family - just the type of merchandise I like to handle. And the maid, I think, comes from a strange province of England called Scotland, where, they say, the men wear skirts."

            "But I thought our corsairs were not allowed to attack British ships?"

            "Indeed not, nor enslave British subjects. And we cannot ransom them either. But," Hassan added with a sly grin, "these womenwere captured by our brave corsairs whilst travelling aboard a Sicilian ship, Officially in accordance with our treaty with the British, they should have been released. However, it seems that our busy corsairs may have muddled the word 'British' with 'Bavarian' - and, of course, we have no treaty with Bavaria, wherever that may be!

            "Anyway, they'd never escape from the Emir's harem," said Makumo with a grim laugh. "And it's a long way from the sea."

            "Precisely!" laughed Hassan, rubbing his hands at the thought of getting rid of three potentially awkward women at a considerable profit. Although outwardly he made light of the fact that they were British, nevertheless he would secretly be greatly relieved if they were to disappear for next year into the far away harem of the Emir of Gondah.

            Jeannie was now subjected to a close examination by Makumo, concentrating on her full breasts, and on her ginger haired 'moustache'.

             Then the cord round her hips was untied and the line of beads fell to the floor. Makumo gave a gasp of delight at what he now saw in what he had previously only glimpsed - hairless. tight, pink beauty lips that looked like those of a little girl. He ran the tip of his finger down the line of the lips. They were smooth and firm, with no sign of any protruding inner lips.

            "Yes," grinned Hassan, "my barber surgeon achieved a perfect little girl look!"

            The girl's overseer gave her a curt order. Blushing over her gag, Jeannie bent her knees and Hassan reached forward to part her tight little beauty lips. Where there should have the excited pleasure bud of a rather wanton young woman there was just a tiny scar.

            "A perfect example of a young widow from House of Hassan," murmured the slave dealer. "We found her an excellent pupil. She'll make an interesting contrast for your Master if you take all three."


Makumo was delighted with all three women and in particular with their doctoring. Quite apart from the physical and mental pleasure it would give to the Emir, it would also greatly increase their valuewhen he came to sell them on the pilgrimage.

            Like many Arab rulers, it was something that the Emir had often spoken about having done to his Berber concubines. It was after all usual amongst black women and many Arab ones. But they had been treated whilst still little girls, and the Emir's barber surgeons had never been sufficiently skilled and experienced to carry out the treatment on grown up women.

            He went back into each cubicle and again felt up inside each woman. He wanted to be quite sure! Each of them in turn went red with embarrassment. He smiled as he found that Jeannie, like Diana, was still nicely tight - even if she was no longer a virgin. Tightness was something that the Emir appreciated.

            He was again delighted to find that, despite their different treatments, all three showed clear signs of responding to a little internal stimulation. They would soon be longing desperately for the only relief that they were would now be allowed in the harem - the feel of their Master's manhood as it penetrated them.

            He gestured for all of them to released and turned round, so that he could feel carefully up their tight buttocks - something which would also serve the Emir's virile manhood. Satisfied, he stood back and admired their soft, full bottoms, slim waists and long backs. They really were a very fine matched trio of white womanhood!


The slave dealer's white eunuch pageboy held out a towel and a bowl of rose water in which to wash his hands. Meanwhile Hassan, shrewd dealer that he was, had ordered the women's gags to be removed and for all three of them to be released by their overseers and, each held on a lead attached to the backs of their collars, led out of their alcoves.

            "Let's have a look at them, prancing round the room!" laughed Hassan. He gave an order to one of the overseers. There was a crack of a whip and a barked order and then the three women started to prance round and round the room, their manacled hands clasped behind their necks and the knees raised high in the air, whilst the overseers long whip gently touched each of their buttocks in turn to encourage them to prance properly.

             Makumo laughed at Amanda's look of horror as she saw properly, for the first time, the brilliantly coloured rose plant into which her daughter's intimacies had been transformed.

            "My darling, what have these beasts done to you?" she cried out in English. She tried to run over to her daughter, to take her in her arms. But her overseer was still holding her tightly by her lead.

            "Mamma! Oh Mamma!" Diana wanted to throw herself into her mother's arms, but she, too, was tightly held.

            "Madam! Oh Madam! Oh Miss Diana!" Jeannie cried. "And look at me!"

            Amanda's horrified gaze took in Jeannie's neatly trimmed back beauty lips. Again she opened her mouth to cry out in protest, but this time sharp tap across her buttocks from her overseer's whip made her think again.

            "A charming picture of family concern," laughed Hassan, rubbing his hands like a keen salesman scenting a sale, "and one that would repeatedly delight your Master, if all three were in his harem."

            Makumo nodded.


The whip of one of the overseers cracked dangerously near behind Amanda, making her strain to raise her knees yet higher. At least, she thought, I'm not like the women she had seen in the School of Love - having to prance despite their obvious state of expectancy. But could she be sure that Diana and Jeannie were not also now expecting? It seemed so normal in this terrible place - and they had all been deliberately kept separate and unable to talk.

            She had been appalled to see what had been done to Jeannie's beauty lips as well as the transformation to which poor Diana had been subjected. Had they also, like her, lost their beauty buds? She remembered her own horror when the bandages had finally been removed just to find a little scar. She had also been so ashamed during the lessons in love with the virile negro teachers, to find that her operation had heightened her longing to feel a manhood inside her. Had the other two been put through similar lessons?

            My God! What dreadful fate lay ahead of them as white slaves in the Barbary States? And to think that only a short time ago she had been a blushing bride on her sway to join her future husband and Diana was half engaged to the handsome Dominic Edelston - the Hon. Mr Dominic, no less, and a future peer of the realm.

            Indeed, similar thoughts were running through Diana's mind as she too strained to raise her knees. She too remembered the shock of seeing what had been done when the bandages were removed. But it shock mixed with fascination for she had to admit that the effect was very pretty. But could she ever now face Dominic. Indeed would she ever see him again? Who now would be taking her precious maidenhead?

            She too remembered her shame during the lessons when the Negress instructor, feeling gently up inside her so as to harm her precious hymen, had raised her to fever pitch despite the absence of her beauty bud. But equally shame making was the constant supervision of her awful black overseer and the constant fear of his cane. She had always been such a vivacious girl - now she felt like a cowed puppy.

            Jeannie's horror, too, when her bandages were taken off, had been mixed with fascination at the way her beauty lips now looked like those of a child - and she realised the effect had been enhanced by the removal of her precious beauty bud. But, like Amanda, she too, had been shocked and surprised during the enforced lessons in love-making Arab at the intensity of her feelings when one of the large black manhoods of their instructors had so shamefully penetrated her.


At a sign from the the slave dealer, three women, each now panting from her exertions and her lead again held tautly by her overseer standing proudly behind her, was made to grip her manacled hands behind her head, and to kneel up before the strangely dressed black man. Then with each being given a warning tap on her buttocks to keep silence, her overseer held her mouth open for inspection, whilst Makumo inspected their teeth, felt the softness of their mouths and smelt the sweetness of their breath.

            Again satisfied, Makumo stood back admiring the line of naked, and already well disciplined women. How amusing the Master would find them. With three of them, he would be able, as Hassan had said, to ring the changes in very interesting ways to suit the Master's mood.

            Nothing, for instance, would be more humiliating than for both the blushing mother and daughter to be made to to please him in front of each other. He could imagine his Master's delight as the mother was made to stimulate her daughter in front of him, so that she was ready to receive his manhood and lose her virginity, or for the daughter to be made to stimulate the mother so that she was ready for the Master's manhood.

            Alternatively, he could imagine the daughter and the young servant girl both pleasuring the Master in the much less inhibited ways of young girls together. Or, he could enjoy the mutual embarrassment of the mother and her former maidservant at being made to please him, each in turn andwith the active participation of the other.

            Or all three, carefully trained by him beforehand, could be brought into action together. And, of course, all three of them had been trained to belly dance naked in front of their Master. The possibilities seemed endless.

            "Yes, I'll take all three,' he said in a business like tone of voice. "But I shall expect a discount for numbers."

            "But this is a unique package, I am offering you," exclaimed Hassan.

            The serious business of bargaining over the price had begun. It continued for some time, with the three embarrassed women being occasionally led round to show off their charms, or brought up to Makumo for him to inspect again, whilst Hassan's white pageboy served innumerable little cups of Turkish coffee...






The next morning, a small well guarded waggon drawn by mules left the slave dealer's establishment. Under the canvas covers was an iron barred cage. Inside the cage were three half naked figures, gagged and still manacled. The cage was low, forcing the women to crawl around on all fours.

            Each was chained by the neck to a different corner of the cage. Their gags would only be removed, and then momentarily, when, unable to feed themselves because of their thick fingerless gloves, they were fed and watered, and even then strict silence was enforced.

            They could not see out, except through the little metal grilles in the floor of each corner of the swaying cage, through which they had to drop their wastes. Peering through these grilles, they had seen the cobblestones of the town streets replaced by interminable sandy tracks.

            Each woman was terrifyingly aware that they had been bought as slaves by the the strangely dressed black man, but they had no idea where they were being taken, nor of their fate. But at least they were still together.

            Before leaving the House of Hassan, a small red diamond and some Arabic numerals had been delicately and neatly tattooed onto their left inner thighs. The iron collars of the slave dealer had also been removed and replaced by wider brass ones, supplied by Makumo, with curved edges for greater comfort. But being much wider these collars held the women's heads up artificially high with their chins raised in the way that appealed to the Emir.

            Hanging from the ring at the front of each collar was a brass disc with strange Arabic writing on it. If the women had been able to read the writing they would have learnt to their horror that they were now the private property of the Emir of Gondah.









How beautiful she looked, thought Rory, as, followed by Tulip, his white eunuch secretary and page boy, he strode down to the jetty below his palace. His official galliot was moored stern-on as is the fashion in the tideless Mediterranean.

            He could not help admiring the slender, lightly built and brilliantly varnished craft, with its raised sharp bows and delicate stern curving up high above the calm clear water. Between these, down on the rowing deck, were ten rowing benches, each bisected by the narrow catwalk that ran up the centre of the craft. So as to give the rowers better leverage, a long beautifully carved side strakes, or false bulwarks, ran a foot outboard either side of the side of the rowing deck. Through these the oars, ten on each side, were thrust. These side strakes also served to hide the naked galley slaves from prying eyes.

            Brightly coloured silken banners fluttered from the prow and stern, on which were emblazoned eulogies to Allah.

            He glanced up at the small poop deck that was protected from the sun by canvas awning lined with pale green silk.

            The Arab coxswain, standing by the helm at the after end of the raised poop, broke the strict silence that was enforced onboard and which was one of the three hallmarks of Turkish custom: silence, magnificence and deference to authority.

            "Master coming onboard!"

            Immediately the young black boy up in the bows of the galliot gave a brief roll on his drum. Down on the well scrubbed rowing deck, the black eunuch whipmaster, holding his coiled black whip in one hand and resplendent in a red fez and matching red breeches with a golden stripe running down the side that signalled the position of his Master, slowly raised his free hand. Then, without speaking a word, he cracked his whip twice.

            The first crack was a preliminary warning that made the silent galley slaves sit up straight. At the second crack the twenty carefully chosen naked young galley slaves, all slim but with breasts that varied intriguingly in shape and weight, lowered their stretched-out arms to a horizontal position, so that their oars were now clear of the water.

            Each turned the loom of her oar, to which her wrist manacles were fastened to a polished metal hasp fitted to the oar by a small padlock. The brightly painted blades of the oars faced upwards and formed a perfect beautifully spaced line.


Bashir Agha, Master of Women, made his way aft slowly and majestically, down the catwalk, to greet the Master. His quick beady bloodshot eyes checked that each pretty young white galley slave was sitting up straight, with her belly sucked in, her shoulders back so that her identically painted scarlet nipples were thrust forward, her chin raised, and her eyes fixed on the small of the back of the woman seated ahead of her.

            Uncertain as to whether the Bey was alone, he also checked that each woman's face was properly veiled by her black leather mask. Wealthy men in Marsa did not mind another man seeing their female galley slaves' naked bodies, but their faces must be hidden. If the Master was alone the masks could be removed once the slender little galley was clear of the busy port.

            The design of the masks depended on the whim of the Master. Some used pretty little whiskered masks in the form of a cat's face, other's a simple silken yashmak resting on the nose. But the Bey had copied the Pasha in using stiff leather masks that would not be affected by the sweat running down the women's faces when he ordered a fast stroke.

            The masks covered the entire face, except for two little eyeholes. This had the additional advantage of also acting as an effective muzzle, both preventing the women from talking to each other and from secretly snatching any available sweet food - and thus disturbing the balance of the special, but meagre, diet that they were given to keep them fit and slim.

            The masks were black to contrast with their white skins. They were set off by a pretty little leather fringe below the chin. This in turn half hid the simple black iron collars riveted round each woman's neck and the large ring on the front of each collar that was used to chain them at night in the slave pens below the Bey's palace.

            This was a well trained team, Bashir Agha told himself, obedient to the whip and capable of rowing for long periods. They were a credit to him as their whipmaster, responsible for every moment of their lives. It was he who decided which oar they pulled, what they eat, and when they slept. It was he who supervised their intimate and natural functions. They were indeed entirely his responsibility.

            He gave a last look around at his naked and silent charges, each holding out her oar in the position of Salute.Then, satisfied that all was correct, he turned to bow to the Bey he served.


Rory stepped up the gangway that led up to the raised poop. He was followed by his pageboy, Tulip, an Italian white eunuch slave, who acted both as his Secretary and as his personal attendant.

            Now, instead of the tight red coat and black bearskin of His Majesty's Foot Guards, Rory wore an even more striking uniform of blue voluminous trousers, yellow boots and a long yellow spotted robe, edged with a wide golden stripe. It denoted him as the Agha or Commander of the Orta, the Regiment of the Sultan's Corps of Janissaries stationed here in Marsa. On his head he wore the zarcola, the strange brass helmet of the Janissaries with its high white plumes in the front and behind it the distinctive Janissaries' raised wide strip of white felt that curved up over the head and then hung down over the back.

            Originally the Janissaries had been formed from young Christian youths from the Balkans who were the personal slaves of the Sultan. Every few years the Devsirme, a human tax on the Sultan's Christian subjects, was levied and youths of between eight and sixteen were taken from their families and trained to be Janissaries.

            Originally too, they had been celibate. But now, especially in North Africa, the Janissaries had married and the Corps had become a self perpetuating corps of fathers and sons. In Constantinople they had become the Pretorian Guard of the Ottomans, threatening and overthrowing Sultans. Here in North Africa, however, they were still a loyal elite force, and Rory had been sent to make sure they remained one. Now ennobled as Hussein Bey, he had become the right hand man of the Pasha of Marsa, an elderly man but still shrewd and vigorous Turk.


The Bey sat down in the shade of the sumptuous awning on a sofa over which was stretched a beautiful shawl of pale green silk. On either side of him were brightly coloured cushions each beautifully embroidered.

            Everything about the galley and its crew was intended to reflect the magnificence, power and ruthlessness of their owner, the far away Sultan, the Shadow of God on Earth.

            Rory nodded to his Coxswain, who silently cast off the stern lines to the jetty. The black drum boy up in the bows hauled in the anchor and there was another double crack, like pistol shots, from the whipmaster's whip - the first was a warning and the second the executive order.

            Instantly the twenty naked women swayed forward in unison, the little bells hanging from their nipple rings tinkling provocatively. They reached right forward until the looms of their oars were touching the back of the woman seated in front of them. Then they turned the looms so that the blades of each oar was vertical.

            They were now sitting quite still, waiting anxiously for the next order - a picture of well disciplined white womanhood.

            There was a sudden double roll on the drum. The women caught their breath. Their fingers tightened onto the looms of their oars.

            Then, again like a pistol shot, came another crack of the whip.

            There was a slight pause and then the second crack. Instantly twenty oars dipped into the water and twenty slim backs strained back in perfect time. First came six short strokes, each marked by a tap on the drum, to get the light galliot moving. Then, as she slipped fast through the calm sea out into the bay, the intervals between each beat of the drum lengthened. As it did so, so did the stroke.

            Soon each young woman was straining under the watchful eyes of the cruel whipmaster, who stalked up and down the catwalk. He was proud of his well drilled charges, proud of the the way each strained to bring the loom of her oar right back to the little bells hanging from her painted nipples. As she did so she would automatically raise her belly towards the figure of her Master, seated comfortably on the poop.

            Below each distinctive brand mark was the smooth mound from which all signs of hair had been carefully removed. Below that could be seen the line of brass infibulation rings through which were threaded, like the laces of a shoe, the black polished laces that held the hairless beauty lips tightly shut and gave them the appearance of those of a little girl.

            Again like the laces of a shoe, these were tied in a pretty little bow at the the top of the beauty lips. Since great care was taken to ensure that that the girls were never able to untie these bows, they made certain that the young women were kept pure at all times, especially at night when chained up in their stalls. All their energies had to be kept for pulling their oars!

            Indeed, the laces were only loosened by the terrifying whipmaster, or his young assistant, and then only on for three purposes.

             The first was when the women were periodically all simultaneously made to Make a Fountain, as it was euphemistically called.

            The second was at Bashir Agha's regular morning inspection before embarking in the galley for the day. This was the moment when he decided whether to leave a particular girl behind in her stall - for he usually had several spares.

            The third was when, once a week, with the woman's manacled hands fastened above her head, he applied the burning depilatory lotion to her mound and beauty lips and then, as she started to wriggle with the pain, he would take advantage of the now loosened laces to part her hairless beauty lips and rub a little of the lotion along the inside of the lips to make sure that no unsightly hairs were growing there. This always brought on a violent spasm of wriggling that the cruel Bashir Agha and his young boy assistant quite enjoyed.

            The effect of this lacing was very striking when the women were rowing. As they leaned back on completing each stroke, it looked as if each young woman, reduced to anonymity by her mask, was silently and desperately thrusting up her prettily laced up beauty lips and using them to try and catch the eye of the Bey and so end her life as a galley slave by earning promotion to his harem.

            Then, in perfect time, they would all thrust the looms of their oars right forward again, to start the next stroke, the little bells suspended from their breasts all tinkling together. Some the women would occasionally give their breasts a little extra shake to make her bells ring louder and so attract the Master's attention.

            It was the boast of Bashir Agha that by matching the size of each girl's bells to that of her breasts, a distinctive note came from each pair of bells. They had alsoenabled him to dispense with the taut chains linking the women's collars that he now only used with a new girl being broken to the oar, as it was called. With her collar tightly linked to those of the women seated immediately in front of her and behind her, a new girl was made to pull at her oar in perfect time with the others.

            Provided they were all pulling in perfect unison, then, as they commenced and finished each stroke with a little jerk of their breasts, a harmonious musical chord would be heard.

            But woebetide any girl whose bells tinkled even slightly earlier or later than the rest - or who thought she could get away with only going through the motions of pulling at her oar.


As Rory looked down at his naked galley slaves, he could not help noticing, as usual, the fascinating way that no two pairs of breasts were alike in shape, firmness or texture, with each pair supporting different sized bells.

            It was also fascinating to note how the painted nipples, each infibulated with a golden ring from which hung the bell, also varied in size and in provocativeness. Vive la difference!

            Moreover, just as the servants of a distinguished man in Europe might be dressed in his livery, so his galley slaves also wore on their heads, above their black leather masks, their sole article of clothing in the hot sun, a specially made version of the zarcola - clearly denoting that they were the galley slaves of the Agha of the Janissaries.

             It was normal in Marsa for the owner of a galliot to mark his team of women galley slaves in a distinctive fashion. Some instructed their whipmaster's to keep their women's heads shaved and polished, or shaved at the sides with a starched narrow mane sticking up from the head forehead to the neck, in Red Indian style.

            Other owners likedto see a large well polished brass ring hanging from each woman's nose. Some liked to see them wearing little embroidered harem caps.

            But there was no doubting the galliot of the Commander of the Janissaries with the white plumes of the women's zarcolas visibly swaying to and fro in perfect time above the side strakes of the rowing deck.

            The number of pairs of oars was strictly regulated: fourteen for the Sultan should he ever visit Marsa, twelve for the Pasha his Governor, ten for Commander of the Janissaries and other leading officials, and eight for the leading merchants, slave dealers and landowners on whom the wealth of the port depended.

            Some of the rich merchants of Marsa still preferred to man their galliots with the traditional black slavegirls, brought up to Marsa from across the Sahara. However, with the greatly improved supply of captured Christian women and the consequent drop in their price, more and more were using white women galley slaves - or perhaps achieving a pretty domino effect on the rowing benches by alternating white with black.

            Some preferred to use slightly older women, saying that they stood up to the harsh life of a galley slave better than young ones, and had more stamina at the oar. Moreover, these galley owners would maintain, their slaves were just as pleasing to look down on from the comfort of their poopdeck, since the flab, often associated with older European girls, quickly disappeared after a few weeks at the oar - just as straining at an oar under the supervision of a cruel black whipmaster did wonders for a previously slightly drooping breast.

            Others liked to have an exactly matched team, taking as much trouble over acquiring just the right match as a proud owner of a delicate phaeton in London might take over acquiring a beautifully matched team of chestnut horses to show off to his friends.

            Others, like Rory, preferred to look down on a variety of shapes and sizes - and ages.

            One area of general agreement, however, was that it was important to keep them frustrated and not allow them to dissipate the energies that should be devoted to pulling their Master's oar, by playing with themselves in the slave pens at night.

            All in all, these light inshore galleys were both a very useful means of transport for their owners, and an absorbing hobby, as well as providing a picturesque sight for visitors to Marsa.






Galley slave Number 16 jumped as the black whipmaster standing behind her expertly brought his whip down across her naked shoulder, only slightly tanned by exposure to the sun, and up under her outstretched right arm to her right breast.

            Henrietta screamed under the leather mask that covered her mouth.

            She desperately longed to rub her painted nipple, with its hanging bell, to ease the pain. But with her wrists chained to her oar she could only touch it momentarily at the end of each stroke. In any case, with the terrifying whipmaster standing over her, she did not dare to try to touch her breasts, never mind not keep perfect time with the drum hammering out the fast stroke that the Bey had ordered.

            Indeed, it was the sheer physical strain of keeping up with this fast stroke that had made her try to ease her aching muscles by going through the movements of rowing without really pulling hard. She had not realised that he had come up the catwalk from the bows and had been standing right behind her, nor that he would so quickly spot that she was slacking.

            "Put your back into it, Number 16!"

            He raised his whip for another stroke.


Peering out through the little eyeholes in her leather mask, Henrietta knew that she had to keep her eyes fixed on the back of the girl in front of her, but she still could not help flashing a quick glance up at the handsome young Englishman sitting majestically up on the poopdeck, the cruel man who owned her, the man she loved and adored, but equally the man she hated and despised for allowing her, a sensitive and beautiful Englishwoman, to become one of his galley slaves.

            Early every morning, withtheir faces hidden by their numbered leather masks, and the plumes of their zarcolas waving above their heads, the women were released from the heavy collar chain in their stalls and lined up in two lines in the passageway. It was a moment of apparent freedom, but it was false freedom, for Bashir Agha had first closed and locked the stout iron barred grill across the end of the passageway.

            Then each line would be chained up in a slave coffle, with the rings of their collars linked by short chains. One coffle consisted of the ten women who would be chained to the oars on the starboard side, with a spare girl destined for the tiny cage in the bows. The other was the women who pulled the oars on the port side, again together with a spare.

            The smallest girls, who would man the bow oars, were in the front and the largest, who would pull the stern-most oars, were in the back, with the more experienced and specially selected stroke oars last of all.

            Then, watched by the few girls being left behind still chained in their stalls, and obedient to a crack of Bashir Agha's whip, the two coffles would run out into the sunlight and on to where the the graceful galley was moored stern on to the quay in front of the Bey's palace, all keeping perfect time,

            One coffle at a time, they would be embarked and chained to their oars. Only then were the chains linking their collars removed - and, then, not those of any girls still being broken in.

            Chained to their oars, with their faces covered by their stiff leather masks, they had to sit silent and patient in the warm morning sun, waiting in case the Bey might need his galley.

            If the Bey went ashore somewhere the galley would have to lie off, the Arab coxswain occasionally calling for a few strokes of the oars to keep the craft in position.

             Sometimes the coxswain and Bashir Agha would make the women practice holding water or backing watering with the oars on one side, whilst pulling with those on the other to spin the light craft round, or quickly back-watering with both sets of oars to moor the craft stern on to a jetty, holding water at the last moment to break momentum.

            Henrietta soon found herself taking a pride in the way the long galley was so expertly manoeuvred.

            Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of other galleys, also mainly manned by naked white women under the orders of a well dressed black whipmaster. It was all clearly intended as an outward sign of the wealth of their owners, just as in England the possession of beautiful carriage with its smartly dressed postillions and drivers and matching teams of horses was a sign of great wealth. But there was more to it here, for the possession of a team of naked white women galley slaves was clearly also a sign of the cruel masculinity of their owner and revenge on hated Christians.

            The slaves were even taught by Bashir Agha to sing, to sing together in girlish voices. Often at night, when the Bey was visiting the luxurious water's edge villa of a rich widow, he and his lady love would be serenaded by the slave girls chained to the oars of the galley lying off in the calm moonlit waters. It was an old Marsa custom!

            Sometimes Rory might invite his Turkish lady for a moonlight cruise around the bay. Then, just as Henrietta had been driven mad by jealousy in the harem, she was again driven equally mad as, chained impotently to her oar, she had to sing an Arab or Turkish love song whilst Rory seduced the object of his desires up on the poop deck, with the woman's little cries of ecstasy punctuating the girlish chorus.

            Oh, how she hated him for allowing Matrak to condemn her to this terrible life. But as she looked up at him sitting masterfully on the poop, she could not help admiring his commanding ways and his virile and handsome looks.

            She could not help thinking about the way he would, whenever the mood took him, order one of the women to be replaced by one of the spare girls and then brought by Bashir Agha on a lead, crawling along the catwalk and up to the poop. There her lead would be handed to the Bey's pageboy and her mask removed. Then, still on her knees, with her manacled hands flat on the deck, she would put her head down under the Bey's robes or onto his voluminous blue Turkish trousers...

            The other jealously watching women, still straining at their oars under Bashir Agha's whip, would secretly watch through the little eyeholes of their masks. They would see their Master's white pageboy standing to one side and holding the girl's lead taut. Then they would see how their Master, now holding a dogwhip in one hand, perhaps using the other to and fondle the girl's breasts with their rings and dangling bells, would carefully direct her mouth and tongue to give himself the greatest pleasure.

            They would see her head obediently rising and falling. But they would also see, between her buttocks as she knelt on the poopdeck facing away from them, that her tightly laced beauty lips were now glistening with the signs of frustrated excitement.

            How Henrietta would be wishing that it was she who had been selected. She would have given the Master such pleasure - such pleasure that he would have relented and ordered her to be sent back to the harem. But over and over again she had been ignored and some other chit of a girl had been tried out instead. As she raised her body invitingly up towards him at the end of each stroke, she could feel herself becoming aroused beneath her tightly laced up beauty lips.

            But, above all, she had learned to fear Bashir Agha's whip as he quietly walked up and down the catwalk, his pig-like eyes eagerly on the lookout for the slightest slackening off by any of his charges.






Rory looked around and saw that the craft was now skimming fast over the calm waters of the bay, well clear of the shore and of other vessels.

            The sight of the naked women straining at their oars on the rowing deck had been stimulating and arousing. It would be some time before they arrived at the fort he was due to inspect. Perhaps he would enjoy himself with one of them.

            Bashir Agha and his young assistant, now beating out the time on the drum up in the bows, would take it as a compliment to them, and to the way they kept the galley slaves looking beautiful and attractive whilst still controlling them so strictly. As for Tulip, his white eunuch pageboy, he was used to attending on his Master in such moments.

            Which one? He looked down on the twenty sleek female bodies all rowing in perfect time. Now that they were out of the port area, perhaps he should order their masks to be removed. Then he remembered Bashir Agha's anger at Number 16. Henrietta! He did not need her mask to be removed to be reminded of her beauty.

            He turned and gestured to the coxswain, who in turn signalled to the black boy up in the bows. Seconds later the galley slaves heard a sudden staccato roll of the drum. They recognised the signal warning them to prepare to raise their oars from the water. This usually meant that woman was to be rapidly substituted by one of the spares from the little cages up in the bows.

            Then, as the drum gave a sudden beat that was the executive signal for the order to be carried out, each woman was desperately hoping that she would be rested.

            But they saw their whipmaster coming down the catwalk with the decorated leather lead that was used to hold a woman who was to give pleasure to the Master. Nineteen pairs of eyes filled with jealous hate as they saw that it was the new woman that Bashir Agha was releasing from her oar, whilst the boy led down her replacement. Quickly they exchanged places, and then the stroke continued again whilst the still masked Henrietta was lead, naked and crawling on all fours, up the catwalk towards the poop, her head lowered humbly.

            Despite the humiliation, she could not help help being thrilled at having been chosen. Already she could even feel herself becoming aroused under the laces. As she crawled up the steps to the poop she remembered seeing how the glistening moisture between the other chosen women's tight lashings had betrayed their excitement and arousal. She blushed under her mask as she realised that her's, too, was now being displayed. How weak and helpless the female sex were in the presence of a strong and virile male.

            Keeping her head dutifully lowered, she caught a glimpse of her awful whipmaster handing the decorated lead to Tulip. Nervously, she eyed the tip of the pretty little dogwhip now dangling in front of her from the boy's wrist. Before her eyes were the decorated slippers of her Master, and above them the yellow robe that covered his blue baggy trousers.

            "Under," ordered Tulip in high falsetto voice, giving her a sharp tap on her naked buttocks.

            Quickly, she put her head under the robe. Then, keeping her manacled hands dutifully on the well scrubbed deck, and urged on by another tap on her still exposed buttocks, she sought out out the manhood that she knew would awaiting her attention.


Satisfied that Henrietta was satisfactorily pleasuring his Master, Tulipcoughed discreetly.

            It was quite usual for important men to be pleasured by a kneeling woman when, as now, they dealt with correspondence brought to their attention by their white eunuch pages.

            "Your Excellency," Tulip respectfully murmured in his piping falsetto voice - he had been castrated just before his voice broke. "This letter has been forwarded for you from the British Ambassador in Constantinople through the Sublime Porte."

            Surprised, Rory took the envelope. It still bore the seal of the British Embassy - though doubtless, he thought, it would have been secretly read in Constantinople - and also here by the Pasha.

            There was another crack of Bashir Agha's whip and another little cry from down on the rowing deck. But this time Rory did not bother to look up. Instead he tore open the envelope, whilst, to ensure that Henrietta continued her attentions, Tulip gave another tap to her bare buttocks, gleaming white and exposed at the foot of her seated Master's robe.

            The envelope contained another letter. He unfolded it. It was written in English, brief and to the point:-

            "My dear Fitzgerald, I understand that following your unfortunate disgrace in London over the Queen's Maid of the Bed Chamber - for which you have my sincere commiserations, for being caught out was indeed bad luck - you have taken service with Sultan of Turkey. I hear that you have reached high rank and are now stationed in North Africa.

            "You were at one time close to my daughter, Amanda, after her husband's early death, though I am afraid that I had to put a stop to your attentions in view of your lack of financial and worldly expectations - and clear inability to provide for her and her young daughter, Diana.

            'I hope you have forgiven me, for I now write to ask your help and give you some melancholy news. The Neapolitan ship in which she was travelling from Gibraltar to join her betrothed, Colonel Fortescue, stationed with the British Army in Sicily, was captured by Barbary Pirates. She has disappeared, together with the daughter. Diana is now sixteen and was due to be Presented at Court in two year's time and we had hoped she would eventually marry her cousin, the son of Lord Poundland. We have also no news of her young ladies maid, Jeannie Campbell, who comes from my estate here in Scotland.

            'Colonel Fortescue has been unable to find out from which Barbary port the corsairs came.

            'We must assume that the women have all been enslaved by those cruel pirates.

            'But can you, in God's name, and for the sake of the love you once bore her, find her and obtain her release, together with that of my granddaughter and the maidservant?

            'You are the only hope of a lonely old man.

            'I have the honour to be, Sir, your most obedient servant, Thomas Forsyth.'


Rory read the letter through twice and then put it down with a sigh. The beautiful Amanda was indeed an old flame of his. She had been a voluptuous young widow in London. It was true that he had even, in a mad moment, proposed marriage and had been heart broken when her father, knowing his lack of means, had forbidden their marriage.

            He was horrified to learn of what had happened to her, but to find awhite female slave in North Africa would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack - especially as she was British.

            It would be made even more impossible by the fact that the Barbary States had signed treaties with Great Britain agreeing not to attack British ships or enslave British subjects. Officially there could be no British slaves - for ransom or otherwise.

            Turkish and Arab gentlemen did not discuss their womenfolk with anyone other than their chief black eunuchs and, once locked up in a harem, they would never be seen again.

            Nor, in any case, would the Ruler of the Barbary port to which they had been taken want to give any help to find them. He certainly would not want any scandal or problems with the British. From his point of view, if the missing women had been enslaved and were now were safely locked up in a harem - then so much the better.

            Moments later these thoughts were brushed aside when, with Henrietta's soft little tongue still working hard to please him, Tulip handed him another note from the Pasha asking him to come and discuss some urgent business the following day.

            Giving this note back to Tulip, Rory put his hand down onto his lap and, through his robe, gripped Henrietta's hair. The beautiful little slut was doing her work so well that he felt a rising tension and the approach to a climax.

            "Stop!" he ordered. He wanted to save himself for his harem later on. Obediently the little tongue was still.

            She really was well trained in using her tongue and mouth to give pleasure, Rory reflected - a credit to both the Pasha's chief black eunuch, who initially broke her in, and later to Matrak, in charge of his own harem. And to think that she was a respectable young English lady, married to a British Army officer! It really was extraordinary how the competitive atmosphere of a harem, and fear of the black eunuchs' whip, could turn a strictly brought up young woman into such uninhibited and sensuous creatures.

            He had missed her, missed talking to an educated Englishwoman of his own background, missed laughing with her over what was probably happening in the season in London, missed just talking English again.

            Would she not have learned her lesson by now? Surely her whispered stories of what she had suffered would scare the other girls into obeying the harem rules even more closely. Even Matrak might agree that she was now ready to be returned to his care.

            It was decided! He would order Bashir Agha to arrange for Henrietta's return to the harem.






"My son," said the big bearded Pasha, resplendent, as befitted the representative of Allah's Shadow on Earth, in a huge turban and a silken robe edged with fur, "I have had a special request for your services from a loyal servant of His Imperial Majesty the Sultan - The Emir of Gondah."

            "Gondah!" exclaimed Rory angrily. "But he's a cruel and despicable tyrant!"

            "A true follower of His Imperial Majesty," interjected the Pasha cooly. "We owe him much, my son, for he has steadfastly refused to have anything to do with French spies and bribes.

            "He knows that the French would soon put a stop to his cruelty."

            "Not necessarily," said the Pasha. "He could make himself as invaluable to them as he has been to us - and that's where you come in, my son."


            "Yes! The Emir has decided to make his pilgrimage this year."

            Rory began to see daylight. "And as soon he goes, the tribes will rise against him! And I must be there to stop that!"

            The Pasha nodded. "You leave as soon as possible! Will two days give you time to say goodbye to the lovely women in your harem?"

            Rory blushed. Many of his women had come directly or indirectly from the Pasha, and several even bore his brand on their bellies as a permanent reminder to him of how much to owed to the Pasha's kindness and interest.

            Then almost as if the Pasha was reading his thoughts, he added: "And, of course, my son, if your Janissaries ensure that the Emir can return from the Haj and take up again the burden of ruling his territory on behalf of our Master, the Sultan, then I'm sure that both he and I would want to show our gratitude in the accustomed manner."

            Again Rory blushed, though this time with pleasure, knowing that 'accustomed manner' meant further gifts of women. He would never, of course, accept bribes or cash, but the gift of a charming and pretty young woman could hardly be refused - and certainly not by a lusty young individual like himself!

            "It's about time you tasted the delights of slender Berber women as a change from your European ones - and doubtless the Emir could spare one or two his own well stocked harem... Incidentally, how is my little Carmen? Still the little spitfire? I hear you followed my advice and had her put to pygmies. Did she take?"

            "Yes, yes, she's doing well," stammered a now embarrassed Rory. But the wily old man, having made his point, was not listening.

            "Now let's get down to plans...


It was the night before Rory's departure, and Matrak had all his concubines ready, under the supervision of young Abdul. They were lined up, out of sight, to theside of the viewing screen that looked into the main harem room.

            There was a an air of excitement. They had been allowed to dress up like European women of fashion in the latest Parisian style: long waistless transparent muslin dresses gathered in below an almost totally exposed bosom. The women were whispering and giggling to each other. It was thrilling to be allowed such clothes again. Indeed, they might have been at a a society ball in Naples, London or Paris, were it not for the total absence of men - other than the ever watchful presence of Abdul, his cane in his right hand.

            The dresses themselves had been brought back by Barbary corsairs for copying and sale to the harems of men who, like Rory, liked to see their European slave women dressed for a change.

            But the excitement was also mixed with sadness, for they knew that this would be their handsome young Master's last night in his harem before leaving for a long journey into the interior. And he had only just come back from another trip!

            Matrak formally drew back a chair in front of the screen for his Master. The scene before Rory was of an apparently empty harem, but through the screen came the excited murmuring of women. Then, standing at Rory's shoulder, Matrak rang a bell as a signal to Abdul.

            Instantly the women fell silent. Glancing in a large wall mirror they quickly touched up their carefully arranged hair, and rearranged their dresses so that their painted nipples were just hidden by the layer of transparent muslin.

            Abdul pointed to the latest arrival in the harem, Martina, the pretty young Italian girl whom Henrietta had earlier replaced in the Master's team of young female galley slaves.

            Tossing her head proudly, the girl walked along the wall of the harem, pirouetted in front in front of the screen and then curtseyed deeply to her hidden Master. She had certainly made an exciting and intriguing new acquisition for Rory's harem. Much to the jealous fury of his other concubines, he had chosen her for his enjoyment on the first night after his recent return. The pleasure he had had in taking this Italian mayor's wife had made up for the unexpected absence of Henrietta at that time.

            Martina rose to her feet and gracefully walked off out of sight, to be followed one by one by the other ten women, each looking radiant in their new dresses and each smiling invitingly at the opaque screen, whilst Matrak whispered a running commentary about the their physical and emotional states.

            Finally it was the turn of Henrietta.

            Matrak had made it clear that he disapproved of the speed that with which Rory had had her released from her galley oar. He still regarded Henrietta as a wilful young woman who had behaved disgracefully and had got off too lightly, conveniently forgetting his own role in provoking her to attack Barbara and Marie.

            Matrak was clearly giving Henrietta a hard time in the harem, and Rory was not surprised to see that the reason why she was last was that young Abdul was humiliatingly holding her by a lead fastened to leather collar round her neck. But Rory could not help his heart beating faster as he saw her, now dressed as the respectable and fashionable Englishwoman she once was, make her deep curtsey, whilst Abdul held her again like a fractious dog on a taut lead.

            At last, she was back in the harem - his for asking. But he would have to be careful not upset Matrak.

            "I think it would pleasant if, for a change, I came into the harem myself to have a closer look at them," Rory said to Matrak, tactfully saying nothing about Henrietta as she disappeared from view.

            "Of course, Your Excellency," Matrak murmured obsequiously. "I will arrange everything."


A quarter of an hour later Rory was sitting on a large oriental sofa in the harem. His breeches were open, his shirt undone.

            Barbara and Marie were sitting on his knees, their hands round his neck. Their nipples were now exposed to his gaze as they impatiently fought with their tongues for his lips.

            Two other girls were jealously waiting to take their place and several others were standing behind him, leaning forward to tickle his ears with their hot little tongues. Two others were kneeling on the sofa by his side, playing with his nipples, as Matrak had taught them to do, and sending thrilling little shoots of pain and desire through his body.

            Down between his outstretched legs knelt two girls. Martina was slowly sucking his manhood, her head rising and falling rhythmically. Henrietta, her lead still held by Abdul, had been driven by his cane to thrust her head lower down and tickle her Master there with her tongue.

            It was all sheer delight, thought Rory, as he played first with one half naked breast and then another. Then, obeying an order from Matrak, the two girls on his knees, those standing behind him and those kneeling on the sofa alongside him changed round giving the opportunity to play with and compare half a dozen new sets of breasts.

            Only the two girls kneeling on the floor between his feet were not changed.

            Suddenly Rory rose to his feet, the girls around him falling back in alarm.

            "Barbara and Marie" he called out to Matrak. "And Henrietta as a foot girl."

            Matrak smiled at the choice. The first two would soon be kneeling on all fours on their Master's bed, jealously thrusting their little bottoms back, to try and retain their Master's attention as he tried first one and then the other. And behind the kneeling Master would be Henrietta, her lead fastened to the ring at the foot of the bed, her tongue and fingers active as she strained to double the pleasure that he was taking from her hated rivals.

            And all three would know that the slightest failure to earn their Master's delight would result in them being sent for by Matrak in the morning...










Gagged and crawling on all fours, and pulling like eager dogs against the lead fastened to the ring at the back of their collars, Amanda, Diana and Jeannie all anxiously tried to peer between the folds of the heavy brocade curtains.

            Their hands were encased in the leather fingerless mittens that they still had to wear to prevent them, in despair, from harming themselves. Not only did these mittens make it impossible for them to hold anything, like a knife, but they also made it impossible for them to unfasten their gags - and so even to whisper to each other.

            There a sudden sweet smell of incense through the curtains that separated the beautifully tiled main harem room in the Emir's castle from the alcove in which they were being held by their trainer. Their wrists were joined by a highly polished foot long manacle chain, and they were kneeling on all fours - waiting silently and nervously to be summoned to belly dance before the Emir.

            They were to belly dance simultaneously, whilst chained together by the neck. Diana was in the middle, her mother on her right and Jeannie on her left.

            To make certain that their bellies gyrated properly in the lascivious and abandoned fashion that they had been taught, miming the female arousal and climax, their young black eunuch trainer, Batra, would be standing right behind them. In one hand he would hold the leads that were fastened to the ring at the back of their brass collars, and in the other the short whip with which he would drive the panting women to even greater efforts.

            Whilst actually dancing, with their manacled hands above their heads in the oriental fashion, their leather mittens would be removed, to allow them to use their fingers to gesticulate like well trained Eastern dancers. But they would still be kept gagged to prevent them spoiling their forthcoming performance with any senseless protests.


How humiliating it all was to be trained so intimately by a mere boy, thought Amanda, as she glanced back at the whip, But it was not only the training that was so humiliating. Thanks to their fingerless gloves, which they wore at all times, they were also dependent on him for everything. He washed and fed them, and he stood over them when they performed their natural functions.

            At this moment they were like dancers in a ballet waiting in the wings of a theatre to start a 'Pas de Trois'. But ballet dancers waiting to perform were not held kneeling on all fours like a line of dogs with their leads held by a strict young black eunuch armed with a whip.

            Nor were ballet dancers dressed as revealingly as they were. Hanging down from the nipples of their naked breasts, were large but slender gold rings. And the nipples themselves had, like their eye-lids and mouths, been carefully painted a brilliant light blue - the colour of the harem team to which they now belonged - for the harem was divided into four rival teams, each with its own colour: red, green, orange and blue. Each team had its own supervising black eunuchs. Young Batra was one of the assistant overseers for the Blue Team.

            The three kneeling women made an erotic sight, but it would be even more erotic when they stood up to dance, for their blue painted nipples would then peak tantalisingly round the edges of their stiff little identical boleros of blue silken brocade, open at the front and buttoned up the back. Over the right breast was embroidered the name of the Emir in bold Arabic letters. Little blue embroidered caps and blue turned-up Turkish slippers completed their dress.

            Slung round their hips were blue transparent harem silken trousers through which gleamed their soft white little bottoms. But once again the effect would be even more erotic when they stood up and disclosed the Emir's crest now prominently branded in blue on their naked bellies.

            However, even that was not all. Amanda blushed at the thought that, as she danced, her beauty lips, also painted the same blue, would be pouting interestingly under her hairless and powdered mound and now tattooed belly.

            But those those of Jeannie, also painted blue, would have the charming aspect of a little girl - a simple tight little slitwith no sign of the normally protruding inner lips. It gave her a strangely young and innocent look. Amanda wondered if Jeannie's beauty bud, like hers, had been snipped off in the hospital wing of Hassan, the slave dealer.


How that little operation had changed her life! No longer could she play with herself, enjoying the thrills that shot through her body. Instead, although her nipples seemed to have become far more sensitive, she would now be utterly reliant for any relief on a hard virile manhood rubbing up and down inside her.

            But what had been done to herself and to Jeannie by that terrible slave dealer paled into insignificance by comparison to what seemed to have been done to her precious Diana. How often had she longed to take her beautiful daughter into her arms and console her.

            But of course it was not allowed...


Belly dancing! Oh how humiliating it had been to have to learn the difficult muscular control in the slave dealer's School of Love. Only the constant fear of the whip had driven her on and on, until at last she could give a fair imitation of what was required.

            Diana and Jeannie, with their younger bodies, seemed to have learned it all much better. But of course it was not the degree of expertise that would please her Master, but the sight of an educated European woman being made to demean herself in this way.

            Never had she been made to feel so helpless, doctored and trained simply to give mental and physical pleasure to her Master. Never had she imagined that she could be made to practice, several times a day, her part in the forthcoming taking of Diana's virginity by her Arab Master. Or that Diana would have to practice assisting at the rape of her mother by this same sinister Master.

            Her Master! So far she had not even seen the man whose property she now was. Now they were going to have to dance erotically in front of him in the way that she had been taught to do in the slave dealer's establishment. They had been judged to be ready to be presented to the Emir for the first time, ready to belly dance in front of their Master, ready to offer themselves to him.


Peering between the curtains, Amanda had a glimpse of four groups of half naked Berber concubines, dressed just like her.

            Each group consisted of a dozen beautiful young Berber women arranged in two rows. They were all facing a raised dais on which was placed a large empty Turkish sofa, two groups to the left of the dais, and two to the right. Each group was dressed in the colours of their team.

            Lined up as they were in silent rows and identically dressed, they reminded Amanda of well groomed dogs lined up for the judges at a dog show.

            Like Amanda, they all wore highly polished brass collars and their wrists were all manacled with a short length of carefully polished chain. Were these chains, Amanda wondered, simply intended to give more erotic pleasure to her unknown Master? Surely there was no chance of escape, chained or not?

            Later she would learn that the women were kept manacled not merely for the greater gratification of their Master, but also to make it more difficult for them to harm him. They were not, she would soon learn, mere slave girls delighted to find themselves enjoying a life of ease, but the wives, betrothed and daughters of fiercely independent Berber tribesmen - cruelly taken away by the Emir and kept in his harem, not merely for his pleasure but also as hostages for the good behaviour of their rebellious menfolk. So, it was prudent to take extra precautions.

            For the same reason it was standard harem practice when a girl was put into the Emir's bed, for her hands to be encased in the same fingerless mittens that Amanda was now wearing. Not only could the girl not scratch the Emir's face as he took his pleasure from her body, but also she could not use a dagger that she might have tried to smuggle in or even draw from the Emir's own belt.

            Moreover, just as Amanda's soft leather mittens ensured that she could not now unfasten her gag, so too they would ensure that girls in the Emir's bed could not unfasten theirs without permission - for the Emir did not like his pleasure being interrupted by any disagreeable importuning.


To the side of each group of half naked women, and dressed in a sumptuous robe that matched the colour of the women's skimpy dress, stood their black eunuch Team Overseers. Each was holding a dogwhip, raised like the baton of a conductor. Tucked prominently into the sashes round their waists was a short handled whip with a black coiled lash. Each was watching his team carefully, on the lookout for the slightest sign of giggling or truculence.

            Standing next to each Team Overseer was his assistant overseer. Some of these black eunuchs, like Batra, were only boys, others much older and fatter.

            Other black eunuchs, not apparently tied to specific teams, stood around the room ready with with their whips to enforce silence and decorum. Discipline and security were very tight in the Emir's harem, and the Emir could afford to use sufficient black eunuch overseers to ensure that they were. After all, he was giving them useful training and experience before sending them onto to act as overseers in his money making Haratin breeding farm.

            Suddenly Amanda saw a young woman in the middle of the rear line of the Green Team jump up. She was wearing red and, as if suddenly realising that she was with the wrong team, she ran across to the rear rank of the of the Red Team. Hastily she fell to her knees, but not before her Team Overseer had noticed. Glaring at her he held up four finger of one hand and with the other gave a little wave of his dogwhip.

            Was he telling her that she would get four strokes of his whip as a punishment for her inattention? Amanda's heart went out to the poor girl. Oh, these awful black eunuchs!


Whilst awaiting the arrival of the Master, each team was apparently being put through its paces by its overseers. It put the women, Makumo used to say, in a suitably abject frame of mind.

            Amanda saw that the Blue Team, to the right of the empty throne-like sofa, were kneeling on their ankles, their wrist manacles lying across their laps, their heads lowered, in a position of rest. She eyed them nervously, thinking that before long she, too, like Diana and Jeannie, would have to take her place in that particular team.

            Then suddenly their Team Overseer called out an order. "Blue Team - Display!"

            Amanda saw that the women did not move. Then their Team Overseer cracked his whip and, moving as one, the women all obediently rose up onto their now widely parted knees, put their manacled hands behind their necks, lifted up their heads, and, looking straight ahead, thrust out their tongues. Their long silken black hair now hung down their almost naked backs.

            It was a position that beautifully displayed their now thrust out breasts, bellies, mouths and beauty lips.

            Their Team Overseer slowly walked down behind the two lines of women, tapping one with his whip to make her pull her shoulders back more, another to part her knees more, and another to raise her chin.

            Many of the girls had quite plump little tummies with, of course, the Emir's crest neatly branded in blue across them. Then she noticed that the brands on the bellies of the women, on the right hand end of the front row of the Blue Team, seemed to be slightly distorted as if they had become plumper since being branded.

            Put on weight? Become plumper? Yes, their bellies did seem to be thrust out more prominently thrust out than those of the others. She looked again. Surely they could not be in ... what the black eunuchs cruelly and laughingly termed a Happy State? But, by whom? Surely not by the Master, for these were his concubines not his wives.

            Anxiously, she looked across at the other teams which were also being put through their paces. There, too, the women at the right hand end of the front row of each group also seemed to be in the same Happy State with the girl at the end of the line a good deal more advanced than those on her immediate left, whose brand seemed only slightly distended.

            My God, Amanda thought, these awful black eunuchs actually seem to grade the women who are expecting a Happy Event by the size of their swelling tummies and the extent to which their tattoos were stretched. She saw that the Blue Team Overseer, now patrolling up and down in front of his team, was proudly eying the bellies of the women concerned in a proprietary way, as if he had recommended the girl for fertilisation, had supervised her when it was carried out and was now closely overseeing her progress.

            As Amanda watched, she saw him give a smart tap to the swollen belly of one of the half naked expectant women, making her arch her head and shoulders back so that her swollen belly thrust out even more prominently.

            Amanda gasped in horror. For a woman to be under the orders of these awful negroes was bad enough, but to be so when in a certain state, was even worse. Was she, too, destined to be put into that state? Would Jeannie? Even worse, would Diana? My God!


But that was not all, for Amanda noticed that the breasts of the girls at the opposite end of the lines to those in a Happy State, seemed unnaturally heavy. She also saw the signs of recent stretch marks on their bellies. She saw that the Team Overseers were proudly eying those with the largest breasts.

            Goodness, she thought, the black eunuch Team Overseers are deliberately vying with each other to keep their most buxom girls in milk! But with no sign of any little children in the harem, she realised that they must be being kept in milk for the Emir.


"Down!" ordered the Blue Team Overseer.

            Moving as one, and keeping their backs beautifully straight, the two rows of women in the Blue Team lowered their foreheads to the floor, their outstretched tongues now licking it and their buttocks raised. Their manacled hands were placed palm down on either side of their heads with the chains flung forward, like their long gleaming black hair, over their heads.

            Again their Team Overseer strode along the two rows of prostrate women, tapping some with his cane to make them strain to raise their bottoms higher, and others to push their heads down more abjectly.

            Then came the order: "All fours!"

            Obediently the women straightened their arms so that they were kneeling on all fours like Amanda, but with their heads raised and their eyes again looking straight ahead.

            More than ever, thought Amanda, they looked like a line of well trained dogs. Oh, she thought, the shame of being so humiliatingly controlled by these ignorant but very strict blacks.

            The only black men she had previously come across had been nice respectful servants in England, usually former slaves in the West Indies brought back to England by their owners. They had, of course, been in a much inferior position to herself. Now the boot was on the other foot, and in no mean way.


Batra looked possessively at the three soft white bottoms in front of him. They really were lovely!

            He gave their leads a little jerk. "Heads up!" he ordered. Instantly all three of them raised their heads and looked straight ahead, like obedient little dogs.

            Batra smiled. They were the first European women he had come across and he felt immeasurably proud that he had been chosen by Makumo to be their trainer. The Emir would doubtless take great pleasure from them and this could earn him a fortune, for when the Emir was pleased with a particular woman's performance, it was her team overseers, and Makumo himself, who shared the customary reward - not the woman. These women would perform well, not from anticipation of financial reward, but from fear of the whip if she did not please their Master.

            Young Batra had been delighted to find that they had all been doctored. It would make his task of keeping them pure that much easier.

            He glanced down at the printed list of Arabic commands tucked into his waistband that these women had been taught by the slave dealer to obey. He, too, had learnt them by heart - just as he had also learnt the the whole routine that Makumo had devised for the deflowering of the young virgin, the rape of the mother and then, unknown to them, their sodomising.

            Yes, he thought, he could certainly take pride in his role in the harem. And one day he would be a chief black eunuch in sole charge of a harem, just like Makumo himself.






Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen - both the three European women, anxiously peering through the curtains of the alcove in which they were held kneeling, gagged and chained, and the lines of kneeling concubines watched over by their black eunuch overseers.

            Both, Amanda thought, were rather like a well trained and flimsily dressed corps de ballet waiting, under the watchful eye of strict ballet masters, for the curtain to go up.

            Suddenly one of the watching eunuchs gave a warning crack of his whip.

            At a curt word of command from their Team Overseer each line of women took up the submissive attitude they had been practising: lowering their heads humbly, keeping their backs straight, until their foreheads touch the tiled floor between the outstretched fingers of each hand. Each overseer was checking that his team were moving as one, taking their time from their team leader on the right of the line.

            As each woman's forehead touched the floor she jerked her hands and head forward so that her manacle chain and her long hair were now both spread out in front of her.

            The groups of now prostrate women made a pretty picture with their straight naked backs and their raised buttocks gleaming through their filmy coloured trousers - a fine display of well disciplined womanhood.

            Amanda gasped as she now saw a small, Arabic-looking, fat faced, bearded man, stride into the silent harem room. He had short beard and piercing eyes. He looked cruel and ruthless. He wore a brightly coloured robe and a large blue turban. He was the first man, other than the black eunuchs, that Amanda had seen since she arrived in the harem. So this was her Master!

            She felt sick at the thought that she was going to be one of his concubines. She felt even worse at the thought that it was he who would take her daughter's virginity. All her high hopes for Diana making a brilliant marriage to the eldest son of a rich peer of the realm were about to end in the harem of this brutal man...


Behind the Emir came Makumo, the Emir's chief black eunuch, the ruler of the harem, dressed in white, his long, slender, silver tipped cane in his hand. He was proudly looking at the lines of silent women and exchanging glances with his Team Overseers, his chief subordinate black eunuchs.

            The Emir went up to the sofa and sat down on it cross-legged, surveying the lines of humbly prostrated women. They were all beautiful and they were all his, his to play with, his to enjoy, his to have beaten, his to have covered...

            Makumo stood behind him. The Emir nodded his approval and Makumo snapped his fingers. In turn, the front row of women in each group, obeying a curt word of command from their black eunuch Team Overseer, simultaneously raised their heads so that they were again squatting back on their heels, their hands now humbly folded in their laps and their eyes lowered.

            The Emir looked along the line of women, and then nodded.

            At another word of command from the black eunuch Team Overseers, the entire line raised themselves up on their now parted knees, clasped their manacles hands behind their necks and, looking straight ahead, thrust out out their tongues, their breasts, their bellies and their beauty lips.

            This was the Display Position.

            Then, on command, the front row of each team flung themselves abjectly down in the submissive position again, and the second row now assumed the Display Position, offering themselves to their Master over their prostrated sisters in the front row.

            After allowing time for the Master to take in the erotic scene, and perhaps note a particular girl, Makumo again snapped his fingers. At another curt of command, all the women in the right hand team rose to their feet, turnedand marched smartly to the side. Their Team Overseer then strode up towards the seated Emir and bowed.

            Then, with his raised dog whip, he gestured to the line of waiting women. Immediately, one by one, they began to prance past the Emir in perfect time, all raising their knees high in the air, their hands clasped behind their necks, their breasts bouncing, and their heads turned towards the Emir.

            Suddenly the Emir raised a finger.

            "Halt!" the Team Overseer shouted.

            A beautiful Berber woman, looking highly embarrassed, stopped and stood quite still, sideways onto the Emir, her head turned him, her eyes dutifully fixed on the wall above his head.

            "Red Team, Number Nine," reported her Team Overseer, delighted that one of his women had caught the Master's eye. "Sent to harem three months ago after she and her husband tried to steal Your Excellency's share of their crop and run away."

            "Ah yes, I remember," mused the Emir. "And the husband is below in a dungeon."

             He snapped his finger. The Team Overseer gestured with his whip and the woman, looking more and more terrified, fell to her knees. Her Team Overseer snapped a lead onto the ring at the back of her collar and led her forward to crawl on all fours to where the Emir was sitting.

            Then, with the Team overseer holding her lead taut, and woman keeping quite still in the hushed harem, the Emir reached down and lifted up one of her breasts. He turned to Makumo. "I want this larger," he said. "See to it."

            The woman gasped in horror. The Team Overseer smiled and Makumo bowed his acknowledgement, a cruel smile hovering about his mouth. There was only one recognised way of ensuring larger breasts, one that the black eunuchs took a great professional delight in arranging, for it meant a trip to the breeding farm.

            "I will send her to be prepared for covering at once, Your Excellency," he said. It was always interesting to work with his colleague there to ensure a successful conception.

            "Yes," nodded the Emir. "But make sure that she is taken to see her husband in his dungeon first and that he knows what is going to happen. Then, when her belly is swollen, make sure that it is displayed to him. I want him to know what happens to the wives of men who try to evade paying their taxes."

            "Of course, Your Excellency, of course," replied Makumo with another humble bow.Then he gestured to the woman's Team Overseer to take her away.


Minutes later, whilst another line was prancing past the Emir, the order to halt came again. This time it was a slender young teenage Berber girl, with a white bow fastened to her collar, who was led crawling to the Emir's side. She, too, kept quite still as her breast was felt.

            "If your European virgin doesn't appeal to me," the Emir said, turning to Makumo, "Then I'll have this one."

            "Oh, Your Excellency," murmured Makumo confidently, "I am sure that will not be necessary."

            The Emir smiled and the girl was led away.

            Finally all the women had been paraded and were back in their lines, the heads again abjectly lowered to the floor.

            There was a pause whilst the Emir nibbled at a plate of sweetmeats. ThenMakumo nodded in the direction of a curtained off alcove on the opposite side of the room from the alcove in which the three British women were waiting.


The harem was now filled with the familiar noise of Arabic music, coming from a curtained alcove in which the Emir's musicians had struck up the tunes to which the white women had been made to practice the belly dancing they had learned in Hassan's School of Love.

            All three caught their breath. Now was the moment of truth. Now, for the first time, their Master would see the merchandise that his chief black eunuch had spent so much on buying for him.Now they, in turn, would get a better look at the alarming man they had glimpsed through the curtains of the alcove - the man who owned them, the man who name was written on the discs hanging from their collars, the man whose brand they bore on their bellies, the man in whose bed they might soon be performing.

            The music paused. The young black eunuch boy pulled back the curtain of the alcove and used his whip to drive the three white women forward, crawling on all fours into the presence of their Master.

            Amanda had a glimpse of the harem women surreptitiously looking up at her through their fingers as they knelt with their heads to the floor. Then, pulled forward by her front collar chain attached to the other two and pulled back by the chain held by the black eunuch boy, she found herself kneeling half naked, sideways on to the unknown man who was now her Master.

            Still holding the leads taut with one hand, Batra bowed deeply to the Emir, his other hand respectfully crossed on his chest.

            The Emir nodded his approval.

            "Up!" the boy ordered, and as they had rehearsed, the three European women sprang up. They remained in a line, alongside each other, but with their hands now clasped behind their necks.


            Driven on by Batra, who still held their leads from behind, the three women, like the horses of a Russian troika, began to prance round and round the area in front of the Emir, raising their knees high in the air, their breasts bouncing with each step.

            Amanda could feel herself getting breathless with the strain. Only Batra's whip kept her going. At last he halted them in front of the Emir.

            The boy deftly unjoined their leather mittens. He gave an order and all three women raised their arms so that their backs of their hands were touching above their heads in the traditional belly dancing posture.

            Amanda felt his whip touch the small of her back. Hastily she thrust her belly forward. She felt that her whole body and even her beauty lips were on display - as indeed it they were.

            The music started up again and the three women started to gyrate and suck in and then release their bellies in the way that they had been made to practice over and over again.

            Fascinated, the Emir looked at the three chained Europeans writhing in front of him. He could feel his manhood reacting. Until recently these infidel Christian women had been living the life of a free woman in Europe.Now they belonged to him...


The Emir looked at Amanda's voluptuous gyrating body, with her large but firm breasts, her unusual blond hair and blue eyes, and her intelligent air. Yes, she would make a good concubine. But he also fancied himself as a fine judge of womanhood. With her good hips, she would also breed well...

            He turned to the similarly gyrating body of Jeannie. He took in her red hair, her green eyes, her tall slender body, her delightfully trimmed beauty lips, and her rebellious look. Perhaps, as a former maidservant, he might put her into his own team of pretty mute body girls. Each coloured team in the harem was responsible for providing one or two such girls who were then trained by their own elderly black eunuch.

            The duties of these body girls were to attend him in the privacy of his closet and bath, adjoining his bedroom. Two were always chained down to rings between the raised footholds of the Turkish style closet that was set into the tiled floor. Between the rings gleamed a silver grate over a lowered drain.

            There the two young women would silently kneel, waiting naked for him with bowls of scented rose water, ready to assist their Master, to act as human receptacles and then, dipping their tongues into the rose water, to lick their Master spotlessly clean - for the Emir was a fastidious man.

            Later, under the watchful eye of their black eunuch overseer, they would be responsible for licking equally clean not only the entire porcelain closet but also the silver grate between the two raised foot holds - licking until both gleamed, for, as we have said, the Emir was a fastidious man.

            The Emir would visit his closet immediately before going into his bedroom where one or more concubines might nervously be awaiting him. He would therefore also use the tongues of his pretty body slaves to bring his manhood to a suitable state of arousal.

            Body girls were traditionally kept temporarily mute by having a large thin golden ring passed through the tip of their tongues and then brazed closed. This kept the tip of the tongue pulled forward through the lips.

            As well as drawing attention to their status in the harem, and to the special role of their tongues, both for ensuring the personal hygiene of the Emir and in arousing him ready for his other women, the rings also prevented the girls from speaking properly - so that they could not gossip about the Master's body to each other, or to the other harem women. Body girls knew their Master's most intimate bodily secrets and it was therefore appropriate that they should be kept mute.

            Yes, the Emir was thinking, as the girl had already been trained in Europe as a ladies maid, she should make an ideal muted body girl - though her duties would now be very different! He would enjoy the little cold tickling from her tongue ring as she cleaned whilst he knelt over her upturned face, or as she brought him to arousal ready for her former mistress and her daughter. And being kept mute would prevent her from talking to her former Mistress and her daughter.

            He looked again at the little girl look of her now neatly trimmed body lips - a body girl who could also give him much pleasure...


But, Makumo was delighted to see, the Emir's eyes kept turning to Diana. He took in the white ribbon fastened to her collar, her soft faultless complexion, her demurely lowered big blue eyes, her honey coloured silky hair, and her slender young body.

            But what clearly fascinated him was the absence of beauty lips - just a rose branded on her mound, mounted on a green stalk with rose leaves on either side, and down below a little rosebud. Hassan, the slave dealer must indeed have an expert doctor and tattoo artist to have made such a success of the girl's treatment - he was fascinated by it.

            The Emir looked at the three gyrating bellies. They were all prettily plump and soft - just the effect that he liked. He imagined what they would be like in an increasingly expectant state, with his crest branded across their bellies, being gradually stretched by nature.

            He looked at their painted ringed nipples and wondered what how they would look swollen with milk for his delight.These women would indeed make a fine source of funds as he sold them as he journeyed on the Haj - and the fact that they now bore on their bellies the tattooed crest of an an Emir would enhance their value.

            Overcome by the sheer erotism of the scene, the Emir could feel his manhood stirring urgently. He could wait no longer to inspect his new property at close quarters.

            He clapped his hands and the music died away, leaving the three women standing awkwardly in front of their terrifying Master. He turned and murmured something to the clearly delighted Makumo. Two black eunuchs came forward with a bench and placed it immediately in front of the Emir.

            The three women, still chained together, were made by their young trainer to stand up on the bench, their hands once again clasped behind their necks, their intimacies level with the Emir's gleaming eyes.

            Makumo came and stood between the Emir and the bench. He salaamed deeply. Batra, standing behind the bench, held Amanda by her hair and pulled her head back sharply, making her thrust her belly forward. Makumo bent down slightly and, with both hands, carefully parted the startled Amanda's beauty lips, displaying to the Emir the tiny scar where there should have been a beauty bud. The Emir nodded in satisfaction.

            Amanda blushed with embarrassment and tried to cry out from behind her gag as Makumo put a finger up inside her and expertly began to stroke. Soon he was rewarded by little gasps.

            Finally he took his now wet hand away, satisfied that he had demonstrated that despite her doctoring, or perhaps aided by it, the woman would give every satisfaction, once penetrated.


Makumo now went to the blushing Jeannie and repeated the process, except that as well as displaying the hidden scar, he also showed the Emir the neatly trimmed inner lips. Then he showed how she, too, whilst being kept pure by the removal of her little bud, would nevertheless still respond, and indeed would soon be longing to respond, to a man inside her.

            Then at a gesture from the Emir, Makumo unfastened her gag.

            "Silence!" he ordered, followed by: "Tongue Out!"

            Encouraged by a sharp tap of Batra's whip across her buttocks, Jeannie nervously strained to thrust out her little pointed tongue.

            The Emir held the palm of his hand out to her, and smiled contentedly as he felt the soft little tongue on his hand. It would feel even more delightful licking elsewhere. He looked across the room to where the elderly black eunuch in charge of his body slaves was standing expectantly. Unlike the overseers of the various coloured teams, he was dressed entirely in black and was holding the long pair of callipers fitted with a needle that he used for quickly threading a ring through the tip of a girl's tongue.

            The Emir gestured, and the elderly black eunuch waddled over, unfastened Jeannie and, taking her lead from Batra, led her away.


Then came the highlight, as Makumo invited the Emir to reach forward and feel for himself the innocent stem on the blushing Diana's lower belly and then to feel up between the tightly closed petals of the red rose ... to feel the rose bud opening wider ... to feel her virginity for himself ... and then to feel the stitches underneath the tattooed rose stalk - stitches which, Makumo explained, could readily be cut at the last moment when the girl's day of deliverance arrived. The girl could then be re-stitched again to restore the pretty effect of the stalk - and to enforce strict purity again.

            "Offer daughter!" ordered Batra, temporarily loosening Amanda's gag.

            "No! No!" Amanda cried out.

            The Emir smiled. The mother's obvious distress would make the deflowering of the daughter all the more enjoyable.

            Horrified by the apparent insult that this mere slave was giving to the Master, the boy eunuch brought his cane down across her backside. "Offer daughter!" he screamed again, bringing the cane down again. "Offer daughter!"

            Unable to resist any more, Amanda sobbed out in the Arabic she had been taught: "Please take my daughter's virginity." At least, she thought, Diana would probably be unaware of the meaning of what her Mother was saying.

            "Again!" said Batra.

            Again, Amanda made her humiliating little speech.

            The effect of all this on the Emir was dramatic. "I want her and her daughter now," he almost shouted. He had been saving himself for several days for this moment. "Put the mother into the the cage in my bedroom - and have their trainer in attendance. Hurry! Make sure you keep the leather mittens on the mother's hands - I don't want her scratching my eyes out in her fury!"

            Makumo salaamed, a delighted smile on his face.






The Emir stood silently, his long resplendent robes parted, his feet planted well apart on the raised footholds above the gleaming wet porcelain of the Turkish closet. The room was heavily scented to disguise its true purpose.

            The fat faced Emir looked down over his large stomach at the two very pretty naked young women kneeling at his feel on the porcelain. Like all the Emir's women, their wrists were joined by well polished heavy iron manacles that rattled as they moved. But what made them different was that their tongues protruded unnaturally through their lips, thanks to a silver ring through the tips.

            One of the girls was a dark haired Berber girl and the other a fairer skinned redhead. A heavy chain linked each girl's collar to a ring at the side of the gleaming closet. One girl was holding up a long vase with her manacled hands, whilst the other was using hers to direct his manhood into it, whilst he relieved himself.

            As he did so, he glanced down at the open silver grille that lay over the drain between the two footholds. It too gleamed. Clearly the tongues of the two girls had been busy. The whip of the elderly eunuch, dressed in black, who was standing quietly back in a corner of the room, and who was in charge of his body girls, would have seen to that - even if the redhead was new to her task.

            Then when the Emir had finished, the eunuch snapped his fingers. With a little gasp of protest, the red head lay down on the porcelain so that her head was between the two footholds on which the Emir's feet were still firmly planted. The Emir's robes came down on either side of her head. Her naked body lay stretched out in front of him, her manacled arms straight down her side, her mouth open and her eyes staring up in horror at the large male buttocks protruding above her.

            The Berber girl put down the jar and picked up a jar of a special ointment. It was time to start arousing the Emir ready for his bed in the next door room.

            The Emir bent his knees and lowered himself down over Jeannie's contorted face. His robes shut out the light, so that she was now in darkness.

            The eunuch brought his whip down across her belly.


            Terrified of being given another stroke, Jeannie found herself reaching up with her newly ringed tongue, reaching up in the darkness for her Master's body. Never had she imagined that she would be made to do this to any man.

            The Emir was indeed a fastidious man, but the girl was not now merely ensuring his spotless cleanliness, for the feel of the silver ring and the girl's pointed little tongue licking his orifice was also sending shoots of pleasure surging through his loins.

            Indeed this was the signal for the Berber girl to start massaging the ointment into the Emir's manhood. Soon the combined effect of Jeannie's straining tongue, the Berber girl's soft little hands, and the sight of the slim bodies of the two girls, and especially Jeannie's neatly trimmed and delightfully young looking beauty lips, all began to have the desired effect.

            The Emir flung his robes back over his stomach and, raising himself slightly, looked down on the two young women, each striving to arouse him and to prepare him for pleasure. He saw the red haired girl blinking in the sudden light and then looking up horrified at his belly and manhood protruding over her.

            The mental pleasure now augmented the physical pleasure. Each girl, he knew, would be aroused by the sight and nearness of her Master's erect manhood and, perhaps, would be bitterly regretting that she was arousing him for another woman. But it was this very fact, and the feeling of power that came from it, that never failed to arouse him - the power that came from knowing that the role of these two very attractive and naked young women was merely a preparative one.

            The Emir stood up, his manhood now proudly erect in front of him, between his parted robes.

            Jeannie, still lying prone on her back on the smooth porcelain, could not help looking up at the jutting manhood and sumptuous robes. The contrast with her own helpless nakedness was acute. She felt utterly ashamed at what she had been made to do, and was at first repelled by the sight of his large stomach. But the size and nearness of his manhood was having its inevitable effect.

            No longer, of course, could her beauty bud react, but she could feel herself becoming moist with excitement inside. As she looked up, helpless and ashamed, she could not help a feeling of pride sweeping over her, pride at having been selected to serve this well dressed superior man in such an intimate way. He was indeed her Master, and she his intimate body slave.

            Then the Emir, carefully lifting up his robes, stepped off the raised footholds and onto the tiled floor that surrounded the porcelain.

            Batra ushered the Emir into the harem bedroom. His was the only bedroom in the harem for, in the traditional style, women not chosen for his bed slept on mats on the floor of their team dormitories.

            The Emir nodded approvingly at the sight of a still gagged Amanda crouching in a little cage hanging on one wall. Her eyes were starting from her face in horror and the leather mittens of her manacled hands were thrust helplessly through the bars of the cage as it slowly swung to and fro.


Earlier, she and Diana had earlier been taken to a bathroom, washed, douched, dried, and made up by Batra and the black eunuch overseer of the Blue Team, under the supervision of Makumo himself. Then Diana's rosebud and her own beauty lips had been carefully oiled.

            Finally Makumo had personally applied his own special sweet smelling cream to prevent conception - a cream based on a old recipe much used in the village he had been brought up in below the Sahara. According to his calculations neither Amanda nor Diana were in the dangerous part of their monthly cycles.

            However, it was a strict harem rule for the cream to applied to all women selected for the Emir's bed, for the Master had to be able to enjoy his concubines without being concerned lest they might conceive and thus cause a problem with the sons of his official wives - for the Emir's sons had, like himself, to be true descendents of the Prophet through both their mother and their father. Thus, although the mothers of the Emir's sons. all daughters of other Emirs and Caids, might have to live in his harem under the supervision of his black eunuchs, they were not part of one of the coloured teams, and lived apart from the concubines, enjoying certain relaxations from the strict harem discipline that was imposed on the others.

            Finally, this mysterious cream having been duly applied, Amanda had been made to crawl through a trap door and had then found herself in this little swaying cage.


The Emir nodded in approval as he saw that the large bed had been lit up and that lying on it was the half naked body of Diana. She was lying on her back with her ankles held raised and parted by two little chains hanging down over the bed, so that her knees were bent. Her hips, half way up the huge bed, were thrust up by a large bolster, displaying, below the branded crest on her belly, the tattooed green rose stalk, where her beauty lips should have been.

            He saw that the manacles linking her leather mittened wrists were fastened to the bed head, above her own head. She would not be able to interfere with his pleasure. He also saw that she was no longer gagged. He would enjoy hearing her helpless cries of protest and pain that would despite herself gradually change, once he had made a woman of her, into moans of pleasure.

            But what really caught the Emir's eye was the the now glistening red rosebud which had evidently been well oiled to ease penetration.

            "Wriggle!" ordered Batra raising his cane. The girl gave a little cry of protest and then, like a well trained performing animal, she began to move her hips from side to side, accentuating the rosebud.

             She was of course both terrified and horrified and still suffering from the humiliation of being made to dance half naked in front of the Emir. Now she was having to offer herself to him even more intimately. She could see her mother's horrified gaze as she looked down through the bars of her cage, not daring to call out.

            Fascinated by all this, the Emir knelt on the bed. He flung back his heavy robe and eased his manhood towards this little rose bud. He felt no embarrassment at doing so in front of the little black boy. Batra was just a eunuch - his only purpose in life was to ensure that the women in his charge gave the utmost pleasure to the Master.

            The girl gave a another delightful little cry of horror, as she felt, for thefirst time, a manhood touching her most secret place. Desperately she tried to wriggle away, but her chained and raised ankles, and the large cushion under her hips, held her firmly in position.

            She longed to scratch his horrible gloating face, but her wrist manacles were firmly fastened to a ring in the bed above her head. She could not even push him away, there was nothing she could do to defend her precious virginity.

            To the Emir's delight, the petals parted easily. The slave dealer's barber surgeon had done his job well and the eunuchs had prepared the girl very satisfactorily.

            He resisted an urge to thrust on down into the girl. No, the taking of a virgin was something that should be done slowly and with refinement - especially now that the girl's mother's was present to assist.

            The Emir moved gently in and out of the outer petals. The pleasure was intense. The girl could not help herself making little moaning noises.


After some time the Emir withdrew slightly and nodded to Batra who ran across to the cage and opened the front.

            He raised his cane. "Out!" he ordered in his falsetto voice. He spoke in Arabic, using the words of command that she had been taught.

            Nervously, but obediently, Amanda jumped out of the cage. She still did dare to utter a word of protest.

            "On all fours!" the boy ordered. Amanda dropped to her knees, her manacled leather mittens on the heavily carpeted floor.

            Batra bent down and snapped a lead onto the ring at the front of her brass collar.

            "Come!" he ordered, giving her buttocks a sharp tap as he led her over to the bed.

            "Up!" he ordered. "On your back!"

            With a sob of despair, Amanda assumed the position she knew was required, the prone position that she had had to practice to these strange words of command: it meant lying on her back, with her arms straight down her sides and her wrist manacles lying across her thighs.

            "Wriggle up below Master!" the boy ordered giving her warning tap across her belly.

            Closing her eyes in disgust and fear she wriggled up between the Emir's outstretched knees. She could smell his body, his maleness and his arousal.

            "Eyes open!" screamed the boy angrily, bringing his whip again down across her belly.

            Amandalooked up. Horrified, she saw that immediately above her eyes was her daughter's little glistening rose bud and, only an inch away from it, the Emir's proud manhood, his large testicles hanging down above her. Above these she glimpsed with disgust, just as Jeannie had earlier, the Emir's huge belly protruding between his magnificent robes.

            "No! No!" she cried out, repelled and revolted.

            Delighted, the Emir gave a laugh and looked down at the tear stained face between his legs and at the horrified eyes. Yes, whether she liked it or not, this beautiful woman was going to take part in the taking of her daughter's virginity. Her agony made his manhood rise up even more strongly.

            "Reach up and lick!" she heard Batra order. It was also an order she had to practice so often. The order she had so dreaded having to do for real. She hesitated and then heard herself scream as Batra brought his whip down across the unprotected soles of her feet. The Bastinado! It was she knew a favourite way for black eunuchs to punish the women in their charge and to make them obey any order instantly.

            Hastily she reached up with her tongue. It touched his body...


The Emir cried out in ecstasy as he felt her tongue under his testicles. In no hurry to complete matters, he let her continue for a time, closing his eyes in sheer delight.

            Then he moved slowly forward, and again thrust into the entrance of the little rose bud. He reached forward to hold Diana's quivering body. As he did so, his manhood pushed further into the rosebud and then, to his delight, came up across a delicate little obstruction.

            He could hear Batra using his whip to urge Amanda to even greater efforts. He felt the tip of her tongue now licking the base of his manhood as it gently plunged in and out of her daughter. Oh the pleasure! Oh, the training that this once proud European woman must have been given by his black eunuchs. Oh, the feeling of debasement she must now be suffering. But, oh, for him the feeling of power!

            He looked down at Diana now lying helplessly under him, looking up at him piteously.

            "Say it, girl!" ordered Batra.

            There was pause and then the Emir heard the girl whisper the words she had been made to learn by heart.

            "Please take me Master. I give myself to my Master!"

            "Say it woman!" then cried Batra, this time touching the sensitive soles of Amanda's feet with his whip.

            "Please take my daughter, Master!" came a half throttled moan from beneath the Emir's belly.

            It was enough! With a delighted cry of triumph, the Emir thrust forward. He felt his firm manhood breaking though and then suddenly he was properly inside the now screaming girl. Oh, the excitement! Oh, the thought that it was he, an Arab Emir, and not some English milord who had made her into a woman! And who owned her - and her mother - body and soul!

            Amanda heard her daughter's sudden scream. She had seen the sudden surge forward of the Emir's manhood and knew what it meant. She was about to cry out again in protest when suddenly there was a another burst of flame across the soles of her feet. She fell silent and instead found herself straining to give her Master more pleasure with her tongue as, grunting with pleasure, he now drove in and out of the tight little rosebud.

            She was horrified to find herself becoming aroused! She realised that she was not now responding to the Bastinado, but to some deeper, primeval, feeling connected with very closeness of her Master's manhood and her own utter helplessness.


The Emir lowered his face and with his bearded lips found the girl's delicate ones. Oh how sweet they tasted! She twisted her head from side to side as if trying to avoid him. Then, in a masterful manner, he thrust his tongue into her mouth as he began to withdrew a little, only to thrust again ever more deeply into the girl.

            Already he was aware that of Amanda's increasingly eager tongue. Now to to his delight he found that the girl was also responding to his thrusts, wriggling with excitement and responding to his probing tongue.

            Suddenly he felt the climax approaching. It was time! With a sudden shock, Amanda felt the Emir's manhood pause and his testicles discharge. Oh, my God! My daughter!

            Simultaneously Diana felt herself being excitingly drenched. She wrenched her mouth free and gave a terrible cry - a cry of horror mixed with unbelievable delight as she too climaxed, for the first time since she had been doctored.

            The Emir collapsed onto Diana's body. Oh, yes, Makumo was right, so right, these British women could indeed be trained to provide him with an infinite variety of delightful pleasures - as well as both soon being put into an interesting state, ready for the Haj.






It was a few days later and the Blue Team were having their siesta in the team dormitory. Earlier they had laid out their sleeping mats and pillows under the eye of their tall and, for a black eunuch, surprisingly slim, Team Overseer, Tanga.

            For four nights running, now, the Emir had used only his two European slaves. After Diana had lost her virginity, it had been Amanda's turn, with Diana's delicate little tongue licking up from below as, horrified, she had had to witness the taking of her mother. Then both roles had been repeated on successive nights, but, now chained down on all fours, they had found, to their horror, that the object of their Master's desires had been their now well oiled rear orifices.

            The other girls of the Blue Team were overcome with jealousy and yet were also proud that their Master was taking so much pleasure with the Blue Team. Their teams was now well ahead on the board in the harem that showed the marks of each team in the monthly competition for the Master's favours. Every month there would be a special prize to the overseer of the winning team. At least Tanga would not now be thrashing them for not having earned more points - and so more cash for him and his assistants.


Each girl was covered by a pretty silken bed spread - with the crest of the Emir emblazoned across it as a constant reminder to the girls of their owner, just as the saddle clothes of his horses were similarly emblazoned to show his proprietorship.

            By the side of each mat, the girls' blue silken harem trousers, stiff matching bolero and little tasselled cap, all lay folded up neatly. Tanga liked to instil tidiness into the girls in his team.

            Each girl was naked under the silken bed spread - but was careful to keep her manacled hands visible above it so that they they could be seen by the black eunuch always on duty in the small raised pulpit on one side of the room. The punishment for a girl caught trying to put her hand below her bed clothes, or those of another girl, was an immediate six strokes of the cane.

            To help the duty eunuch keep a proper eye on his charges, a light was kept burning throughout the night from the front of the pulpit, alongside the steps that led down to the dormitory floor.


Amanda and Diana lay on mats on opposite sides of the dormitory. Tanga had deliberately kept them apart, since the first time they had been brought back into the harem from their Master's bedroom, staggering, weeping, and wild-eyed. They had longed to comfort each other, but the cunning Tanga, advised by Makumo, had prevented this and indeed was still ensuring that they were kept apart and not allowed even to speak to each other.

            Instead, each was going over in her mind, as Tanga knew they would, the shame-making scenes in which they had participated in the Master's bed.

            But, equally shame-making for both of them, was the memory of the wonderful feeling they experienced when their Master penetrated them. The loss of their beauty buds had left them feeling apparently sexless, but their Master's manhood had changed all that. Now both of them were only too well aware of the intense pleasure that they could still feel when aroused internally.Both were horrified to find that that thoughts of their Master's manhood now dominated their minds.

            Like the other women, both Amanda and Diana could not help looking up nervously at Naka, the older black eunuch who was standing in the pulpit, his whip in his hand. His shrewd old eyes were constantly looking down to make sure that nothing untoward was going on. He was normally on duty during the night, but had apparently been called in for a special meeting of the team's black eunuchs.

            Behind him was an open passageway that led back into the comfortable quarters of the team's black eunuchs. It was a clever arrangement that allowed the black eunuchs to come quickly and silently into the pulpit and so surprise any girl who might have taken advantage of the temporary absence of the duty eunuch to misbehave whilst he was refreshing himself in the next door black eunuch's rest room.

             Through the open passageway could be heard high pitched voices.


Tanga was having a meeting with his principal assistants to discuss the new European slaves in the Blue Team. Much to the fore was Batra, the young black eunuch he had put into direct charge of the mother and daughter, Amanda and Diana. Also present was Tuka, the elderly black eunuch in charge of the Emir's body slaves, amongst whom Jeannie now figured. Naka was on duty in the pulpit, but could hear what was being said.

            Pluma, the hugely fat and rather unsmiling deputy to Tanga, sat listening to all that was said but somehow he seemed to be rather waiting to be more closely involved with these white slave women at a later date. This was not surprising for Pluma was in charge of the girls in the Blue Team who had been chosen to amuse the Emir by expecting a Happy Event and who were later kept in milk for his delight.

            Pluma's own secret brand of African fertility pills never seemed to fail - provided it was left to him to decide on the day when the girl was to be mounted. Indeed, the black eunuchs of the other teams were always trying to learn his secrets, for he was also an expert both bringing out the latent maternal instincts of the girls he was put in charge of, and of ensuring that once a distraught young mother-to-be had been covered she was given no opportunity to get rid of what she was now carrying.

            But that was not all, for Pluma also had other secret pills for increasing the size of an expectant young mother's breasts before her Day of Deliverance, as it was called in the harem, so that, her half caste offspring removed, she would be ready to produce a record amount of milk for her Master's sustenance. Other pills ensured that she remained in milk for a long time. Indeed, it was rare that he did not earn the Emir's special monthly prize for the girl giving the most milk.

            Pluma liked to stretch the nipples of his girls in milk, partly to make it easier to milk them and for the Master to take his daily sustenance from them, partly as a highly visible sign of their status as the Master's milk maids, and partly because he felt that girls with unnaturally long nipples gave more milk.

            Every day he would expertly pull and stretch his girls' teats, as he preferred to call them, and then bind them with silken thread to keep them in their unnaturally long and animal-like shape. Like his pills for ensuring a good first conception and a good flow of milk, elongating a young mother's nipples was a technique of which he was particularly proud.

            Pluma played a key role in keeping the Blue Team's marks ahead of those of the other teams. Indeed the Emir never seemed to be tired of his daily inspections of Pluma's young Blue Team girls with their prettily swollen bellies or breasts and fascinatingly stretched teats.

            Pluma might not have the drive to overseer the full team, but he was certainly regarded as highly expert in his chosen field.


"My brothers," Tanga was saying, rubbing his hands, "the arrival of these European women is a great opportunity for us, and one that we must not let slip. Obviously they are delighting the Master, may Allah enable him to continue to enjoy his women for ever!"

            He glanced towards the corner of the room where Makumo, his superior as the Emir's chief black eunuch, was sitting, nodding. Tanga was Makumo's best Team Supervisor, but he still wanted to listen in to the meeting to make sure that Tanga had everything under control.

            "Already the Master has rewarded us all," again he nodded ingratiatingly towards the now smiling Makumo. "It was, of course, our superior's judgement in first buying the women, that has provided this opportunity. And we are most grateful to him for then allocating them to our Blue Team. We must, however, now make proper plans for exploiting their presence in our team."

            His listeners all nodded, for greed was a common characteristic of black eunuchs.

            "Yes," he went on, "I need hardly remind you that every night and every siesta that illustrious Master, may Allah ensure that his interest in his harem never fades, spends in the arms of a slut from another team, as he is doing in this very moment, hurts our pockets!"

            There were angry looks at being reminded that for today's siesta the Emir's choice had fallen on women of the Orange team. It was an anger that would be taken out on the backsides of the girls in the Blue Team.

            "Obviously we can't expect him to choose Blue Team women for his pleasure every time. but whether through fear of our whips, or through our better training, we must ensure that, every time he chooses Blue Team women, he is better satisfied. We all certainly want him to choose our women more often than those of other teams - and this includes our new white slaves. Indeed, we must use them to make sure of winning next month's prize - or they're going to feel my cane alright!"

            Makumo smiled, his technique of having jealously competing black eunuchs team overseers, as well as competing women, was paying off well. Fear of the inevitable thrashings that overseers, keen to win the prize, gave to the women in their teams, to spur them on, played a key part in ensuring that every woman constantly did her utmost to try and catch the eye of the Master.

            "I think we can agree that the mother's, and daughter's, first two summons to our Master's bed went off very well - thanks to young Batra's discreet supervision. And so did their subsequent appearances!"

            This last remark was greeted with cruel laughter by the assembled black eunuchs.

            "Yes, my brothers," went on Tanga, "this first sodomising of the mother and daughter by our illustrious Master, may the blessings of Allah never cease to flow down onto him, was truly a great success - and an event that has enriched us all..."

            "But, my brothers," interrupted the elderly Tuka, "you may have been very clever in arranging these two highly erotic scenes for the Master. Certainly having two beautiful, blond, European women chained down for his pleasure very satisfactorily aroused our sometimes jaded Master's manhood, and I congratulate you on your astuteness. But do not underestimate the role that was played, unwittingly, by the innocent white servant girl, in also arousing, night after night, our Master's manhood."

            The others nodded and Tuka paused for a moment.

            "Yes," he went on, "being intimately serviced by a frightened and very pretty white girl had a considerable effect on our Master's manhood - as I discreetly saw for myself."

            "Of course, Tuka, you are quite right," agreed Tanga. "She is a delightful young woman, with good big breasts - she's been taught by you to give great pleasure with her now ringed tongue."

            "And," went on Tuka proudly, "with the periodical help of my whip, our little redhead has now overcome her natural repugnance to her more intimate duties as a personal body slave. She has learnt that although the ring through her tongue has rendered her mute, nevertheless it also enables her to give great pleasure."

            There were smiles all round at the thought of how Tuka's cane must have played a key role in the girl's eagerness.

            "Moreover, my brothers, she has now moved on to the more delicate and, for our Master, yet more arousing technique of using first one well soaped breast and nipple, and then the other, to supplement her tongue in a carefully rehearsed routine when cleaning her Master from behind."

            There was round of laughter. Old Tuka certainly knew how to humiliate an accursed Christian - and make her give the Master greater pleasure!

            "Yes, she is turning out to be both a good little receptacle and cleaner, providing services of an intimacy that she never dreamed that she would ever have to provide to man, before she was captured and enslaved!"

            "And the sight of his erect manhood?" asked Makumo with a twisted and perhaps jealous smile, thinking of his own emasculation.

            "She can't take her eyes off it!"

            "So," said Tanga, "I think it's time we involved her in other ways! We must plan new ways of amusing the Emir with this European mother and daughter - and of involving the maidservant as well."

            He paused. "We must remember that these Christian dogs are different from our Master's Berber concubines: they have all lost their little beauty buds! And now they are beginning to realise that, in future, penetration by their Master's manhood is to be their only way of achieving any relief or pleasure - and that we will be ensuring that no other source of relief is ever available to them."

            "Indeed not!" came a chuckle from Naka, standing in the doorway that lead back to the pulpit. "Certainly not when I'm on duty!"

            "Your devotion to preserving the honour of the Master, does you proud," laughed Tanga. "But as I was saying we must devise new ways for them to amuse the Master. He is not a young man and half the pleasure he gets from his harem is simply the feeling of power that comes owning and collecting beautiful woman - and what could be more satisfying than owning these British ones?"

            "And," added the Pluma, "the satisfaction that an older Master takes in having a young woman mated for his amusement, and then in making her carry her half-caste progeny and in having her paraded for him to inspect her swelling belly. That, too, can give an older Master a very satisfactory sense of ownership and power."

            "As can," added old Tuka, "the sight of a delicately swollen naked belly on a girl who is busily cleaning him."

            "Yes," interjected Makumo, "and you must not forget why I was sent by our Master to buy these women: for them to be covered and put into whelp so that their milk can sustain our Master next year on the Haj, and provide him with a highly saleable source of funds on his journey. European slavegirls in milk will sell particularly well in the slave markets of Cairo and Arabia."

            The other black eunuchs smiled.

            "And," continued Makumo, remembering his position as overseer of all the Emir's slave women, both in his harem and in the breeding farm, "if in achieving this we can also establish a new and improved strain of Haratin, with European blood, then, of course so much the better... So, it will soon be time to hand them over to the tender mercies of your efficient colleague Pluma!"

            "Right!" muttered the huge Pluma. "Then you, Batra, must immediately start keeping accurate records of their monthly cycles, so that my little pills can enable a successful fertilisation to take place on their first mounting by the Master's chosen stallions."

            Batra nodded. He was used to keeping such records and to making the close daily and intimate inspections that they required.

            "And Pluma," said Makumo, "I think you also have certain pills that delay, or bring on, a woman's cycle? Clearly it will be more amusing for the Master if all three women can be successfully covered at one special spectacle. So you must get them all coming ready for conception on the same day! Think of the handsome rewards we will all share, I can report that all three have simultaneously being suffering from a strange little morning sickness!"

            Pluma nodded enthusiastically. "And I think I should now start elongating the nipples of the young daughter so that she has really good looking teats by the time she comes into milk for the Master. You can't start too early when it comes to stretching the nipples of young girls."

            "And meanwhile," said Tanga, "we should remember that although the Master greatly enjoyed taking an active role in deflowering these two women from the front and behind, nevertheless he does usually does usually prefer to lie back and let his concubines do all the work."

            The other eunuchs nodded in agreement.

            "We must not forget that the two key features of a successful harem are frustration and jealousy. Clearly the redhead's sense of frustration is being stimulate by being made to prepare her Master's manhood for use on other women. Now we must stimulate that of the mother and daughter - and the natural mutual jealousy of a mother and daughter. It will be a touching sight - and, as we all know, punishment and the cane can play an effective role here."

            There was a another round of laughter, for they all knew what Tanga had in mind.

            "Oh yes," said Batra, speaking for the first time in the presence of these older and more experienced eunuchs, "I'll see to it that they are so well trained that the other team overseers will soon very jealous of the amount of time the Master spends with our mother and daughter!"

            "Good!" said Tanga, rubbing his hands. "I think we are all agreed. The long term plan is clear and meanwhile, before they are due to covered, we must press on with using them to further arouse the Master. Listen, I have several plans..."






The Emir looked at the two manacled white women wriggling and cavorting in front of him, in time to the music. As usual, standing proudly behind the Emir with an approving smile, stood Makumo.

            Batra, whip in hand, held Amanda by a chain fastened to the ring at the back of her collar. Jeannie was similarly held by Tanga, the overseer in charge of the Blue Team. In their free hands, the two black eunuchs held short little dogwhips which they were using to drive their charges onto greater efforts and to punish the slightest sign of hesitation.

            As the women danced they would nervously give each other passionate kisses and stroke each other's breasts through their long silken caftans - as they had been made to practice.

            Because Jeannie had been kept chained to the Master's private Turkish-style closet or bath, Amanda not seen her former maid until they were brought together by Batra and Tanga to rehearse their present performance. Amanda knew nothing of the girl's degrading duties as one of the Emir's private body slaves, and hadbeen horrified to see the large slender ring that kept the girl's tongue well presented, giving her an strangely erotic look and rendering her mute.

            Initially, they had both been shocked when they realised the lesbian nature of the performance that the black eunuchs were making them practice. But the sensuous atmosphere of the harem and the absence of men soon made it seem quite natural.

            It was, the Emir thought, a highly erotic scene and one that was further heightened by knowing that the redhead had been the blond woman's maidservant.

            Tanga nodded at Batra and the two black eunuchs pulled the two women back by their collars. The music stopped.

            "Stand still!" ordered Tanga. It was one of the Arabic orders that the women had had to learn by heart. They stood erect, their eyes fixed straight ahead, their manacled hands to their sides. Their faces were flushed with arousal that they had mutually been made to induce.

            The black eunuchs quickly unbuttoned their charges' caftans at the shoulder, and slipped them down over their manacles to gather them them at the waist. The breasts and painted nipples, now erect, were exposed. The music started up again.

            "Dance!" ordered Tanga.

            The bouncing breasts made an erotic sight for the Emir, as their nipples occasionally touched. But it was even more erotic when, again at a signal from Tanga, the music stopped, the caftans were dropped to the floor, and the women resumed their dancing, now stark naked except for their little blue tasselled caps, shiny collars and manacles.

            Now the fleshy beauty lips of the blond woman contrasted excitingly with the neatly trimmed, babyish, ones of the redhead.

            But perhaps what aroused the Emir even more was the sight of his crest beautifully branded across the white bellies of these new slaves - coloured in blue to show that they permanently belonged to the Blue Team.

            It all made up a sight that stimulated his sense of ownership and power over his women, over the Berber women in his Haratin Breeding pens, the women here in his harem, and now also over these three hated Christians. The eunuchs well knew what a wonderful aphrodisiac this feeling was. They knew how to stimulate it with scenes such as this.

            "Caress breasts!" came the order and the women clasped each other, alternatively rubbing each other's nipples between their fingers and bending down to take a nipple into their mouths, in a clearly well rehearsed routine. Try as she might to avoid it, Amanda could not help being aroused by Jeannie's permanently prominent tongue and by the cold tickling sensation that came from her ring. Meanwhile Jeannie could not help being aroused by the pleasure that her tongue and ring were clearly giving to her former Mistress.

            Soon their faces and necks were reddened with unrequitedarousal. There was little risk of their nipples triggering a climax, but the black eunuchs could not run even so slight a risk. So it was that the two women both gave little gasps of frustration as the carefully watching black eunuchs pulled them back by their leads for a moment to allow their excited bodies to calm down.

            Then the leads were slackened and, urged on by sharp taps of the dog whips, the two embarrassed women resumed their play for several minutes under the fascinated gaze of the Emir.


            The two women fell to their knees, the better to get each other's bodies. Once again the carefully watching eunuchs intervened occasionally, quickly pulling the women back by the chains attached to their collars.

            Suddenly there came an order that had not been rehearsed.

            "Down on all fours!"

            Surprised, the two women, still facing each other, placed their hands on the ground.

            "Buttocks up! Legs apart!"

            The two black eunuchs smeared a little grease between the lower part of the women's beauty lips. Horrified, and yet mystified, the two women could only silently wonder what was going to happen next.

            They both gave a sudden gasp as two hugely fat naked black women entered the room. They gasped again as they saw that strapped between the thighs of these two women, now coming towards them, were two white ivory carved manhoods.

            "No!" screamed Amanda starting to rise to her feet. But half a dozen hard slashes of Batra's whip forced her back onto her knees.

            "Buttocks up! Legs apart!" came the order - this time accompanied by two more strokes across Amanda's backside.

            "Yes! Yes! But don't beat me any more," Amanda screamed. Her cries were in English, but their meaning was clear. Smiling, Batra glanced across the two kneeling bodies at Tanga, and lowered his whip.

            Meanwhile Jeannie, overcome with terror at the beating that her beloved Mistress was receiving, did not dare to move. But her eyes were on the well oiled white manhoods that stuck out incongruously below the black women's bloated bellies.

            The two knelt down behind the two white women. Amanda gave a little jump as she felt the black woman's hands reach forward and start to squeeze her nipples, expertly and carefully. At the same time she could feel the slippery ivory manhood, probing at her beauty lips.

            "Still!" ordered Batra warningly, jerking Amanda's lead and giving her a sharp tap across her shoulders with his dog whip. Terrified of a further beating, Amanda bit her lips.

            Seconds later the same thing happened to Jeannie.

            Overcome with shame, both women, increasingly aroused, began to feel their hips wriggling back towards the artificial, but very realistic, manhoods probing between their beauty lips. It was if their bodies, deprived now of their beauty buds, were seeking to obtain pleasure by inviting these manhoods to give them pleasure by penetrating their most secret and intimate parts.

            But the black women, well briefed by Tanga, were in no hurry, cleverly forcing these two sensually experienced Christians to make the running, like a bitch on heat rubbing herself against the male who is trying to mount her- much to the amusement of the closely watching Emir.

            Suddenly when both of the women seemed to have been driven half out of their minds by frustrated desire, Tanga nodded.

            Both women uttered a cry of pain and pleasure as the two ivory carved manhoods finally slowly thrust deeply into them.

            Soon the black women had the white women crying out with delight as they alternatively almost completely withdrew the manhoods and then thrust them in again deep into the women's bodies.

            Makumo smiled. If the women had had any doubt before that the only real pleasure they could enjoy in future would have to come from penetration by a manhood, then they would have none now. But it must also be made clear that the only manhood available to them, if they could earn it, was their Master's. He raised a finger.

            The two women withdrew from the now gasping women, who uttered little cries of despair as the two black women stood up, bowed to the Emir and withdrew - leaving Amanda and Jeannie utterly frustrated and eagerly looking up at their Master - their only hope of relief.

            But the Emir turned and whispered something to Makumo. He had remembered that his eye had been caught that very morning by two very pretty girls of the Red Team.

            Angrily the disappointed Batra and Tanga drove the crawling Amanda and Jeannie out of the room. Tanga could hardly wait to get them back into the team dormitory and thrash them for not having put on an even more uninhibited show of lesbian love. They certainly would next time!


It was a still angry Tanga who later strode over to the cane hanging on he wall of the Blue Team dormitory. It was time his girls, including the three Christian ones, were given the ritual punishment for when the Emir chose girls from another team for his pleasure.

            His anger was tempered, however, by the thought that even if the Emir had not, for once, chosen any of the European slaves for his pleasure, nevertheless the performance that Amanda and Jeannie had been made to put on would have left a very definite impression on the Emir - as would have the realisation by Amanda and Jeannie that they had merely been used to excite the Emir for his other women.

            But his team must be kept up to the mark and made to realise that each and every failure to catch the Emir's eye, would always result in all fifteen of them being beaten.

            The team, including Pluma's two who were expecting a Happy Event and his two prize milkmaids, were kneeling on all fours in the team dormitory. Their foreheads were pressed humbly to the floor and their buttocks raised. They bit their lips hard, for it was forbidden to cry out.

             Tanga walked slowly down the line of humbly proffered female bottoms. He was followed by his assistant, Batra.

            As he passed each one, he raised his cane and brought it down sharply. There was a muffled gasp and he went on to the next little bottom. Each woman was desperately asking herself how many times Tanga would go up and down the line. It was something that they had been desperately whispering to each other about before the parade. Once, twice, three times? More? Tanga had been known to stride up and down the line ten times - ten strokes!

            But on this occasion he let them off lightly with just three strokes each before returning the cane to its prominent position on the harem wall.

            The three painful strokes were each, however, bitterly resented by Diana. Why could not her mother have put on an even better show for the Emir, and so saved her from being beaten?


The Emir was sitting cross legged on a sofa in his private room in the harem.

            Two pretty creatures were crawling slowly across the floor towards him, their heads dutifully lowered, their manacled hands sliding along the floor, and their soft little bottoms raised high. From between the cheeks of their buttocks rose long feathered plumes - all fastened to a silver plunger that had been carefully inserted into their rear orifices.

            The women were white: Amanda and her daughter.

            The same thought was running through both their minds. Never had they ever thought back in England that they would, one day, be crawling abjectly to the feet of an Arab. And yet it was not only fear of Tanga's cane that drove them on, though that undoubtedly played a part - and was never out of their minds for long.

            The truth was that both of them now found a secret satisfaction in having to crawl on their knees to their Master, ugly, cruel and fat though he might be. Locked up in the harem, isolated from all the cares and worries of the world outside, and never seeing or hearing another man, it seemed only right and proper that they should worship the very ground that their Master walked on.

            Oh yes, he is our God, both were thinking, as having reached his feet they raised their heads and looked imploringly up at him, their manacled hands joined in supplication.

            "Master take me. I worship you. I am your unworthy slave!" each cried out in turn. And such is the power of the harem system that each meant every word.


The Emir lay back on his bed and looked up at the two pairs of lovely breasts hanging down over him, one on each side. One pair was small and firm with little nipples that were beginning to respond well to their daily stretching routine. They were of of a delicate pink shade - as befitted a young Christian girl like Diana. But the breasts of the other were heavy and the nipples were scarlet and strangely elongated - the sign of one of Pluma's Berber milkmaids.

            Diana looked down at the face of her terrifying Master and then at the stretched nipples of her companion. Would he punish her for not being able to provide the sustenance that the other girl was clearly able to do? Was it imagination or was she too wishing that her breasts could provide her Master with the same refreshing drink? Was she succumbing to the sensual atmosphere of the harem where everything was devoted to the pleasure of one man - her Master, the man who had taken her virginity?

            She reached down, as she knew she must, and began to stroke her Master's half erect manhood - the manhood that had broken through her virginity. She could not help glancing down at it, admiringly. She found herself shamefully longing to receive it up inside her again.

            The Emir reached up and pulled one of the long teat-like nipples of the other girl down into his mouth. He sucked and soon was rewarded by little jets of warm of sweet milk. He looked up at the small firm little breasts of Diana, and smiled. It would not be too long before her nipples were well and truly elongated, too. And then would come the day when she would be offering them for him to suck milk from - the much prized milk of a blond European woman, the milk that was going to sustain him on the Haj.

            His thirst satisfied, the Emir snapped his fingers. The watching Batra crept forward discreetly and snapping a lead onto the ring at the milkmaid's brass collar, pulled her back, and led her crawling across the room to a little one way flap. Obedient to a sharp tap on her buttocks, the pretty milkmaid crept through the flap and back into the harem, her duty done.

            Batra now unfastened the cage holding Amanda and led her to the Emir's bed. Soon she too was leaning over the Emir, her full breasts hanging down enticingly over him, alongside those of her daughter.

            The Emir sucked first one and then the other. How delightful it would be when both were full of milk and both sets of nipples had been elongated into proper teats for him. He could feel his manhood coming into a hard erection under the stimulus of both these thoughts and the hesitant massage of the young daughter.

            Soon he felt another, more experienced, hand. The mother, too, unable to resist the sight of her Master's proud manhood, was playing her part.

            Moments later the Emir called out a short order and Batra gently pulled back the mystified young girl and made her kneel across her Master facing his feet. He pushed her head down. Her little red rosebud was now poised immediately above her Master's manhood. Amanda gave a gasp of protest as she saw what was going to happen, but a stroke across her shoulders from Batra's whip silenced her and she lowered her breasts to her Master's mouth.

            Batra now peeled back the well oiled petals of Diana's rose bud and guided the Master's manhood into them. The excited Emir gave a sudden jerk and a little cry from Diana announced that his manhood had penetrated deep into her.

            Diana knew what she had to do. She also knew that Tanga's cane would be waiting for her if she did not do it. She rose gently up onto her knees and then down again, feeling the manhood slip up and down thrillingly as she did so.

            Amanda too knew what she had to do - and the punishment that awaited her if she did not do it. Letting the Emir continue to suck first one and then the other of her breasts, she reached down and gently pinched his nipples, making him thrust yet harder into her daughter.

            A feeling of jealousy swept over her as she realised the pleasure that her daughter would be receiving from their Master's manhood, whilst she received none. It was unfair of the Emir to prefer her daughter to herself just because she was younger and tighter. She could give him greater pleasure! She wanted to push her daughter away and take her place, but a warning tap from Batra stopped her and she resumed pinching the Emir's nipples - arousing him to get further heights - and giving her daughter yet further pleasure.

            Meanwhile Diana, facing her Master's feet, was in ecstasy as his manhood stroked up and down inside her. Never had she had such pleasure. From now on she would do anything and everything to try and catch her Master's eye and hope to enjoy his manhood again!

            She could feel herself approaching a climax and then suddenly she felt herself being drenched by her Master's seed and she too erupted...


It was a delighted Tanga who a little later received Batra's report. Mother and daughter had performed well and doubtless the Emir would be showing Tanga his appreciation in the usual financially rewarding manner.

            He glanced up at the cane hanging on the wall. He did not want the two women to relax their future efforts. They did not deserve a proper thrashing, on the contrary, but perhaps a mild one, just two strokes each, would ensure that the next time they were chosen by the Emir, they would again strain their utmost to to please him.

            And beating them both in front of each other would help stimulate the mutual jealousy and resentment that was to play a leading part in their future performances!










"It is indeed an honour to have an Imperial Bey in my house," said the Emir over little cups of Turkish coffee, served by handsome young Haratin eunuchs. "We have much to discuss, but that wait until tomorrow. You have had a long and tiring journey to reach my domains and the very least I can offer such a senior officer of the Sultan is the usual form of relief for honoured guests."

            Rory smiled. The usual form of relief for honoured guests! He knew well what that meant here in North Africa: a girl in his bed, hooded so that she never saw him, nor he her. Better than nothing! It seemed a long time since he had had a woman - not since that last splendid night in his harem before he left. That splendid threesome with Barbara, Marie and Henrietta, each jealously trying to outdo the other two in giving him pleasure! It was a night he had repeatedly thought about on this trip.

            "I am fortunate in being able to offer you, a former European, but alas with the normal restrictions, two European women for your pleasure. I trust that you will find them enjoyable - my chief black eunuch has told them a thrashing awaits them if you not fully satisfied with their performance."

            Two European women! Here in the Emir's harem! My God, poor things, Rory was thinking. But how interesting!

            "Oh, one thing, Your Excellency," added the Emir, "to save you being annoyingly importuned by these Christian slaves, who are always begging to be freed, I have had them gagged under their hoods."


Makumo ushered Rory into a sumptuous bedroom. Batra was on duty outside the door.

            "If you have any problems with the women, just call for my assistant," said Makumo with an ingratiating smile that hid his anger at having to provide women for the use of this foreigner, even if he was a Bey and a senior Turkish official.

            Rory saw two naked figures stretched out on the large bed, with space for himself between them. They were writhing their hips invitingly - as they had evidently been taught to do.

            Their bodies were both beautiful and exciting. One was slighter and apparently younger than the other. The manacles linking their hands had been slung over hooks at the head of the bed. He would, Rory realised, be able to unhook the manacles when he wanted to bring their hands into play.

            Each head was covered with a leather hood, with several small air holes below where the nose would be. As the younger girl tossed her head, Rory saw that the hood was fastened at the back of the neck with a small padlock.

            But that was not all, for he saw that there was another small padlock below the one locking the hood in place. It seemed to be fastened to a strap that went under the hood. Rory remembered what the Emit had said about having the women gagged so that their importuning for their freedom did not disturb him. More likely, he thought with a cynical laugh, it was to prevent him from learning their nationality and identity.

            Stripping of his clothes, he climbed up onto the bed, kneeling between the two beautiful bodies. The younger woman gave a little moan from under her hood. Glancing down at her, Rory was fascinated to see the way that her pink young nipples had been elongated. It really would be delightful to suck them. What a pity that she was not in milk.

            Then he gave a gasp as he saw, below the Emir's green crest, neatly branded on her belly, the extraordinary way in which the girl's beauty lips had been transformed into just a pretty rose stem, with a tempting little rosebud below.

            It might be shocking, but the effect was certainly dramatic. He could not help admiring the skill with which it had all been done, as he ran his hand down the little scar, tattooed green to form the rose stem, with the small tattooed leaves on either side, and on down to the petals of the tight little rosebud, tattooed a realistic red. But of the beauty bud there was no sign at all.

            Intrigued, he turned to the other woman lying next to her. He stroked her full breasts and was rewarded by a muffled moan from under the hood. He ran his hand down to her belly, admiring the beautifully branded Emir's crest.

            He smiled as he saw that the beauty lips were normal. But again there seemed no beauty bud. He parted the woman lips and saw, to his astonishment, that where the beauty bud should have been, there was just a little scar. She had been cut! Presumably since her enslavement, for, he knew, many rich Arabs liked their slavegirls cut - it increased their feeling of power, without diminishing their own pleasure.

            What an extraordinary pair these two women made. He doubted if they could have been treated in this way here in the interior.

            Suddenly he noticed a little red diamond, tattooed discreetly on the inside of the left thigh of the older woman. Below the diamond were tattooed some tiny Arabic numerals. He looked at the younger one. The diamond and the numerals, different ones this time, were there too. They were, he knew, the the mark of Hassan, the well know slave dealer in Tunis, Marsa's nearest rival corsair port. He had heard that Hassan specialised in handling, and in doctoring, educated European women. But these were the first ones he had seen.

            During his early days in Marsa, he had himself had often thought of going to Tunis to buy a beautiful European slavegirl or two from Hassan. However, he had soon realised that with only his meagre Turkish pay to live on, he simply could possibly afford Hassan's prices. In any case, before long, thanks to the generosity of the Pasha in passing on his surplus concubines and of the merchants of Marsa, his small harem, and his small galley, had soon been exceptionally well stocked with some quite delightful European women.

            But fancy the Emir, living so far away in the interior, being a client of Hassan!

            No wonder he was so proud of his European women that he wanted to show them off to the visiting Bey from the relatively civilised port of Marsa. Clearly he wanted to show that he was not just some uneducated war lord, but someone who understood and shared the extreme feeling of power, and of pride of ownership, that came from possessing beautiful European women.

            And no wonder that the Emir had taken precautions to ensure that he, also a European, if officially no longer a Christian, could not see or talk to them.

            He wondered if he might learn more from the Emir's chief black eunuch, then he remembered the surly look this creature had given him - obviously resenting his precious prize charges being used to pleasure a visitor. Presumably the same would apply to the young black eunuch at the door of his bedroom, especially if he was their direct overseer. How humiliating it must be for these European women, presumably well educated ones since they had been sold by Hassan, to be supervised by a mere boy.

            But these helpless women, laid out for his pleasure, had beautiful and exciting bodies, and he had not had a woman since he left Marsa! He felt his loins stir at the erotic sight. He lifted the women's manacles off the hooks and lay down between them.

            Immediately both women, as if scared not to please him, started to arouse him, squeezing his nipples, tickling him between the legs and eagerly stroking his now erect manhood. They worked as a well trained team. He noticed the slight marks of the cane on their buttocks - clearly the black eunuchs had trained them well!

            He was surprised at the intensity of the younger girl's reaction as he sucked her elongated nipples. Soon she was moaning under her hood as if in ecstasy. The same reaction occurred when he shifted his attention to the older woman. Clearly the loss of their beauty buds had made their nipples all the more sensitive.

            He put a hand down to part the petals of the younger girl's little rosebud. Immediately he felt his finger being gripped and released. The same applied he found with the older woman. Loss of their beauty buds made them all the more eager to be stimulated internally!

            For the next few minutes, Rory rode first one and then the other, enjoying the tightness of the younger one and the greater wriggling of the older one. As did so he heard them breathing hard and uttering incoherent little cries of pleasure and excitement.

            Finally unable to hold out any longer he climaxed into the older one, feeling her, too, climaxing under him. She really was delightful.

            He lay back and, half asleep, was aware of the young black eunuch taking both women away - presumably to douche them to ensure that they did not conceive.

            Later that night, his virility restored, he was aware that they were both back again on either side of him. This time it was the younger girl who ended up receiving his tribute to their ability to arouse him.

            How lucky the Emir is to have such a delicious and well trained pair, he thought, as he again fell asleep.

            When he awoke next morning he was alone.






Followed by their guards, the Emir and Rory rode slowly up to the former fort that now housed the Emir's extensive breeding facilities behind its castellated walls. They had ridden up from the Emir's own rambling Kasbah further down the Weid, the valley whose fertile land was the origin of the Emir's wealth.

            They passed groups of patrolling Black Guards.

            "I have to take special precautions against my four and two legged brood mares, my precious breeding dams, being stolen or escaping - or, in the case of the human brood mares, of them being rescued by their distraught families or husbands. Too much is at stake financially for any risks to be run."

            As they approached the farm, they passed on one side small paddocks in which real brood mares and their young foals were placidly grazing.

            "These are my prize brood mares," explained the Emir to his guest. "We keep the stallions in the farm itself together with the mares about to come into season or about to foal."

            But it was not the mares and foals that had really caught the eye of the Rory. A large area of fertile land had been divided up into numerous vegetable plots in which rows of tomatoes, melons and potatoes were growing. It appeared to be a highly successful operation.

            But, again, it was not the vegetables that really interested the Emir's guest, but the chain gangs of half naked, and manacled, youngBerber women who were working in the plots: picking, hoeing, watering and digging in manure. Each chain gang consisted of about a dozen women, linked by a light chains fastened to their iron collars. Each gang was supervised by an overseer, a black eunuch, carrying a whip with which he drove the women along the rows, keeping them working hard and in line with each other.

            Rory saw that most of the chain gangs consisted of women who were clearly expecting.

            "Each gang consists of women with similar days of deliverance," explained the Emir to his guests. "Normally the women are kept crawling on all fours in individual pens, feeding their latest progeny. Then at dawn, except for those approaching their day of deliverance, they are let out and formed up by their overseers into chain gangs to work here on our important vegetable enterprise, until the heat of mid-day. Then they are put back into their pens to feed their hungry little progeny again."

            "But don't you find that keeping them in milk makes it more difficult to get them to conceive?" asked the now fascinated Rory.

            "No, our black overseers have a special potion that solves that problem. It's in common use back in their villages and works very well. Both the four and two legged brood mares feed one progeny whilst carry the next one. Shortly before each new progeny is delivered, we take the previous one away for rearing and dry off the mare, or the woman, so that she will be ready again to feed the new arrival."

            "All very efficient," said Rory admiringly, "but surely there's a risk, when the women are brought out here to work, that they might take the opportunity to interfere with the valuable progeny they are being made to carry?"

            "Ah, but you're forgetting," said the Emir with a cunning smile, "that the women are not sentenced to hard labour here for a definite period but rather until they have successfully produced a specific number of healthy Haratin. Each dam is branded with a little star on her left buttocks every time she produces a healthy Haratin and she'll be only too anxious to earn her stipulated number of stars and so be allowed to return to her home."

            Looking up, the cruel looking Emir checked to see that the look out towers on each corner of the square shaped building were properly manned with armed lookouts from his Black Guards.

            As the Emir's party approached, the iron barred gate was flung open. A party of Black Guards, all exceptionally tall Dinkas from the Soudan, hastily formed up and presented arms as the Emir rode through the gateway. It was these stalwart giants who served as human stallions for the Berber women in the Haratin breeding pens, something which made a posting to guard this establishment particularly popular - though only the tallest and strongest were selected.

            The Emir introduced Rory to his head stud groom, a tall Arab, in a spotless white robe and carrying a riding whip, who salaamed profoundly. Then he introduced the Arab's colleague, the chief overseer in charge of the Haratin breeding. He was dressed like the chief stud groom in a spotless white Arab dress, but his jet black skin and the tribal scars on his cheeks showed his negro origin. He, too, was an important personage, ranking second only to Makumo.

            "One of them," the Emir said to the astonished Rory, "is responsible for meeting my annual quota of a hundred healthy young colts and fillies, and the other for meeting my similar quota for a hundred healthy young Haratin. Both like their progeny to be born in the cool of early spring or autumn, but with different gestation periods, they have different mating seasons. They make a good team with many common problems and run very successful enterprises. And their charges also both provide the excellent mixed manure you saw being spread by the chain gangs. That's the secret behind my equally successful vegetable enterprise!"

            The Emir and Rory dismounted in the large central square and looked around. Everything seemed spotlessly clean.

            Followed by the head stud groom, the Emir led Rory over to the large building built along one wall of the old fort that provided shade for the double lines of loose boxes housing his prized brood mares and their foals.

            A nearby smaller building shaded the precious stallions, and the mating box with its strong collar and hind fetlock straps, linked by a chain, to prevent a fractious mare from lashing out at a stallion about to mount her.

            The Emir pointed to the blackboards fastened to each loose box and on which was written in Arabic the brood mare's breeding number, a number that matched with the Arabic numbers branded on on her near side hindquarters, her age, her own breeding, the number of foals she had borne, the name of the stallion to whom she had last been put and the date she was covered. There was also a note on her health and how much of the specially nourishing breeding food she should be given to ensure the proper growth of both the foal she was carrying and the one she was still suckling.

            "Accurate records are essential for a successful breeding enterprise," the Emir said.

            He pointed to a young colt eagerly suckling from his dam. A decision would soon have to be made as to whether to have him gelded or kept entire as a stallion. Nearly all of the Emir's valuable colts and young male Haratin were gelded, for he did not want other breeders to use stallions reared by him.

             It was, of course, a sensible precaution that applied to both parts of his breeding operation and, moreover, just as a gelded horse would later give less trouble in the stables, so too a gelded Haratin would give less trouble as a labourer when grown up.

            Gelded Haratin, however, like white eunuchs, were not used in harems - experience had shown that genuine blacks, and the blacker the better, made the most effective black eunuchs - they were feared more by the women they supervised.

            It would soon, the Emir explained, be time to wean the colt away from his mother and to put him in with the yearlings being reared for sale in another year's time. No longer having to produce milk for this colt would also enable her stud groom to feed her up specially to give maximum growth and strength to the foal she was carrying. She would pine for the colt when he was first taken away, but would soon forget him with the arrival of the next one.


Accompanied by the Haratin breeding overseer, the Emir now strode over to the other side of the courtyard towards a similar large open sided shaded building.

            Whereas the building he had just left had provided shade to lines of wooden loose boxes, this one shaded lines of white painted pens. The pens were some three feet high and solidly made of brick and stone. Were it not for the strict rule forbidding Moslems to eat pork, a casual visitor might have taken them for pig pens.

             Each pen was covered in a wide mesh metal grille level with the top of the low walls. In the centre of the grilled was a small circular gap.

            A similar blackboard to that fastened to the boxes of the four legged brood mares, and also covered in Arabic writing, was attached to a post sticking up from the front of each pen.

            Suddenly the black overseer cracked his whip noisily. 'Heads!' he shouted in his falsetto voice.

            There was rattling of chains and then suddenly, at one end of the line of pens twenty heads appeared through the holes in the grilles - rather like a flock of swimming penguins suddenly poking their heads up above the surface of the sea.

            "These are mainly dams who are soon due to deliver and so have been kept back from the work gangs," explained the Emir. He pointed out how the women's hair was sleek and shining as it hung down their backs - a clear sign of good health. Their eyes were also sparkling and carefully outlined with black kohl. The Emir liked his dams to be kept well groomed by their black overseers. Not only was it important for reasons of hygiene, but it also gave them a sense of pride, pride in being his selected brood mares, the dams of his top selling Haratin.

            The women did not speak. They all looked around eagerly for they were not normally allowed to raise their heads above the grille except to have their hair combed and their eyes made up. Clearly the head of any woman who did so without permission would be immediately noticed by a patrolling black overseer.

            Then, seeing the Emir they looked at him fearfully.

            Again the black overseer cracked his whip loudly. "Greet your Master!" he shouted.

            "We love our Master!" came a chorus of girlish voices.

            "What do you most want?"

            "To deliver prize Haratin for our Master!"

            The Emir smiled. The voices sounded almost fervent. It was a good way of checking morale in the breeding pens. Clearly the chief overseer was keeping the women well disciplined. He nodded his approval.

            "Heads down!" the overseer shouted. The heads all disappeared below the grilles.

            "Carry on!" he shouted to two young black overseers each leading a donkey cart down the passageway between the lines of pens.

            One of them was throwing food from a forage cart through the gap in each grille onto the bare cobble stones that formed the floor of each pen. It was a nourishing porridge made of boiled barley with chopped up carrots. Eager slurping noises came from with the pen.

            The other young black boy was leading a dung cart. As he passed each pen he would unlock a small wooden door in the wall of the pen facing the passageway and rake out the small pile of soiled straw that each woman had carefully placed by the door to her pen, ready to be taken away.

            Berber women were naturally clean and fastidious, but part of the discipline of the breeding pens was to make each one of them think carefully how best to ration their daily use of the small pile of straw kept neatly in the far left hand corner of each pen - for it was only replenished once a week.

            This small amount of straw had to serve not only as bedding to cover the hard cobble stones but also as a receptacles for their solid wastes - and, of course, for keeping themselves clean.


The Emir walked down the passageway. He stopped at random and invited Rory to look down into a pen. Crawling round it on all fours, under the grille, was a pretty young almost white skinned Berber girl. Crawling clumsily on either side of her and reaching up for the nipple of one of her swollen breasts were two little, naked, coffee coloured, Haratin colts.

            The girl was also naked except for a black iron collar to which was attached a length of chain that was fastened to a ring in the wall of the pen. These breeding dams, the Emir said, are always kept on a collar and chain even when taken out of their pens for mating, for work or for delivery.

            The Emir glanced at the blackboard and checked that the number neatly branded on her right buttocks matched that on the board. He saw that she had been sentenced to five Haratin. Having twins would have got her off to a good start and the board showed that she now carrying her third Haratin. He checked that on her left buttocks two little stars had also been neatly branded.

            She had been covered nearly eight months earlier and looking down at her, Rory noticed her prettily swollen belly.

            "This one had been a young girl when she was sent here," said the Emir. "It's always a problem to know just how young to start breeding from a potentially prolific young dam. Often the younger they are when first covered, the better the brood mare they made - as if they had not known any other life."

            Looking down at the crawling girl the Emir congratulated himself on having introduced the metal grilles over each pen to prevent the dams from standing up. It had been a highly successful experiment and experience had shown the dams, forced by the grilles down into crawling on all fours, were far less likely to lose their potentially valuable progeny than if they were allowed to stand or walk about.

            Moreover, the grilles kept the dams isolated from their companions, and this had resulted in a marked reduction in infection being passed from one dam to another. Moreover, the flow of milk was also better with the dams now kept with their breasts hanging down below them - and it assisted the little progeny crawling in the same pen to reach up for a teat.

            Furthermore, the grilles had also stopped much of the idle gossip that had previously gone on. The dams now had nothing else to do except to feed and care for their last progeny and think about the next one, already kicking away in their bellies.

            The Emir led the way down the line of pens...






Hussein Bey, Commander of the Marsa Detachment of the Imperial Ottoman Corps of Janissaries, was in a strange mood.

            He had spent the last ten days visiting the domains of the Emir that his troops would have to police in the absence of their Ruler. After several years in the Turkish service, he was used to subjugating his natural British sense of fair play and natural justice to the realities of the Orient. But even so what he had seen had shocked him, especially the cruel way that the Emir and his Khalifas used the threat of the Haratin breeding farm to keep down his Berber tribesmen and to force them to contribute so much of their produce to his own granaries.

            He had begun to wonder whether it was really right to support the Emir - or rather to prevent his down trodden tribesmen from rising up in his absence and throwing off the Emir's harsh rule for good.

            But on the other hand, he had to admit that the Emir's rule was probably no worse than other Emirs - or even that of the Turks themselves over their subject Christian provinces. Moreover, if the Emir suspected that he could not rely on his Turkish suzerain for support, then he might well go over to the pro-French party who were always plotting to invite Napoleon to invade and take over their country.

            No, Rory decided, he had no choice. He had been ordered by the Pasha to send a detachment of his Janissaries to police the Emir's lands. As an officer in the employ of the Turkish Sultan, and one who had renounced his Christianity, anyway officially, he must do just that - whatever his personal feelings might be.

            And now, having completed his reconnaissance, he was back in the Emir's palace to finalise plans. As the representative of the Pasha, he was an an honoured guest.


"We shall be having a special feast in your honour tonight," said the Emir with a smile, as he greeted Rory in the palace courtyard. "My various Khalifas will be attending and I have arranged a little light entertainment, featuring the European women who entertained you when you were last here."

            Those two strange European women again!

            "Yes, they will dance for us, together with another of their race, and then... well wait and see!" laughed the Emir cruelly.


Wearing his Janissary uniform, Rory was sitting cross legged on a large well padded ottoman alongside the Emir. Around them were the Emir's guests: fawning Khalifas and some neighbouring Emir's. Young Haratin pageboys were handing round delicious sweetmeats and glasses of sherbet. In a corner musicians were playing Arabic music.

            Suddenly the music stopped and Makumo ushered in three figures. They were chained together by the neck and their heads were hidden by veils. Their manacles hands were clasped humbly in front of their identical long blue diaphanous silken skirts that were held up by sequined belts slung round their hips, leaving their bellies bare and showing off the prominently branded crest of the Emir. Stiff blue boleros only half hid their breasts and painted nipples. A young black eunuch boy, in fact our friend Batra, held in one hand the three leads that led to the rings at the back of their wide brass collars.

            The music struck up again and Batra gestured with his whip. Immediately all three women, keeping perfect time with each other, started, as they had so often been made to do in the privacy of the harem, to prance round the room with their boy overseer driving them on. Their bouncing breasts, tipped in the case of Diana by her elongated nipples, made a delightful sight as they slipped in and out of view behind their blue brocade boleros. Rows of little bells, fastened to their ankles, tinkled as they raised their feet high in the air between the slits in their skirts.

            There was a gasp from the guests as, obeying an order from Makumo, the women raised their manacles hands and slipped off their veils, disclosing a mask that covered their faces except for their eyes. Rory saw that once again a strap fastened at the back of their necks showed that, under their veils, they were gagged.

            But what had really made Rory gasp was that under their little blue embroidered caps, their long hair hung down - and instead of the usual Berber black hair, two had honey coloured blond and one red hair. They were obviously European women! The two blondes must indeed be the same the Emir had offered him ten days earlier and whom he had then enjoyed.

            The music started up again. the women began to dance in front of the Emir and his guests, their naked bellies quivering in the age old way...


Suddenly Amanda saw that the strangely dressed man sitting in the place of honour next to the Emir, was a European! How she longed to be able to call out to him, to tell him her name and to beg him to send back news of her and her daughter, and of Jeannie, to Colonel Fortescue in Sicily. But, of course, she had been been gagged to prevent her from doing any such thing.

            As she danced she shot another glance at the strangely dressed guest. He turned to look at her - and her heart jumped. It couldn't be! Surely not! But it was! It was Rory! Rory Fitzgerald, her former lover!

            Had he been that strange visitor she had to please ten days before? My God! He had also taken her daughter!

            But with her face covered by her mask he would have no idea who the half naked figure dancing in front of him was. And yet he was the one person in the world who might be able to rescue them from the hands of their Master and his terrible black eunuchs.

            Never had Amanda felt so helpless!

            The exhilarating Arab music came to a stop and the three women flung themselves to the floor in a symbolic gesture of abject obedience.

            The Emir turned to his guest of honour.

            "Your Excellency. My black eunuchs tell me that they have arranged that all three of these Christian dogs are today ready and ripe to be put to a good strong stallion. For a week they have also been fed his secret fertility pills. If you agree we will now proceed!"

            Having seen the Emir's Haratin breeding farm, Rory felt immune from being further shocks. Moreover as a good Moslem he must now disguise his natural repulsion. Gravely he nodded.

            "Of course, Your Highness. It will be an honour to be allowed to see these Christian dogs being treated as they so well deserve."

            The Emir clapped his hands and Makumo gestured to a curtained off alcove. Batra and half a dozen other young black eunuchs entered the room, carrying a heavy circular iron turntable, like a large wheel. The deputy head overseer of the Blue Team, the huge fat Pluma, followed them in and directed them to lay it on the floor in front of the Emir. This was to be his moment!

            Supported by short bars, two to three feet above the wheel and therefore now above the floor, was another circular iron bar. Rory saw that in the centre of the turntable, down at floor level, were several iron rings, were several iron rings with leather securing straps attached to them.

             Rory turned to ask the Emir the purpose of this strange wheel, but the Emir simply put his finger to his lips.

            "Wait and see!"

            The group of eunuchs ran over to the still prostrate and masked women and, leaving Diana and Jeannie, unfastened Amanda's collar chain and carried her to the wheel. There they put her belly down over the raised wheel and attached her wrists to two of the straps down at floor level inside the wheel. Her lead, still attached to the ring at the back of her collar was arranged so that it hung down her back, between her buttocks and down over her beauty lips to her knees.

            Then they went back to pick up another woman, leaving Amanda tied bent over the rim of the wheel, her head downcast with shame, her buttocks up, and her knees bent with her feet placed, at floor level again, on the iron lower rim of the apparatus. She struggled helplessly, but found that all she could do, much to the laughter of the watching guests, was to use her feet to slide her belly around the circular bar.

            Moments later she was joined first by Diana and then Jeannie. All three women were now fastened down, spread around the wheel and bent over the circular bar, with their heads close to each other and their legs free and their knees bent.

            Pluma nodded to Batra, who unfastened the dancing skirts of each woman, leaving her soft white bottom raised up invitingly over the bar. Pluma went round fussily inserting a little lubricating cream between the now well displayed beauty lips of Amanda and Jeannie and between the petals of Diana's rosebud.

            Then he stood back and nodded to Batra, who gave the circular iron bar a push, making it spin round, together with the rim on which the women were standing and the central floor to which their wrists were fastened. The guests applauded the scene and again laughed as they heard scared moans coming from under the masks of the three victims.

            As each woman passed the guests, they had a glimpse between her buttocks of, first Amanda's fleshy beauty lips, then of Jeannie's neatly trimmed back ones, and then of Diana's amazing little rosebud. Rory recognised the first and the last ones, but was fascinated Jeannie's strangely girlish look.

            The turntable was revolved faster, making the women almost dizzy. Meanwhile a cushion had been placed on the floor to one side of the revolving turntable.

            Suddenly a huge muscular Black Guard, nearly seven feet tall, marched into the room wearing simply his red uniform fez cap and his military boots. His long manhood hung down in front. His eyes gleamed as Pluma led him up to the cushion. As he saw the women's bare intimacies spinning past him, the guests were amused to see that his manhood slowly grew into a huge erection.

            The wheel began to slow down. The helpless women screamed under their gags as they saw the huge erect black manhood that awaited them.

            "Which of the women is going to be first to be presented to my Black Guards?" cried the Emir. Bets were placed as the wheel spun more and more slowly until finally it stopped.

            It was the buttocks of Jeannie that were nearest to the Black Guard's manhood. Batra adjusted the turntable so that they were exactly placed in front of it. Jeannie's masked head turned anxiously round to see behind her and the other women looked on in horror, unable to help her.

            The guests laughed as Jeannie began to drum her feet in impotent rage on the iron rim of the turntable. Then Pluma picked up a long whippy cane.

            "This for real," said the Emir, "My black eunuchs have used special pills to regulate their monthly cycles and I am assured that all three women are ready to conceive and I intend to make sure that each will do so before our entertainment is finished this evening. But to get the blood really racing and so make conception easier, first comes a little pain."

            He nodded to Pluma who, six times, slowly and deliberately brought his cane down across Jeannie's plump little bottom. She screamed under her gag and then she screamed even louder as she felt one of the the black giant's hands reaching forward for her breasts whilst with the other he picked up her collar chain and jerked back her head so that her back was now prettily arched to help receive his manhood.

            With the girl and the giant positioned sideways-on to them, the Emir and his guests had an ideal view as, accompanied by another scream, the huge manhood started to probe at the girl's trimmed-back beauty lips. They laughed as they saw the giant thrust forward. There was another muffled scream as Jeannie felt herself penetrated by a manhood much larger than even that of her tough Highland former lovers...

            Then came another scream as she felt the fertilising seed shooting up inside her.


As the huge Black Guard marched proudly out of the room, his manhood now limp, Pluma gain picked up the cane.

            "Another six strokes to help the seed get well and truly planted," said the Emir and seconds later a repeated whistling noise announced that Pluma was giving the girl her second dose. "But so as to make sure we'll let another of my Black Guards enjoy the girl."

            Another Black Guard giant marched expectantly into the room to stand proudly on the cushion, his manhood also coming into a huge erection. But this time there was to be a slight change.

            "I think," the Emir called out to Pluma, "that my guests would like to see the faces as they receive the second dose of good Dinka seed. Because the gags are large, I think we shall still be conforming with the normal rules about women's faces!"

            Jeannie's freckled face was then disclosed. Rory had longed to ask the Emir where she came from, but of course Eastern men did not discuss their women with other men - and certainly not when they were mere slavegirls being put to a black stallion.

            Moments later the guests heard another muffled scream as the giant's manhood probed at the girl's trimmed beauty lips ... Nor was it long before another muffled scream announced that his seed, too, had been planted deep into her...


Again the turntable slowed down and finally stopped.

            It was to be Diana's turn!

            Rory watched in fascination as, accompanied by little muffled screams, the red rosebud was stretched to absorb a giant black manhood.

            He was even more fascinated when her mask was removed before her second mating. Even with her face half covered and distorted by her gag, she was, he saw, a beautiful and desirable girl. She had certainly been delightful to take ten days earlier, even though she had been hooded and gagged. The Emir must have paid a huge sum for her and for the redhead.

            Yes, he thought, what a remarkably pretty girl! He'd give anything, he thought, to have her locked up in his harem!

            Meanwhile Amanda had watching in horror the mating of her daughter with a couple of randy giant blacks. Was she to be next? And in front of Rory!


Again the turntable spun and this time Batra made sure it stopped so that Amanda was offered to a another highlyaroused Black Guard - and to Pluma's cane.

            Amanda was horrified to feel the seed jetting up into her, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop it and also knowing that she must be at her most receptive point of her monthly cycle. She suspected that the pills that Pluma had been mysteriously feeding her were also intended to make her more receptive.

            Then after her first covering, she was appalled when her mask was removed. Would Rory recognise her? Would he see who she was? He would have seen what was being done to her. He would certainly not now be interested in saving her. In any case what he could do? Far better if he had never known of her fate - and of her shame.


            At first he was only mildly interested in the prospect of Amanda's mask being removed. Doubtless she, too, was beautiful. Certainly she, too, had been a delightful, if unseen, bed companion.

            But then when the mask taken off, he could not believe his eyes! Was she? It couldn't be! With her face still half covered by the gag, he wasn't sure. But when she silently looked appealing up at him with her soft blue eyes, he knew.

            He knew that she was Amanda, his once Mistress and great love.

            God! And he had to sit there smiling whilst she was covered once again by a huge Black Guard. Whilst she was being fertilised for her Master the Emir. He could hardly stop himself from jumping up and releasing her, from rescuing her and taking her off, from...

            But he had to put such thoughts out of his mind. He was unarmed in a palace swarming with the Emir's armed Black Guards. He would be killed instantly. And for what? And even if he were not actually killed, he would be returned in disgrace to the Pasha of Marsa, having achieved nothing.

            He looked at the half uncovered face of the young girl and saw the family resemblance. So the daughter was here too, sharing her mother's fate - and he had taken her, too, enjoyed with her mother! And, presumably, the pretty red haired was their Scots former maidservant!

            He felt sick at heart, but he knew deep down that he must never tell anyone of his discovery, certainly not Amanda's father or betrothed. Nor must he ever tell anyone what had happened - not even the Pasha to whom he would have to report on his return.

            No, he must put the lovely Amanda and her ravishingly beautifuldaughter, right out of his mind - for ever. And the pretty maidservant, too.

            It was with these thoughts racing through his mind that he followed the Emir out into the next door banqueting room. He turned to where the three women were still strapped down to the turntable - to make sure that the fertilising Dinka seed did not run out.

            He saw Amanda's eyes looking at him, pleading for help - for help that he simply could not possibly give.

            He had to bury his face in a handkerchief to hide his distress from the Emir, his host.

            Then pulling himself together, he turned and, looking her straight in the eye, he sadly shook his head.






The Emir sat cross legged on an ottoman, in the throne room of his palace, receiving reports from his Khalifas. He was pleased. It was clear that the fear engendered by his last journey through his domains was still present. However resentful the tribes might be of having to give up half of their harvests to their Ruler, their headmen made certain they complied.

            The Emir smiled as he listened to the catalogue of produce that was on its way to the grain merchants on the coast. The long drawn out war in Europe, with its need to feed armies and fleets, still ensured that there was a steady market for North African grain and fresh vegetables - produce that had cost him him virtually nothing to produce. And fresh vegetables were also much sought after by the British fleet interminably blockading their French adversaries.

            Even whilst he was away on the Haj, he could now be sure that his Khalifas, backed by the detachment of Janissaries that would soon be arriving, would be able to control everything.


Makumo entered and whispered something into the Emir's ear. As his chief black eunuch, Makumo was the only person who had the right to approach the Emir at any time.

            The Emir nodded, and Tanga, the overseer of the Blue Team, entered with his deputy, Pluma.

            "Your Excellency," began Tanga coming quickly to the point, "we have good news for your plans for your Haj."

            He gestured to Pluma, who now stepped forward. "Yes, Your Excellency," he said with a smile, "I can report that all three of the new slave women have successfully conceived. I have kept them caged flat on their backs ever since they were covered, and all three suffered morning sickness. Now all three have now missed their monthly cycles and you may be certain that all three are now expecting a Happy Event. Their Haratin progeny will be produced before you leave for the Haj, like that the two Berber concubines whom you had also planned to take with you."

            "Excellent!" said the Emir. Then his eyes clouded over. "But are you sure that it is Haratin they are carrying and not the progeny of myself or of the Commander of the Janissaries who also enjoyed them?"

            "Oh, yes, Your Excellency," replied Pluma reassuringly. "It was a quite safe time when Your Excellency last took them and also when you offered them to your illustrious guest. But all three were nicely ripe when they were repeatedly taken by your selected Black Guards. You can be quite certain that their progeny will be prize black Haratin."

            "And so all three will have recovered and be in milk, together with the two Berber girls by the spring?"

            "There should be no problems," replied Pluma. "All three should be producing a good flow and their nipples will by then be nicely stretched for the purpose. Your Excellency will have seen that I have already made a good start on the nipples of the daughter."

            Again the Emir nodded.

            "The mother seemed to be particularly upset over something that happened at her mating, but seems to have accepted her fate now. I would like to keep them all caged on their backs for another month, but after that they will again be able to take their places in the Blue Team - and for the maidservant her place in your private closet."

            The Emir smiled. He would find it especially fascinating to watch the growing bellies and breasts of the mother and daughter over the winter, as they approached their day of deliverance - and the maidservant's as well.

            "And the daughter's little rose stem?"

            "We will slit it open when the time comes and then replace it identically. Meanwhile I shall be able to feel, how she is progressing through the rosebud.










It was a year later.

            It had been a busy year for Rory. There had again been alarms over a possible French invasion and he and his Janissaries had been busy on the Pasha's behalf, patrolling the coast, improving the defences and persuading the various Caids and Emirs in the interior to hold to the pro-Turkish alliance.

            It had also been a year when he had really enjoyed his harem - perhaps it was his frequent absences that made him appreciate it more and made his concubines all the more loving and adoring. He had particularly enjoyed Henrietta. Her sojourn in his galley seemed to have made her settle down more to enjoy life as just one of his concubines - and even Matrak now reported favourably on her conduct.

            But her presence in his harem reminded him constantly of Amanda and Diana. Constantly he asked himself if he could have done more to help them when staying with the Emir. Was there anything he could have done later? But always he came up with the same answer: No! - for no such ruler would tolerate any interference with, or even discussion about, the women in his harem.

            Had they conceived on that shameful night when each, as a spectacle in his honour, they had been repeatedly put to the Emir's Black Guards? Had they now borne their prize Haratin progeny for their Master? Presumably!

            But had that spectacle really been any more shameful than the similar one he had arranged, having his concubine Carmen covered by pigmies, as a spectacle for his guests? The fact was that planning the mating white slave women with blacks was an enjoyable part of being a slave owner, an acceptable part of the local culture. The real cause of his anguish, he realised, was jealousy that Amanda and Diana belonged to the Emir and not himself!

            Rory had found it too painful to remain in Marsa as the pilgrims going on the Haj assembled to take ship for Egypt. Would the Emir be leaving from Marsa? Probably. He decided not to be around until after the Haj had parted.

            So he had gone away on an extended tour of inspection of his Janissaries.

            And now he was back - to be greeted by the news that the Pasha urgently wanted to discuss something with him.


"My son," said the Pasha to Rory with an enigmatic smile, "during your recent absence, I have had some worrying news regarding our loyal friend and ally, the Emir of Gondah."

            Loyal friend and ally indeed! The world would be well rid of that cruel and tyrannical swine! But, of course, the constant threat of a French invasion and the weakness of the Sultan's position away in Constantinople, made the Pasha embrace strange friends and allies.

            "Indeed, Your Excellency?" replied Rory tactfully. "And he was a man who made me very welcome in his house."

            "So I have heard," said the Pasha dryly.

            Rory blushed. Was there anything that this wily old man did not know? The Pasha tapped Rory's knee in a friend way. "Do not worry, I am sure you only responded as a guest should do when offered the usual hospitality by your host - or when invited to witness certain performances, involving certain young ladies!"

            Again Rory blushed. How on earth had the Pasha heard about that?

            "I - I -" he stammered.

            "- saw an old friend?" the Pasha suggested.

            My God, thought Rory. Does he know about Amanda?

            The Pasha laughed. "Chief black eunuchs constantly gossip amongst each other about their Master's women, and that of the Emir is no exception. He has, moreover, recently taken advantage of accompanying his Master on the Haj to come and visit my own chief black eunuch. He spoke about certain of the Emir's women being used as milk slaves, women who apparently had come from Bavaria of all strange places. They had passed through my friend Hassan Effendi's much renowned School of Love in Tunis, and, before being sold, had been had been doctored in his usual way."

            Rory sat up on the edge of his chair, not daring to say a word.

            "I always find a pretty young mother and her nearly grown up daughter make a delightful source of pleasure for an old man like myself," the Pasha said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Particularly if the daughter, as well as being doctored, has also been subjected to a certain, quite delightful treatment, and one that is unique to young women provided by Hassan."

            The wily old Pasha was certainly well informed when it came to slave dealers and white slave girls - but then with a large harem of his own, that was not very surprising.

            "However," the Pasha mused, "I must admit that I approved when I heard that the Emir had taken the precaution of having some of his concubines in milk by the time of his departure so that he could take them with him to provide him with sustenance on the Haj - and to avoid the need to drink the suspect local water. Normally a man leaves his women behind when he goes on the Haj, but the Emir had a perfect excuse for taking some."

            When hewent on it was with a more serious look in his eyes. "However, I was most concerned that it was these so-called Bavarian women, now in milk, who he had chosen to take. I was even more concerned to hear that he was planning to sell them in Egypt on his way to Mecca."

            "What!" exclaimed Rory.

            "Yes. I can see your concern. Let us not beat about the bush any more. It is one thing for these British women to be discreetly sold to an Emir to disappear into his harem in the interior. But it is quite another thing for upper class British women to be sold in the slave markets of Cairo. If it leaks out that they were captured by our Barbary corsairs with whom the British have treaties protecting their subjects from capture and slavery, then there could be the devil of a row. The British will complain to the Sultan and he, looking for a scapegoat, could well make me responsible - especially as the Emir is my ally and left for the Haj from Marsa."

            "My God!" murmured Rory, his mind in a turmoil.

            "I understand that the mother, on her way to embark for Egypt, kept asking for news of a certain - let me see if I can remember the name - ah yes, a certain Rory Fitzgerald."

            Rory blushed. "Your Excellency please let me explain -"

            "But," went on the Pasha, unperturbed, "of course she was told that there was no such man. In any case, although it sounds rather cruel, one of the delights of having captured European women in one's harem is the way they pine for their now lost husbands - or, er, lovers - whilst being made to please their new Master."

            Rory controlled himself with difficulty. Never had he imagined that his adorable former Mistress would be the topic of a conversation with the Pasha, his superior and the man to whom owed so much.

            "However, from her description, her lover did seem rather to resemble the man I know as my subordinate, Hussein Bey, the Commander of my Janissaries - though I would have thought that he would have realised that such a valuable white slave, trained to perform with a beautiful daughter, was rather beyond the reach of his modest purse."

            "Please, Your Excellency, you must let me explain," Rory interrupted. "You see -"

            "No!" laughed the Pasha, "it is you who will see!"

            He turned and clapped his hands. A veiled figure was brought in by a black eunuch, who looked enquiringly at the Pasha who nodded approvingly. The black eunuch removed the veil.

            There stood Jeannie, unbelievably beautiful and dressed as one of the Pasha's concubines. She was looking particularly buxom, her milk-heavy breasts thrusting against her silken bolero.

            Rory jumped up, overcome with joy and astonishment. The Pasha smiled at his reaction.

            "Oh, Sir," Jeannie cried and flung herself at his feet and looked up him beseechingly. "Madam so longs to see you again - and the young Mistress too! Can't you arrange it?"

            Rory stepped back, horrified at being greeted in front of the Pasha by, it seemed, one of the his concubines.

            "Don't worry about me," Jeannie added, with a coy look at the impassive Pasha as she was led out again. "I'm very happy to be the slave of His Excellency."

            Nonplussed, Rory did not know what to say.

            "It is alright, my son," said the Pasha, "she has told me everything. It seems the Emir's funds were getting a little low before he even embarked and he was thinking of selling this little creature. His own chief black eunuch mentioned it to mine, who, knowing my propensity for redheads, acquired her for me. She proved to be a very satisfactory concubine and a very well trained personal attendant. Her milk is quite deliciously sweet - and, of course, she told me about your so called Bavarian Amanda and her daughter."

            "Mine?" cried Rory. "Hardly mine!"

            "Well perhaps they might yet be!" said the Pasha, with a mischievous smile. Then he turned serious. "Now listen carefully. I cannot risk those women being sold by the Emir in Egypt. It could cost me my head. They must be taken away from the Emir, but there must be no scandal. So I am entrusting this matter to you, since you know them."

            "Yes indeed, Your Excellency!" enthused Rory. "Shall I kill the Emir?"

            "Certainly not, you simply offer to swop them for something better. Four beautiful white women, all in milk, and do not allow him to refuse."

            "And where do I get these four beautiful white women in milk?"

            "I can probably let you have one from my own harem: a pretty French girl, Marguerite, whom I had covered by my Black Guards. I shall miss her, but" - he glanced significantly at Rory - "duty calls! And I think you may have one too?"

            Carmen! The quick tempered Spanish girl who had been given to him by the Pasha. The girl whose mating to the pygmies had so helped establish his reputation in Marsa. He would be sorry to see her go but a hint from the Pasha was an order!

            "And the other two?" he asked.

            "I am astonished that a lusty young man like you is not familiar with the more specialised sections of our own slave markets here in Marsa?" Then, again turning more serious, the Pasha added. "This is an important matter of state. I can let you have enough to buy the other two from my secret funds. But only you must know. Officially you will buying for yourself for your forthcoming liaison visit to Egypt. And if anyone queries how you can afford them, you will say that a consortium of merchants had a very profitable Corso, thanks to your lending them a detachment of Janissaries - and they wished to express their gratitude."

            "Very well."

            "You must be ready to leave in four days, if you are to catch up with the Emir. I have arranged for you to travel with an Egyptian who is taking a party of black and white slavegirls he bought in Marsa back to sell in Cairo. Officially you will be his assistant. You will travel in a cattle boat."

            "A cattle boat?" queried Rory.

            "Yes, to hide the women in case you run across a patrolling British warship. They'll see the cattle in pens on the upper deck, and never guess that there are slave women down below. He will help you find the Emir and then when you have arranged the exchange of slaves, you can come back on the same vessel, this time bringing a cargo of cotton slaves for sale in Marsa."

            The Pasha paused for a moment. "Ah yes," he said, "you'd better take your own chief black eunuch -what's his name? Matrak! He can guard the women on the way out and back again. We don't want them being covered by the randy crew - or anyone else..."

            Rory wriggled uneasily.

            "Oh," continued the Pasha, "I forgot to say that, to prevent any accusations of misuse of public funds, they must be handed over to me when you get back."


            "However," smiled the Pasha, "you shall have them later, when things have quietened down. But, officially, it will be a loan."

            Seeing Rory's frown, the Pasha became very serious.

            "Listen! I do not want any difficulties with the British over these women and this seems a good way of solving an awkward problem. As you will not own them, you will be able to resist their inevitable pleadings for release. But you will have the satisfaction of having rescued them."

            Rory nodded, reduced to silence by this astonishing development, and yet overwhelmed at the thought of eventually having Amanda and Diana in his harem.






The white slave market in Marsa was in a large colonnaded square. In the centre of the square buyers tethered their horses and donkeys - and any slaves they, or their black eunuchs, might have brought to sell, or to exchange for new ones.

            Slave dealers also used this area to exercise their wares, a good way of showing them off and attracting the attention of the numerous buyers who would stroll through the market, or stop to gossip and drink tiny cups of Turkish coffee.

            The slave market, like the horse market, was also a meeting place for the rich merchants of Marsa, who also, of course, formed the main clientele for the dealers. Here they would discuss the latest news of the current Corso, and also form plans and partnerships for future Corsos, to raid the Christian coasts and shipping in the Mediterranean and bring back both booty and captive beauty.

            It was also a meeting place for the chief black eunuchs in charge of the harems of the rich. Here they would meet to discuss their mutual problems, new ways of using their women to satisfy their jaded Masters, and the the latest techniques for disciplining and training white women.

            Each slave dealer also his own platform in the colonnades. When the market was closed the wares were housed in cages at the back. Many dealers had their establishments conveniently sited behind the square, with a private access to their platforms. In this way women could be both displayed in public and more privately in the dealers own display rooms.

            In the next door horse market, a horse dealer might show off the paces of a horse by lounging him round and round on a long lounging rein, before taking him back, blowing and sweating, to the horse lines.

            Here, similarly, a slave dealer might show off the figure and obedience of a woman by making her prance round, naked, on a long lead, with her manacled hands clasped behind her neck, and his long lounging whip never far behind her soft little bottom. To prevent them from escaping, the Pasha had made it a rule that white women being exhibited for sale in the slave market. or in the adjoining establishments of the slave dealers, must be kept manacled and their slave registration numbers displayed.

            Soon a small crowd would come to watch and comment on the woman being lounged. The more interested ones would then follow the dealer back to his platform where he would chain the now blowing and sweating woman up again alongside the other women kneeling on the raised platform. Here he would throw a cloak over her shoulders, for it was normal to keep the women's bodies covered and then to pull back the cloak enticingly for a possible purchaser to view the merchandise further.


But Rory ignored all this as he made his way to a corner of the square where dealers specialising in more valuable women had their stands.

            Some might specialise in selling sisters, or more rarely twins or mothers and daughters, other might specialise in very young girls or older ones. Others specialised in buying and selling pregnant women.

            A few of the later also specialised in handling women who, having delivered their progeny, were being kept in milk. There was a steady demand for these milkmaids, as they were called, not only from rich men, but also from their wives who wanted a white girl as a wet-nurse.

            "Of, course, Effendi," said one of these dealers to Rory, "I'm sure I have just what you want. We specialise in getting a really good flow from our milkmaids - and the development of prominent nipples - whilst keeping the breasts still firm. Come and see my production line."

            He led the way into a little courtyard behind his platform. There was the usual line of small iron cages with a supervising eunuch walking up and down outside them. The cages were too low for a girl to stand up in and in each was a naked white woman - naked that is except for the regulation manacles linking her wrists. Some were kneeling on all fours gripping the bars of their cages and looking at Rory. Hanging from their noses was a large brass ring from which hung a disc, with the girl's Marsa slave registration number engraved on it.

            "It's a very convenient way of displaying the registration number," the dealer said.

            Rory noticed that the women were of different ages, from young girls upwards.

            "I like to keep a choice of different types of women coming along to fill my display platform," the dealer explained. "Here they wait for nature to take its course."

            Nature taking its course? Rory took a closer at the crouching girls. Yes, they were all definitely expecting - and soon!

            "I aim to buy them in a few months before they are due," explained the dealer. "This gives us time to bring on their breasts to ensure a really good milk flow after delivery -- and also gradually get the nipples well stretched."

            He pointed to several cages where the girls were kneeling at the front of their cages, with their arms fastened above their heads to the bars at the top of their cages, their bellies pressing against the bars and their breasts thrusting through them.

            Below their swollen bellies, Rory saw that their hairless beauty lips had been pierced, asusual with white slave girls being used for breeding, with two lines of little silver rings. The rings had been tightly laced together, and fastened with a small padlock that hung down between their legs.

            "Most of the girls," said the dealer, "come ringed so that they cannot interfere with what they are carrying - and if they aren't then we do it here."

            One of the girls was kneeling with her knees wider apart and a black overseer, with his hands through the bars, was loosening her laces so that he could feel up inside her.

            "Of course," the dealer added, "some breeders prefer simply to sew the girl up once she's taken, and just cut the threads when she delivers. But, as you can see, I like my black overseers to check each girl's progress daily and you can't do that if they're sewn up."

            Rory nodded. Matrak had similarly had had Carmen ringed and laced up after her mating. He remembered smiling as, hidden behind his screen, he had seen her ineffectually tearing at the laces when she thought that no one was looking.

            The dealer pointed to the other girls fastened kneeling up at the bars of their cages. "I like to keep them like this for several hours a day, to help develop the muscles of their growing breasts and so prevent any sagging."Indeed Rory could not help admiring the firmness of the girls''s full breasts.

            "We buy in naturally buxom girls, with good child bearing hips to avoid any problems at delivery, and who have already been put, preferably to Black Guards, or to other extra large negroes. In this way, Nature, thinking that the girl's breasts will have to cope with a large hungry mulatto child, does half our work for us. But just as our farming friends 'steam up' their young heifers in the last couple of months, so we do with our milkmaids, feeding them a special nourishing diet to swell their breasts and get them producing as much milk as possible."

            Rory nodded. Obviously this dealer really knew his job.

            "But their feed must not be fattening," continued the dealer. "Getting the diet right is vital, too little and the milk flow will be disappointing, to much and the girl remains fat after delivery. You see, with pretty milkmaids, it's the contrast between their large milk laden breasts, and their slender waists, that really attracts the richer buyers."

            Rory saw metal clips had been fixed around the base of the girls' nipples with silken threads bound round and round the strangely long protruding nipples itself.

            "Masters like to drink from good well developed nipples," said the dealer nonchalantly, "and we aim to get them nice and long by the time the girl delivers and the milk starts."

            The dealer pointed to where a young black boy was busy sucking and pulling out the strangely long nipples of a helplessly tied girl, massaging them and then tying the silken threads round them. "And, of course," went on the dealer with a laugh, "having them kneel up that bars, gives us a good opportunity to work on their nipples."

            The girls had all apparently been carefully graded, with those clearly most imminent in the cages on the right and the others on the left. "Yes," explained the dealer, "as each girl delivers her progeny, and moves onto the display platform, so we move the remaining girls up a cage."

            "A real production line," mused Rory.

            The black overseer called out an order and the girls at the right hand end of the line started to crawl round their cages, their swollen breasts and elongated nipples hanging down beneath them. "I like to keep them exercised as their delivery approaches."

            Other girls were brushing and combing their long silky hair, looking into small mirrors on the side of the cage.

            "We encourage them to take a pride in their appearance," remarked the dealer with a sly grin. "We can get a better price for a milkmaid if she's also pretty!"

            He pointed to the extreme right hand cage where a very young looking girl was crawling round her cage.

            "Have a look at this young teenager. She's a lovely little creature - Italian, and having her first progeny. She'll make a really delightful milkmaid."

            The black eunuch unlocked her cage door. He cracked his whip.

            "Out!" he ordered. The girl crawled out, her dark eyes flashing coquettishly at Rory. "Up!" he ordered with another crack of his whip. "Inspection!"

            The girl rather awkwardly jumped up, put her manacled hands behind her neck, and, looking straight ahead, stuck out her tongue. Her long nipples and swollen breasts and belly were well displayed and so, too, was the tight lacing of her her hairless beauty lips.

            The dealer saw that Rory was impressed by the girl.

            "If you come back in a couple of weeks, she'll be ready for sale," he said. "She's due any day now, and although she'll be kept blindfolded and so never see, or touch, her progeny, it'll be put to her breasts regularly for the first three or four days so that the milk really comes on. Then she can be yours to take away! You can pay a deposit on her now to reserve her."

            "I'd like to," said Rory regretfully. "But I'm afraid I can't wait. I need two milkmaids now, today!"

            "Ah!" said the dealer, leading the way back to his display platform under the colonnades. "Then in that case, I think you'll find what you want on display outside."

            Back in the square, he pointed to a line of pretty young women kneeling on the edge of the raised platform and all loosely chained together by the neck. Their naked bodies were modestly half covered by little cloaks thrown over their shoulders. On their foreheads was painted an Arabic number. To one side was a large poster, giving each girl's number, her guaranteed milk yield, her age, her breast and waist measurement, and her price.

            "We keep them milked four times a day, until they are sold, to keep the milk flow up," murmured the dealer.

            Another black overseer, also carrying a whip, was walking up and down in front of the platform. Hanging from his belt were several little silver cups. He was drawing the poster to the attention of passers-by.

            "Thank you, Mafu," said the dealer, looking at the poster. "Please show Numbers Three and Four to the Effendi. I think you'll like these ones: pretty, slender and excellent milkers."

            The overseer gave an order and two very pretty women dropped their hands to the floor of the platform. They were now on all fours, their heads up.

            "I like a buyer to have a first look at my women's breasts hanging down," said the dealer as the slipped the two women's cloaks back to reveal, hanging down between their arms, two large breasts tipped by long elongated nipples. It was an erotic sight.

            One was a very young girl and the other was slightly older. Perhaps, Rory thought, the Emir might think that they were a mother and daughter - to replace Amanda and Diana!

            "Up" ordered the black overseer, and the two women jumped to their feet, clasping their manacled hands behind their necks. Their breasts were delightfully firm and full, their waists beautifully slender. A large crowd had by now gathered to see the sight.

            "Kneel!" the black overseer ordered. They knelt sideways on to the edge of the platform. The overseer reached forward and started to massage the younger girl's breasts. Then, holding one of his little silver cups in one hand, he expertly began to milk her elongated nipple, directing little jets of creamy white milk into the silver cup. Then he turned and respectfully presented the cup to Rory.

            "Try it," said the dealer, "you'll find it nice and sweet."

            Rory sipped it, swilling it round his mouth to savour the taste, like a wine expert tasting wine. He nodded approvingly. It had a delightful taste, one that surely would please the Emir - before he sold the girl!

            Meanwhile the overseer had repeated the process with the older girl, and again offered him a little silver cup. It too was delicious.

            "I can make a discount if you take them both," said the dealer.

            The bargaining had begun...






Now dressed as an Arab merchant, Rory accompanied Mohammed, the Egyptian slave dealer, down to the jetty. The women had already been embarked in the a small caique that would take them along the coast to the creek where the cattle pens were situated.

            Waiting for them was Matrak and Mohammed's chief black eunuch.

            Rory followed Mohammed down into the caique's hold. The caique was also used to bring cargoes of captured white women to the slave markets of Marsa from ships returning from a Corso. Many dealers would take the opportunity of the short journey to have a preliminary look at the women before they were auctioned.

            Perhaps having been commissioned by a rich client to find him a particular type of slavegirl, a dealer would want to place a deposit on a girl he wished to have reserved for him. Similarly dealers specialising in certain types of slaves, pregnant ones, exceptionally buxom ones, mature ones, very young ones, mothers and daughters or sisters, or plain but intelligent ones who would make diligent workers in Marsa's carpet factories or cotton mills, would like to note suitable slaves at this early stage.

            The caique was therefore fitted with benches, running athwartships, on which the women could be secured naked, held open for a detailed examination.

            Now it was being used on its return journey to take women to the brig in which they, like the cattle, were to be embarked for the journey to Egypt. The export of both cattle and women slaves from its markers played an an important party in the prosperity of Marsa.

            In the half light of the hold, Rory heard the chink of chains. It was a strict rule that slavegirls were always to have both their wrists and ankles manacled onboard ship, as well as being collared.

            Rory recognised Carmen and Marguerite and the two other milk maids he had bought in the slave market, all seated on the raised front bench. Except for their shiny brass collars, they were naked.

            Their necks and manacled wrists were held in small holes in a wide wooden plank that, like a long stocks, was cut in half and hinged at the side of the bench. The two sides had now been fastened together, holding the women helpless.

            Another similar stocks held their manacled ankles wide apart so that they sitting on the edge of the bench. He nodded approvingly as he saw how this all resulted in their breasts and elongated nipples being thrust well forward - and their now flatbellies, two of which were decorated with the brand of the Pasha.

            Thanks to the raised bench their breasts were level with Rory's eyes as Matrak took him down the line of silent women - a silence that was enforced, as was also usual on board ship, by a light chain that went between each girl's lips and was tightly fastened at the back of her neck.

            Matrak was stroking each girl's blue veined breasts. They were clearly heavy with milk and their strangely long nipples seemed to be crying out to be relieved. He placed a little metal pail on the deck between each girls' outstretched ankles, and started to milk them them in turn, squirting jets of milk into the pail.

            Finishing the first girl, he handed the pail to Rory to try. It was delicious.

            "They'll need milking four times a day onboard the ship," said Matrak. "So you and the ship's officers can be sure of having something interesting to drink with every meal."

            "And me, too," laughed Mohammed who had been checking his own girls.

            Satisfied that all was well, the two men went up on deck for the journey to the creek where the brig, having loaded the cattle, was waiting for the caique to arrive so that the remainder of the cargo could be loaded.


"They're now bedded down on straw," reported Matrak. "The heifers are also down below, so they're in good company. But I have a surprise for you."

            Intrigued, Rory followedMatrak down from the poop, below which was was his cabin, onto the main deck on which two lines of bullocks were penned in the open air. They were confined, chained by the neck, in narrow stalls that held them against the pitching and rolling of the vessel as the brig made its way out of the Bay of Marsa.

            The deck was strewn with straw to prevent them from slipping and to absorb their wastes. There were also piles of fresh straw, for bedding and feed during the journey. Clearly this crew were well used to carrying cattle.

            Rory followed Matrak down the main companionway into the darkened lower deck. At first all he could make out were similar lines of stalls, this time holding heifers in milk, some of whom still had their calves with them. He smiled, for this was what would be seen by a busy boarding party checking on the cargo. From the steps of the companionway there was no sign of any slaves.

            There was a strong smell of milk and Rory noticed that at the forrard end of the lower deck, several of the cattle dealer's men were busy milking the heifers without calves.

            Then he caught his breath as he made his way along the deck. Here and there, discreetly interspersed and hidden amongst the stalls of the heifers with calves, were some smaller stalls. In each of them, naked, was one of the beautiful slavegirls being taken to Egypt by Mohammed.

            They, too, were chained down by the neck. But their wrists were also manacled and fastened to a ring on the deck. Their similarly manacled ankles were fastened to another ring. These, Rory saw with approval, made it impossible for a girl to make a dash for the upper deck and then throw herself overboard. These women were too valuable to be allowed to kill themselves!

            He saw that wooden bars, thrust through the sides of these small stalls, one below their bellies and another below their necks, with another two above their backs, would ensure that the girls remained kneeling on all fours. Prevented from lying down or standing up, their muscles were kept exercised as they swayed with the motion of the ship.

            Only at night would the lower bars be removed, allowing them to lie down and sleep - but their wrist and ankle manacles, fastened as they were to two widely separated deck rings, would still prevent them playing with themselves. In this part of the world such behaviour by a mere slavegirl was, of course, anathema unless performed to the order of her eventual Master.

            At the forrard end of the lower deck, also hidden amongst the the heifers in milk, were the much smaller stalls of his own four girls in milk. They were held on all fours on straw like Mohammed's girls, but with their much larger breasts, and longer nipples, more prominently hanging down below them.

            Matrak pointed to one of the men milking a heifer. Rory laughed as he saw the man finish milking the beast and then move on, taking his little milking stool and his half full pail milk pail, to milk one the girls he had bought. Sitting on his low stool, the man, clearly an expert milker, gently squeezed and pulled the girl's two elongated nipples and soon induced a steady flow of little jets.

            He then rewarded the girl, just as he had the heifer, with a little titbit which he threw into her feeding trough. Unable to pick it up with her manacled hands fastened to a deck ring, she half lowered her head into her feeding trough. The man eased the strap at the back of her neck that kept the light chain taut between her lips. Eagerly she now ate it all up, before raising her head again to have her muzzle refastened.

            "For just a small tip, the men are very willing to take on the chore of milking our women as well," said Matrak with a smile. "So at least we can be sure it'll be done - even if I'm feeling sea-sick!"

            "Excellent!" laughed Rory. Well done Matrak, yet again! Indeed, it would not only be the officers who'd be getting free milk, but the entire crew! He looked again at the four girls. It would be fun to enjoy all in turn during the trip!

            However, as if sensing what was in his Master's mind, Matrak coughed discreetly.

            "Forgive me, your Excellency," he said, obsequiously. Matrak was proud to be in the service of a Bey and always gave Rory his full Ottoman title. "I am concerned about your well being during this voyage, short though it may be. I fear that it not be thought seemly for you to enjoy the girl that the Pasha has given us to offer to the Emir. Similarly the Emir's chief black eunuch might object strongly if he learned that you had taken your pleasure with the other two girls you bought to offer him."

            The big black eunuch paused. He saw the look of disappointment on Rory's face. He might treat the young white women in his charge in a tyrannical fashion, though this was quite normal in Marsa. However his concern for his young Master was quite genuine.

            "I have therefore," he went on, "taken the liberty of arranging to bring the girl Carmen to your cabin after dinner tonight. She may bear the brand of the Pasha on her belly, but he has given her to you. She is still your property to do with as you will, even if you have brought her here to offer to the Emir. There can be no objection to you using her during the journey."

            Rory smiled, not only with anticipation of enjoying Carmen's luscious body, but also at the thought that how could anyone get along without a good chief black eunuch to look after that side of a man's needs.




7 - 4 EGYPT


            "Disembarking cattle in Alexandria is a tricky business," explained the cattle dealer to Rory, as the brig closed an apparently deserted part of the coast line well to the east of the town. "You're always likely to have some stolen in the chaos of the port or whilst driving them through the city."

            "And the same applies to slave women," said Mohammed, the slave dealer to whom Rory was officially attached. "It's much safer here, but the water's shallow and there's no jetty for the ship to come alongside. However once we get them ashore, it's easy to drive them across the desert to my friends cattle pens. He's agreed that our women, as well as his own cattle, can be fattened up again for the markets in Cairo - and recover from the stress of the journey."

            "Or in my case, I suppose," said Rory, in his now fluent Arabic, "taken on the camp on the Red Sea for people on their way for the Haj. I believe it's huge."

            "Don't worry," said Mohammed, "I promised the Pasha that I'd send on spies to the camp to locate the Emir and that go with you and your women to negotiate with the Emir."


The brig anchored a cable off the shore. Several feluccas came out, and one by one the bullocks were hoisted up by wide canvas straps passed under their shoulders and hindquarters. The straps were fastened to a tackle, suspended from a yardarm, and the cattle were swayed over the side and down into the boats to be taken to the shore.

            Both the crew and the boatmen were adept at their jobs and soon there was a steady stream of laden boats going to and from the shore, disembarking the cattle and returning to the brig. Before long all the bullocks were ashore and being tethered by the cattle dealer's men.

            Then it was the turn of the heifers. One by one, with their calves, with they were driven with sticks up to the main deck and swayed down, one by one, into the waiting boats.

            But interspersed with the heifers and their calves were Mohammed's pretty white slavegirls. One by one Mohammed's large fat eunuchs unfastened their manacles from the deck rings down below. Then, with much cracking of their whips, they would drive the naked girls up onto the deck, blinking in the unaccustomed sun light. The sumptuous dress and sheer size of the eunuchs contrasted bizarrely with the nakedness and slim bodies of the women.

            Rory saw that each was still muzzled by a light chain passed between her lips and fastened behind her neck. Still surrounded by several black eunuchs with whips raised, each woman, on reaching the deck, was made to bend down and step over her wrist manacles, so that their hands were now chained behind their backs.

            But that was not all, for the wrist manacles were now linked by a strap, running down their backs, to a ring at the back of their collars. As well as rendering them even more helpless, this had the effect of pulling back their shoulders and thrusting out their breasts - more so than if their wrists had just been loosely fastened behind them.

            "Good for the pectoral muscles when we rub them across the desert," said Mohammed. "Buyers always look for firm breasts."

            Then one by one the naked women were made to lean forward and a black eunuch passed a broad canvas strap under her arm pits and below her breasts, and another one round her lower belly. Then just as the cattle dealer's men had done with the cattle, he attached the straps to the tackle hanging from the yardarm.

            Each young woman would give a little cry of fright as she felt herself being lifted up and swayed out over the sea, before being lowered down into the waiting cattle boat below.

            "It's better this way for the women too," explained Mohammed, when he saw Rory's surprise at the slave dealer's pretty slave girls being treated just like the cattle. "I paid lot of money for them, and I don't want them being tempted to jump overboard. Every one of them has got to get to the Cairo slave market alive! Nor do I want them damaging themselves. No wealthy Egyptian will buy a girl without seeing her naked, so their bodies have got to look good."

            Finally Matrak brought up Rory's four women. Two bore the Pasha's brand mark on their bellies, and on all four their very full blue veined breasts and elongated nipples stood out prominently, as did their smooth and hairless mounds and beauty lips. Rory was pleased to see that they had been milked regularly during the journey - and Matrak had kept them well depilated.

            Unable to speak, Carmen gave a little moan and flashed her eyes piteously at Rory. He was going to miss her. He looked at the two young women he had bought and the girl that the Pasha had sent from his own harem. Yes, they made up a delightful team - one that the Emir should be only to happy to accept in lieu of Amanda and Diana.

            After stepping over their wrists manacles and having them fastened high up the small of their backs by the strap to their collars, they, too, were swayed, one at a time, down into a waiting felucca. Here they were made to sit, silent and helpless, alongside each other. Gripping their whips between their teeth, Mohammed's black eunuchs and Matrak climbed down into the boat to keep order.

            Moments later Rory and Mohammed said their farewells to the Captain and climbed down into a more comfortable boat and also set off for the shore.

            Here Rory saw that the cattle had already been driven off by the cattle dealer and his men, leaving just the slave girls standing on the shore. The black eunuchs had formed the naked women in a line. Mohammed climbed onto a rock and looked down at the silent, helpless and nervous women.

            "Now you lazy sluts," he cried in the Lingua Franca, "no more idling about as on the ship!We've got a journey to make. But you're lucky, first you're going to be dressed to protect your modesty."

            The black eunuchs then proceeded to fasten black gauze veils over each girl's face. They came down tightly from thebridges of their nose, over their muzzled mouths and down under their chins, just leaving their eyes visible. Like the chains in their mouths these veils were tied tightly at the back of their necks.

            Then the black eunuchs made each girl step into a pair of tight fitting black cotton trousers which they fastened round their waist. The trousers were cut away in the front, leaving the beauty lips bare so that they could relieve themselves on the march. Their breasts were also left bare.

            With their wrists still fastened high up behind their backs, the helpless young women were formed up two by two. A hinged wooden stocks, with two neck holes, was then closed round their necks. Each stocks was fastened by a short chain from the ring on the front, to the ring on back of the stocks of the pair of girls in front. Rory's four milk maids made up the two front couples. It was, Rory saw, a traditional slave coffle, such as was widely used when bringing captured black slaves across the Sahara to Marsa.

            Mohammed and Rory mounted Arab horses. Matrak and the other black eunuchs mounted donkeys, on either side of the coffles of women, their whips in their hands.

            Mohammed made the women all practice running in step in their manacles. He made them run in a circle, on the sandy scrub, the whips of the black eunuchs punishing any girl who missed her step or stumbled. Then, satisfied, he set off at a trot, the panting coffle running along behind him, encouraged by the whips of the black eunuchs. The women's naked thrust-out breasts swayed prettily but did not bounce too much - thanks to the way their wrists were fastened behind them.

            Every hour the coffle would be halted and a little water thrust down between the lips of the sweating women.

            After several hours, the scrub-like desert ceased and signs of civilisation appeared: farms, irrigation canals, and primitive mud huts. The cattle had already arrived at the pens where they and the girls were to be rested and fattened up for the market.


The lines of the cattle dealer's wooden pens were shaded from the hot sun by palm thatch - much to the relief of Mohammed who of course wanted to exhibit his European slavegirls as white as possible in the slave market.

            Each of the bullocks and heifers had been put into a separate pen so as to ensure that a check could be made on their feeding. Now, too, for the same reason, Mohammed insisted on each of the women also being put into a separate pen. To allow them to stand up, their wrist manacles were secured to a vertical post. However Matrak wanted to keep the milk maids kneeling on all fours, so that their milk laden breasts would hang down below them. Their manacles were therefore fastened to the bottom horizontal railing of their pens.

            Mohammed gave orders for his slave girls to be fed fattening semolina puddings. They would be fed these for a month and then taken to the slave market to be sold.

            However, Matrak was anxious for the milk maids to remain slim so as to highlight their buxom breasts. They were to be fed mainly on the milk of the heifers in the adjoining pens. It was, Rory had to admit, a simple and cheap way of keeping them.

            Rory turned away to join Mohammed in the cattle dealer's comfortable farm house. He was looking forward to a long rest - punctuated no doubt by regular visits of Matrak, bringing the chained Carmen for his pleasure.

            Matrak coughed. "Excuse me for mentioning it, your Excellency, but I think we must think of getting Carmen nice and tight again for the Emir. I have an excellent new ungent which I have already used very successfully on the other three girls - you almost think they were virgins. But it does, I'm afraid mean that you will have abstain."






"Bad news, I'm afraid," said Mohammed.

            "What do you mean?" cried Rory anxiously.

            It was two days later. The women were now looking sleek and well again and the flow from Rory's milk maids was as good as ever. But it had been a worrying time for Rory, waiting for Mohammed's spy to come back.

            "The Emir has already sold the mother and daughter," said Mohammed.

            "My God!" exclaimed Rory. "What can we do?"

            "My friend, all is not necessarily lost," replied Mohammed comfortingly. "At least the Emir did not sell them to a slave dealer to be exhibited in the Cairo slave market. Like other traders, they're not allowed near the Haj. Instead he sold them to the steward of the wealthy Aden Pasha. He might not have got as much for them, but it saved him the trouble of taking them to the slave market in Cairo."

            "So they'll be already locked up in this Pasha's harem!" cried Rory in despair"

            "No, that's the whole point. Everyone in Egypt knows that Aden Pasha is not interested in women. He keeps a harem of castrated white youths. I've even sold several of them to him, myself!"

            "Then why -"

            "The two women were were bought for his experimental estate, and the Emir was unexpectedly offered such a good price for them, that he decided to sell them on the spot."


            "Yes, the Pasha is an innovator. His wealth comes from his vast cotton and sugar plantations in the Nile valley. But, as a young man, he went out to the Americas to see how they were grown there, and apparently returned very impressed with the yields they were getting. He said this was partly due to their much superior strains of plants, but also thanks to the superior strain of black slaves they use - it was the duty of the white overseers to get each of the women in their charge regularly into pup. Their mulatto or quadroon off-spring were much more intelligent and submissive and their productivity in the fields much greater."

            "That's why in the Barbary States they breed mulatto Haratin," said Rory.

            "May be," replied the slave dealer, "but here Aden Pasha's ideas were pretty revolutionary, especially as he reckoned he could produce an even better strain than they use in the Americas."

            "A better strain! What do you mean?"

            "Well, although there are plenty of black slaves here in Egypt, traditionally they've always been largely used in domestic service, in the household of the rich, or as guards, and hardly ever labouring under harsh overseers in a controlled fashion on the land, as in the Americas. Indeed there would be a risk of a slave rebellion if they were - for remember they came from just higher up the Nile. There's not the broad Atlantic separating them from their homelands, as there is with the black slaves in the Americas."

            "I can see that," agreed Rory. At least in Marsa and elsewhere in the Barbary States there was the Sahara acting as a barrier between the black slaves and their homes. Once a slave had survived the terrible journey across the desert, he would not to risk a return journey. But here, as Mohammed had said, it was different: the Nile would be there as a constant reminder to harshly treated black labourers that higher up the huge river was Black Africa - and freedom.

            Here, black slavery depended on a large degree of willingness to accept a relatively mild form of slavery in return for a much better way of life.

            "So, what did this Pasha come up with?"

            "The very reverse of what he saw being used in the Americas."

            "You mean white slaves and black overseers? Goodness! But surely the risk, here in Egypt, of intelligent young white men revolting or escaping would be even greater than with black slaves."

            "Indeed. That's why his steward has been secretly experimenting, on one of the Pasha's estates, near here on an island in the Nile, with with white female slaves and black overseers."

            "Secretly experimenting?"

            "Yes, trying to get an ideal mix of intelligence and resilience. of submissiveness and mutual competitiveness."

            "But where did he get the white women from?" Rory asked naively.

            The slave dealer laughed. "Well I've certainly sold his steward quite a few over the years - mainly from Marsa. But I was never able to offer him what the Emir offered him: the sudden chance to buy a healthy British mother and daughter. For years he has wanted to introduce the blood of the most successful country in the world."

            "But in that case, why didn't he just get hold of a British sailor and turn him lose on his black slave women?"

            "My friend, I can see that you've never been involved in selective breeding! The Pasha is a firm believer in the predominance of the female line - like many successful breeders of horses."

            Yes, of course, thought Rory, that's why the Emir had used Berber women to produce a superior strain of Haratin.

            "Moreover, Aden Pasha really wanted British women, and not just any British women either, but women from the British ruling class. He had given up hope and now suddenly his steward is about to offer him two such creatures, a *mother and a daughter - and both being in milk means that they have recently demonstrated their fertility."

            "My God, cried Rory, "then how on earth are we ever going to get them back? The steward will never part with them now!"

            Mohammed smiled. "I have a plan," he said, "but you mustn't say a word. Remember, I shall have to go on living and earning my livelihood here in Egypt long after you have returned to Marsa."

            "What's this plan of yours?" asked Rory sceptically. He had little hope of saving his mission.

            "You shall see!" replied the slave dealer with enigmatic smile.






Mohammed and Rory rode along the dusty road to Cairo at the head of the little cortege.

            Behind them were several long four wheeled carts pulled at a smart trot by mules. The contents of the carts were hidden by tightly fitting canvas covers and, to a casual observer, they looked just the usual country carts that were used to carry merchandise to and from the city.

            Inside each cart, however, were two benches, facing each other, and on each was a row of half naked, silent, women.

            A chain had been passed between the legs of each row of women, above their ankle manacles, and locked to rings at either end of the cart. Another chain had similarly been passed above their heads and this had been threaded through their wrist manacles, thus keeping their hands well raised, 'out of harms way', as Mohammed described it.

            A leather muzzle had been fastened over their mouths and locked behind their necks. It was wider over their mouths and on the inside was a leather projection that pressed down on the tongue and also served to keep the gag in place.

            Unable to see out, or call out, they just sat helplessly looking at each other, swaying with the movements of their cart. Carmen and Marguerite, however, were alone in the rear cart, Rory's other two milkmaids among Mohammed's own slave girls in the leading cart.

            The cortege passed numerous rather unkempt farms and plantations tended by Arabs in long, and usually rather dirty robes and simple turbans, or by black clad Arab women.

            It was flat delta country, the delta of the mighty Nile as it split into a myriad of different channels and islands. Mohammed turned off the dusty road and led the way to a bridge that led to one such island. It was guarded by smartly uniformed black guards armed with muskets.

            "Just act as if you were my assistant," murmured Mohammed to Rory, "and don't say a word."

            With hardly a glance at Rory, the guards smilingly waived the cortege on, as if they knew what was under the canvas covers of the carts. Clearly Mohammed was recognised as welcome visitor.

            As they rode over the well constructed bridge, Rory looked down into the muddy and slowly moving waters of the river. Astonished, he saw, several crocodiles lazing on the muddy banks, and waiting with widely opened mouths for the food that was being thrown to them by the guards.

            "It would," laughed Mohammed, "be a brave girl who, having somehow managed to escape from her chain gang, tried to swim across the river. They all know what the river contains."

            As he spoke, Rory saw a gang of a dozen women running in step towards the bridge. They were all chained by the neck. With both hands they were balancing large tubs on their heads. They were naked except for a little piece of blue cotton that was wrapped round their waists. Their heads were shaved, giving them a strangely similar and anonymous look.

            Rory was astonished to see that their overseer was a pygmy, wearing a white robe and a blue turban whose colour matched that of the little skirts that the women were wearing. He was riding a donkey, which he occasionally beat with a stick to keep it trotting and was leading the chain gang by a chain that led back to the collar of the leading girl.

            "To increase the competitive spirit, each chain gang wears a distinctive colour and so does its overseer," explained Mohammed.

            Seeing Rory's interest in the chain gang, Mohammed now motioned his cortege to stop. The pygmy overseer barked out an order. Obediently, the chain gang halted with a precision that, Rory felt, even his former Drill Sergeant in His Britannic Majesty's Foot Guards would have been proud of. Then they turned into line, facing the river. Rory saw looks of horror and fright on the women's face as they looked down onto the crocodiles.

            The overseer called out another order and the women all took three paces forward to the edge of the river bank. The crocodiles stopped fighting over their food and looked up at them.

            The pygmy dismounted. He had a long whip in his hand. He gave another order and the women carefully lowered the large tubs on their heads, nervous lest they lost their foothold and slipped over the edge of the river, down to the waiting crocodiles.

            Suddenly the overseer cracked his whip and moving as one the women all threw the contents, rubbish and human and animal wastes, into the river. The crocodiles made a rush.

            The overseer gave another order and the women put the now empty tubs onto their heads, took three paces backward and turned again into line. Another order, and they ran to an adjoining irrigation wheel, worked by a long horizontal bar.

            They put the empty tubs under where the water would spout out and at another work of command stripped off their blue cotton skirts.

            Rory saw that each of the women had been branded on the buttocks with the mark of Eden Pasha and a number, "her breeding number," explained Mohammed. But when, obeying another order from their pygmy overseer. they turned round he saw that they all had identically swollen bellies.

            "As you'll see," said Mohammed, signalling the cortege to continue its journey onto the island, "Aden Pasha's system for scientific breeding is based on rival chain gangs of women each due at the same timed, each chain gang having been impregnated by their chosen overseer, so that the progeny of the whole chain gang can be compared with that of other chain gangs with different types of overseer."

            "You mean that that little pygmy covered all his chain gang," asked the astonished Rory.

            "Oh, yes, these pygmies are very virile," laughed the slave dealer.

            "Indeed!" Rory remembered the scene not so long ago when Carmen had been also put to a pygmy.

            "In fact, Aden Pasha's now experimenting," went on the slave dealer with a detached professional air, "in first crossing his white women with pygmies, saying that he gets a smaller, but still robust, strain that's cheaper to feed, but has the intelligence of the mother. It's also an easier first birth. Then, for a second cross, they'd now be fit for being put to giant Nubian overseers to provide progeny with increased strength."


Rory now found himself in a well laid out and evidentlyprosperous plantation. He saw other chain gangs of white women, again each naked to the waist. They, too, were just wearing abbreviated skirts wrapped round their waists, each chain gang of a different colour.

            Two of the chain gangs were quite different, however. Instead of white women they were composed of what seemed to be very young brown coloured girls. The girls of one of these chain gangs seemed tiny, but obviously still very strong. The girls in the other seemed exceptionally tall, almost like giants. Some of Aden Pasha's experimental progeny?

            Some of the chain gangs were picking cotton, others hoeing lines of plants, others cutting sugar cane, others building roads. All of the chain gangs, however, were under the strict supervision of a black overseer armed with a long whip. Some of the overseers were pygmies, others were huge black giants.

            The general impression was of quiet efficiency, based on desperate female effort. It all rather reminded Rory of his visit to the Haratin breeding farm of the Emir and its surrounding vegetable gardens. But this was something on a far more scientific basis.

            Eventually they came to a set of well laid out white washed buildings. The cortege halted. Mohammed and Rory dismounted and went into a courtyard. In the centre of the square was a line of frightened looking women. Their wrists and ankles were still manacled in the usual way. They were standing at attention as if on parade with their manacled wrists clasped behind their necks. A black overseer was slowly walking up and down in front of them with a short dog whip tucked under his arm.

            They were naked except for their short wrap around skirts, but their heads not yet been shorn. They all looked sleek and fit, he noticed, with their bare breasts standing out firmly. They all looked like a distinctive type of womanhood.

            An immaculately dressed Egyptian gentlemen was seated on a chair in the middle of the square. In front of him was a small stool. A half naked white woman was holding an umbrella over him to shield him from the sun. To one side of him was an Arab scribe with a large ledger open in front of him in which he was busy writing.

            "That's Arouf Effendi, the steward," murmured Mohammed. "I expect he's sorting out some new purchases and having them entered in the estate's register of livestock. Can your see your British mother and daughter amongst them?"

            My God! thought Rory as he anxiously looked up and down the line of motionless women. His heart was beating fast. Was the woman he had so loved really here?






There at in the middle of the line was a beautiful blond woman and alongside her a young girl, wrists and ankles manacled like the rest of them. Amanda and Diana! They were looking as beautiful as ever, and seemingly unaffected by the year spent in the Emir's harem and by the recent birth of their half-caste babies. The sheer luxury and carefree indolence of harem life was always said to keep women looking young and beautiful. Certainly it had for them.

             Rory felt his manhood stirring as he looked at their heavy breasts, each with a nipple elongated in the accepted fashion for a milkmaid. They both looked scared stiff.

            "Over there, in the middle," muttered Rory. "The two blond ones."

            He half hid his face in his burnous. It could ruin everything if they were to recognise him and call out.

            "Well at least they haven't been branded yet!" whispered Mohammed with a little laugh, pointing to a blacksmith's forge, slightly to one side of where Arouf Effendi was sitting. A small black boy was busy with a pair of billows blasting the coals to greater heat. Ahuge black man with a leather apron round his waist, evidently the blacksmith, took a branding iron out of the fire. It glowed red, but he shook his head and thrust it back into the coals.

            Rory saw that another line of women, this time chained together by the neck to form two separate but clearly incomplete chain gangs, were standing with their naked white buttocks thrust back towards the forge. Their ankles were held in a long wooden stocks and they were held bending over a wooden rail with their wrists in another wooden stocks on the far side of the rail. All of them were sobbing.

            Strutting proudly up and down behind one chain gang was a smartly dressed pygmy, carrying a whip. He was eying the naked buttocks of the women in his charge with interest, pausing every now and again to feel one of them between her legs.

            "It'll be his job to get them all quickly intopup," Mohammed explained. He pointed to a giant black Nubian similarly walking up and down behind the other partly formed chained gang. "His chain gang will be composed of girls who've either already pupped, or who Arouf Effendi thinks will take a giant progeny first time round."

            Two young black boys, one with a bucket of bucket of shaving soap and a large shaving brush and the other with a cutthroat razor, were going down the line of of helpless women. They were seizing each woman in turn by the head and then shaving off all her hair before rubbing a lotion into their now bald scalps, presumably to impede regrowth.

            They also shaved off the women's eye-brows, and it was this he saw that gave them the inhuman animal-like look that he had noticed earlier.

            "They think they can get more work out of a woman if she knows she has has lost her looks," explained Mohammed. He laughed. "Even it is only temporary!"

            Thank God, thought Rory, that they had arrived before Amanda and Diana had been shorn. He could imagine the face of the Pasha of Marsa if he'd been presented with two bald headed women, looking more like animals.

            Then one of the young white women was called out from the line. Terrified, she stepped forward, her manacled hands still clasped behind her neck. She looked Italian. The overseer cracked his whip again and she ran over to stand nervously on the stool in front of the seated man.

            One overseer pulled back her manacled hands, making her arch her body. To avoid falling over she thrust her belly forward, parted her legs and bent her knees. Then another overseer untied her skirt and threw it to the ground. She was now nicely exposed for inspection.

            Languidly the steward reached forward and ran his hands expertly over muscles and breasts, and then felt her belly and the curve of her hips. Then he looked up and nodded to the overseer behind her, who pulled her wrist manacles yet further back, making her thrust her belly even further forward and bend her knees more.

            Arouf Effendi inserted a finger and began to feel up her. Delighted, he found she was a virgin - which again was noted down in the ledger.

            "In this part of the world, we like to start breeding when a girl is still young," murmured Mohammed, "and if she's still a virgin, then so much the better."

            The scribe called out a number. The blacksmith started to make up a new brand, slipping metal numbers into a small iron frame, which he then thrust into the fire. His boy assistant was working the bellows hard.

            Meanwhile the two overseers had dragged the terrified young girl over to the first chain gang. Clearly delighted with his new recruit, the little pygmy overseer began to attach her to his chain, fastening her bent over the rail like the other girls. Her buttocks were similarly now thrust back towards the forge.

            "He'll must get them all into pup this month," whispered Mohammed, "and he'll then be responsible for them as their bellies grow nicely and evenly."

            Suddenly there was dreadful scream. The girl had been branded with Aden Pasha's mark on her right buttock. She was writhing in agony and desperately trying to free her hands.

            The blacksmith now returned to his forge and picked up the small glowing metal frame. Slowly he went over to the young girl. There was a shriek was he approached, then another agonised scream as he branded her on the other buttock with her breeding number.


Taking advantage of a pause in the proceedings, Mohammed coughed. Arouf Effendi turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Mohammed.

            "Welcome, my brother! What do you think of my recent purchases? I got them quite cheaply from the Haj pilgrimage camp. Quite a few pilgrims were only too keen to sell their slavegirls on the spot, without all the bother of having to send them to the slave market in Cairo. And, of course, a pilgrim isn't supposed to undertake any business deals whilst on the Haj. The Mullahs would have a fit if a slave dealers went to the camp. But such restrictions apply to me, however, as simply the steward of a Pasha!"

            "That's unfair competition!" laughed Mohammed. "I shall to report you to the Guild of Slave Dealers!"

            "Oh well, I dare say I'll make it up by buying one or two of your girls! Have you brought any likely ones with you? You ought to know my Master's requirements by now."

            "Oh, I expect so. But wait. I think I recognise those two in the centre, the blond haired ones." Mohammed pointed a nervous finger at Amanda and Diana and put on a fine display of blanching, even stepping back as he was afraid of catching something from the women. "In the name of Allah! Don't tell me they're the former concubines of the Emir of Gondah, a mother and daughter? Oh no!"

            "Oh, yes, my brother," laughed Arouf Effendi, "but what's so upsetting you? I was delighted when the Emir's chief black eunuch offered them to me. A mother and daughter, just what we need here. He tried to drive a hard bargain for them, I can tell you, but I got them quite cheap in the end. I think Eden Pasha will be very pleased when he hears about my acquisition for him."

            "Oh, my brother, oh dear oh dear! You've been tricked!"

            "What nonsense! Anyway what do you know about these women?"

            "Because," cried Mohammed, his voiced shaking convincingly, "I nearly bought them myself when I was offered them in Marsa, before the Emir left for the Haj."

            Arouf was growing uneasy. "And why didn't you buy them?" he asked.

            "Allah protected me! He alone saved me!" cried the slave dealer fervently. "Just as I was finalising the bargain, one of my staff came running in with the terrible news - news that made me want leave on the spot and have nothing ore to do with them, or the Emir or his chief black eunuch, and even to leave Marsa immediately."

            "What! "gasped Arouf Effendi his face going white. "What news.?

            "That the former maidservant of these women, captured with them, had been sold to the Pasha of Marsa for his harem."

            "And what is so terrible about that?"

            "That's just what makes it all so terrible for you ... You see she'd suddenly developed ... I can hardly bring myself to say it..."

            "What?" shouted Arouf Effendi. "She developed what?"

            Rory was laughing to himself as he listened open mouthed to this to the slave dealer's fanciful story. But his next words caught even him off his guard.

            "The plague! She'd developed the plague."

            "The plague! Oh Allah preserver us!" cried the steward.

            What a clever idea of Mohammed's, thought Rory. The plague had been the curse of the Mediterranean for so long and was now almost stamped out. Almost!

            "Yes," went on the slave dealer, "She must have caught it on the journey to Marsa. It takes a month to come out. But she'll have infected these two! She'll have given it to all harem of the Pasha of Marsa by now, just as these two will now give it to all your women here."

            "May the gracious Allah save me!" cried the now distraught Arouf Effendi. "Aden Pasha will never forgive me! So that's why that rogue of a chief black eunuch sold them so cheaply!"

            "Indeed, my brother, indeed," said Mohammed comfortingly

            "But why was the Emir allowed to sail from Marsa with them," demanded Arouf Effendi angrily. "Why were they all not put into quarantine?"

            "Because," said the slave dealer glibly, without a moment's hesitation, "he sailed before he could be told. I sailed on the next boat, desperate to get away before the plague broke out and before all sailing from Marsa was stopped."

            "Oh my God! What am I to do!" He shouted to the black overseer in charge of the line of waiting women. "Get those blond women away from the others. Hurry!"

            "The women themselves, of course, don't yet know anything about the plague," murmured Mohammed, "so there's no risk of anyone else here knowing about it. Just you and me - and my assistant here. All that the women know is that their former maid servant, with whom they'd been shut up in the Emir's harem, was sold go the Pasha of Marsa."

            "But I can't just have them shot or strangled. Aden Pasha would want to see them, the next time he comes on a tour of inspection. What shall I tell him? Their purchase, the purchase of two white women in milk has been entered in the accounts that were sent to him yesterday. Oh what am I to do, Mohammed. Can you save me?"

            "Yes," replied the slave dealer tantalisingly slowly, his eyes gleaming, "yes, I think so. But I shall need your cooperation."

            "Oh I'll do anything. But how? What?"

            "Well, for a start, my assistant could take them both away in one our carts, take them back to the coast where our ship is loading up with a cargo of cotton to take to Marsa. He can discreetly put them onboard."

            "Yes, yes, good!" said a still worried Arouf Effendi, "but how about the entry in the accounts of having 'bought two women in milk'?"

            "Well, it so happens that amongst the white women I've brought with me are two in milk - and very suitable ones for breeding, too. We can just swop them over for the mother and daughter."

            "But have they been infected too?" asked Arouf Effendi anxiously. "Are they safe?"

            "Quite safe!" replied the slave dealer. "They've never met the infected maidservant, nor the mother and daughter or any of the women of the Emir, or of the Pasha of Marsa. And, of course, they left Marsa before the epidemic started. So, like all my girls, they're quite safe."

            "Wonderful!" cried Arouf Effendi. He could hardly believe his luck. Then a sudden thought crossed his mind. "But how can I pay you for them? The accounts for the mother and daughter have been closed. I can't enter another amount for what are supposed to be the same women. Oh my God, Aden Pasha will find out and have me crucified!"

            The slave dealer laughed and rubbed his hands. "Don't worry, my friend. Everything will be alright. All you'll have to do is to buy, say, ten of my other girls at a very slightly increased price and that will pay for the extra two."

            Thank God, Rory was thinking, that the Pasha had put into the hands of such a clever and innovative man as this Mohammed. Arouf Effendi would have no idea that Mohammed would be doing well out of it too: selling half the girls he brought from Marsa in one go and at an inflated price. Brilliant!

            "Brilliant!" was also how the delighted Arouf Effendi described it all.

            The slave dealer turned to Rory. "Go and tell my black eunuch first to bring the two white milk maids here, and then the others, too, so that my friend here can can pick out which ones he wants."

            Then pointing to Amanda and Diana, he added: "And tell Matrak to hurry and put that mother and daughter into the empty rear cart - but don't let them near any of my girls! Then be off with you - at once! Get a move on, or you'll miss the ship."

            "Yes, Sir," replied the delighted Rory, for he knew that sitting chained and muzzled in the so called empty rear cart were his precious Carmen and the Pasha's pretty French girl, Marguerite. They were going to get them both back, after all! And Amanda and Diana. And without paying a penny for them!


Minutes later he watched, hidden behind a palm tree, as Matrak muzzled the shrinking and uncomprehending Amanda and Diana. He saw their looks of astonishment, over their muzzles, when Matrak had pulled back the cover to the cart and they saw, sitting silently on a bench, the similarly manacled and muzzled figures of two other women: Carmen and Marguerite.

            Then, passing the securing chains through their manacles, Matrak chained them to the facing bench, closed the cover again, and climbed up into the driving seat.

            Meanwhile two of Mohammed's own eunuchs had pulled the two milkmaids that Rory had bought in Marsa out of their cart, and was marching them, still muzzled and manacled, over to be inspected by Arouf Effendi. Each woman was held in front of him whilst he ran his hands expertly over her. Meanwhile Mohammed extolled on her proven breeding potential.

            Arouf Effendi was clearly pleased with them and they were marched over to the pigmy's chain gang to be branded and shorn.

            Then it was the turn of Mohammed's own white slave women to be inspected one at time. Some were then put to one side and others sent back to the carts. The bargaining was about to begin.

            As he mounted his horse to follow the cart that Matrak was driving off, Rory felt his manhood stir at the thought of the four helpless women now chained in it - and three of them were, or would eventually be, his - his women, in his power.






Three months later, Rory was looking through the screen that looked down into the enclosed patio of his harem. By his side stood Matrak.

            Down in the patio, a dozen naked women were splashing in the pool like little girls, or innocently playing with a large ball. As usual, standing in he corner of the patio, watching them, was young Abdul, whip in hand.

            Two of the women were laughing and talking to each other. Both were blond; both bore the brand of the Pasha on their bellies.

            "Henrietta and Amanda seem to have become friends," Rory was saying. "It was a brilliant idea of yours to start training them to give me pleasure together, as an alternative to Amanda and her daughter - not that I've any complaints about the training that mother and daughter evidently had in the harems of the Emir and the Pasha. On the contrary! But a slight change is always interesting!"

            Matrak gave a little bow of acknowledgement. It was nice to have Master who was so appreciative of his efforts.

            Then, with a frown, he pointed to a very pretty girl, sitting by herself on a carpet away from the others. She was looking with a sneering and superior expression at the happily playing women, and ignoring their invitations to come and join them in the pool.

            "That's what Henrietta used to do, keeping herself to herself, and, you used to say, being generally disruptive in the harem," said Rory, "before you sent her to do a spell at the oars,"

            "And now look at her," said Matrak. "Changed into just another happy and innocent little concubine, devoted to her Master, and with the the mind of a child and the body of a mature woman."

            "An ideal combination," laughed Rory, "anyway in a harem. Alright, you can send Diana down to the pens of the galley slaves for three months. I'm sure the Pasha would approve."

            Matrak smiled happily. He was already thinking of a terrified Diana straining at her oar under the whip of his colleague Bashir Agha, and, with each stroke, thrusting her belly, with the brand of the Pasha and the line of the rosebud, up towards where her Master would be sitting. She would certainly return a reformed character!

            "But," added a grinning Rory, "on two conditions."

            "Oh?" said Matrak.

            "Yes. That you take advantage of her absence to train Amanda and Henrietta to perform even more new tricks in my bed - to make up for the temporary loss of enjoying those of a mother and daughter!"

            "And the other condition?" Matrak enquired obsequiously.

            "That the daughter is kept in milk, even if she is being used as a galley slave! There's nothing like the milk of a young girl!"






            Although not strictly relevant to this story, we felt that readers might well be interested in Makumo's conducted tour of Hassan's slave dealing establishment.





"Would you like to see round my humble establishment?" asked Hassan, the slave dealer. He was talking to Makumo, the Emir's chief black eunuch, after they had finalised the deal for the purchase of the three British women.

            Makumo nodded. It was always interesting, professionally, to see the methods of another specialist controller of women. Slave dealers and chief black eunuchs had much in common.

            "Excellent!" said the slave dealer. "First, you must remember that I come from a long line of Ottoman slave dealers. For generations the House of Hassan has specialised in handling only well educated women. Often they have been beautiful, and often aristocratic European women. Usually they were the wives and daughters of the hated leaders of vanquished European Christians who fell into the hands of the Ottoman army during the centuries of warring, and of putting down revolts in in Serbia, Croatia, Romania or Bulgaria".

            He paused for a moment.

            "Others have been captured by slave raiding parties often penetrating deep into Hungary and Austria. Wedding feasts of aristocratic or landowning families are what often attracts these raiding parties. Not only is security relaxed by the carousing of these Christian pigs, but the raiders are sure to find many well educated beautiful young women there - as well as the bride herself! Similar slave raiding parties still penetrate deep into Russia, the Ukraine and even Poland, bringing back beautiful young blond captives."

            "And how about the famous Circassian beauties?"

            "Ah, well, we aim to provide an alternative to the simple Circassian, Georgian, and Armenian slavegirls that make up the bulk of the harems of the rich and powerful in the Ottoman Empire. They are usually sold as little girls by their parents, keen for their daughters to live a life of ease and luxury in a Turkish harem, or they come from the special white slave breeding farms in Anatolia. Either way, they are uneducated and know little of the outside world."

            He waved his hand contemptuously and then held up his finger.

            "Our slavegirls, however, are different. They are European women, grown up, and from respectable families. It is the idea of confining and enjoying such formerly free women in a well disciplined harem that attracts so many wealthy Beys and Pashas - and Emirs. We even pride ourselves in regularly having supplied the harems of successive Sultans, the Commanders of the Faithful, the all powerful Padishahs, the very Shadows of God on Earth - may Allah the Almighty provide them with houris in Paradise."

            Carried away with his own rhetoric, the slave dealer paused.

            "Moreover," he went on with a wink, "we like to think that we are serving the will of Allah."

            "Oh?" said Makumo

            "You must remember that a true Moslem will above all want to show his contempt for conquered Christians and to humiliate him where he is most susceptible - the honour of the women of his family. For a Moslem therefore the enslavement of a Christian woman, and her forced submission to his brutal will, is most obvious and symbolic sign of victory of the Crescent over the Cross. The higher the status of the woman, the greater the victory - and the enjoyment. It is precisely in providing such women to wealthy men throughout the Ottoman Empire that my family have made their name. And, of course, our women are unique in that they have all been doctored - though in a variety of ways!"

            "Ah yes," agreed Makumo,

            "It's a strange fact of life that very often the higher the status of a woman, the more she is in fact a natural slave. The more she may apparently treat men with arrogance and contempt, the more she is secretly, and yet hopelessly, longing to be dominated by one. In their own Western cultures they can rarely experience such treatment. But here in the closed and well disciplined atmosphere of a harem, they are forced into the submission that they have all along sought and, ironically, become contented and loving slaves of the Master they are being forced to serve in ways that previously they had only dreamt about!"

            "And this," laughed Makumo, "must make your merchandise all the more sought after!"

            "Well, there's another reason for the popularity of our merchandise, quite apart from it's guaranteed beauty, social standing and submissiveness. This is what distinguishes our goods from those of the more general slave dealers - as you saw we give a special treatment to all the women who pass through our hands."

            "All of them?' queried Makumo.

            "Yes," replied Hassan. "Most wealthy Masters, whilst feeling that they are only carrying out the wishes of Allah in subjugating Christian women and incarcerating them in their harems for their personal pleasure, nevertheless feel it would also be an affront to Allah if the girl herself were to obtain pleasure from being her Master's concubine. Therefore, as you saw, before going onto our School of Love, all European women sold by us undergo a little doctoring, just a simple little snip, or a series of snips, which allows our experienced barber to much increase their market value."

            "Do the girls feel much pain during these operations?" asked Makumo, out of curiosity.

            "Not really," was the reply. "It's just a simple snip, a little off the tip of the pleasure bud, and we give them a large dose of hashish before the operation. They usually sleep right through it, waking up to find a bandage over the more intimate part of their bodies and with their hands bound to the head of the bed so that they can't get at themselves. They simply don't realise for a time what has been done to them, for we keep them, of course, lying on their backs for several days so that it all quickly heals."

            "I see," murmured Makumo.

            "The fact is," went on Hassan, "that wealthy Moslems will pay a huge sum for a respectable European woman or girl who has been doctored so that she will never again now experience the full sensual pleasure of a normal woman. It panders to their natural male desire for power - power over women, and especially over Christian infidels."

             "Yes indeed," agreed Makumo. "And how long has the House of Hassan been operating here in the Barbary States?"

            "For several years now," Hassan replied, "ever since, with the navies of the European powers distracted by their interminable war, the Barbary corsairs have been able to provide a steady stream of beautiful and well educated young women." The slave dealer went on rubbed his hands. "These sea-borne raids of our Barbary corsairs often produce surprisingly high quality merchandise. The corsairs may not often manage to surprise a society wedding but they do, for instance, often raid convents on or near the coast. These Christian convents not only act as schools for older girls from richer families, but also contain well educated, and virtuous, young women training to be nuns, and also lively young married women sent there by their suspicious husbands for safe keeping whilst they were away - all, of course, ideal for my purpose."

            Hassan paused a moment. "But, not only do I help finance a Corso that will include raids on convents, I also buy other top quality merchandise from other slave dealers. They, too, are brought here for doctoring before starting their training in my School for Love - whether they are virgins or widows."

            "Widows?" queried Makumo.

            "We call all European girls widows if they are not virgins. She might not be one officially but, even if her husband or boy friend wasn't killed when she was captured by the corsairs, she'll never see him again - unless, of course, he's very rich and can pay a hefty ransom!"

            "All very interesting," murmured Makumo.

            "So, you can see," the slave dealer said, "that, like my cousins still operating in Istanbul, I prefer to deal with a relatively small number of high quality European women. I prefer to leave to other slave dealers the handling of the mass of peasant girls that our corsairs tend to bring back from their raids on the coasts of Europe. They may make fine labourers for the estates of the rich, and excellent servants for their households - but I prefer to continue my family tradition of providing high quality concubines, well trained and suitably doctored."

            He paused again, to give greater effect to his words.

            "The Masters of our girls will enjoy owning our women. The fact they will be well educated ones, missing their former freedom, and often their former husbands or betrothed, will make them all more delightful to own. Indeed, we like to think that here in the Barbary States, as for many years throughout the Ottoman Empire, the sign of a top quality Christian slavegirl will be a little red diamond tattooed on the inside of her left thigh. This is the mark of the House of Hassan - for we like to think that women sold by us are like diamonds: rare, valuable and scintillating... And each one will also be discretely marked below the diamond with our registered number."

            The slave dealer turned to Makumo with a sly smile. "Of course, once these women are out of our hands, it is up to their Masters' chief black eunuchs to keep them up to the mark."

            "Indeed," laughed Makumo, "and it is here that the black eunuch's cane plays an essential part of keeping all a Master's concubines keen and eager to please him... but why do you bother to number the women you sell?"

            "Because just as a good horse dealer will take back a horse he has sold, so we have always offered to take back a woman whom her Master wants to trade back in for another one - and our records help in her retraining. We have often sold a white slavegirl for a higher sum, the second time round!"

            "Especially if she has been been well disciplined in the harem of her first Master," laughed Makumo.

            "But there is one big difference between the way we operate in Istanbul and here in the Barbary States. Here the rich relations or distraught husbands of some of the women captured by the corsairs may be willing to pay a large ransom for their release. In which case she is a potentially very valuable investment. If the corsairs who capture a woman think that she has very rich relations back in Europe, then they alert me and my partner. He's a rich merchant who specialises in such investments. He enjoys speculating on the ransom that such a woman might fetch and can afford to wait for his money - particularly as, meanwhile, I can put the women to work in a very profitable way!"

            "Oh?" exclaimed Makumo.

            "Yes, that's where my School of Motherhood comes in!"

            "School of Motherhood! You mean you actually breed from the women waiting to be ransomed?"

            "Oh yes, it's really a white slave breeding farm we've specially set up for these women. It is next to my own slave dealing establishment. It works very well. I provide the finance and my black eunuch overseers provide the supervision and expertise on which so much of the success of the enterprise depends."

            "A slave breeding farm?" queried Makumo. "You mean like my Master's Haratin breeding farm?"

            "Not quite! We specialise in breeding little blond children. Whilst we're waiting for the ransoms, we cross our well born white women with specially chosen young blond slave boys, usually from Northern Europe. When the progeny are born we send them straight off to be raised on a special farm. Then when they are about six, the little girls are sold and the little boys gelded. So we make a double profit, one from the woman's ransom and the other from her child - or children if we keep her back to have a second happy event!"

            "But surely the young captive's family or husband would protest at what you've done to their precious wives or daughters," objected Makumo.

            "Who's to tell them?" laughed Hassan. "Certainly not the young woman herself. She will want to keep her shame secret for ever, when she gets back to Europe. Look, if you like I'll take round my School of Motherhood, before we visit the School of Love, where I train the slave women I'm going to sell. It'll give you a chance to compare our methods with those of your Haratin breeding farm - though I think you'll find our's is quite gentle and civilised by comparison to what I hear about yours!"

            "Well," laughed Makumo, "you must remember that my Master's Haratin breeding farm is different in that it is an essential part of stamping his rule over some very independent minded and rebellious Berbers. But all the same it would be very interesting to see your farm. And," he added with a cruel laugh, "I like the names: School of Motherhood and School of Love. I don't expect your pupils have much say about which they end up in!"

            "Not much!" laughed Hassan. "But even my partner's funds are not inexhaustible and many 'ransomable women' still their way straight into my School of Love. The eventual buyer of such a woman may also get back in ransom much more than he paid me for her. And meanwhile he will also have the pleasure of spinning out the ransom process whilst he enjoys the girl in his harem! Some Masters enjoy making a well educated concubine write letters to their families or husband, describing, in embarrassing detail, just what he has done to her - and what he now plans to have done to her unless, perhaps, the formerly agreed ransom is now doubled and arrives by return."

            "And what sort of fate might he threaten her with, if her family don't pay up?"

            "Oh he might, for instance, threaten to have her thrashed daily, or put to work in a chain gang of naked black slave women on his estate, or to have her covered by one of his black slaves. Indeed, even when the family or husband have paid a huge sum and finally get their precious daughter or wife back, then it is a quite common for them to find that she has been returned expecting a happy event by a black slave."

            "Or, if she has been handled by the House of Hassan, without the tip of her little beauty bud!" laughed Makumo cruelly.

            "Or, of course, the woman's Master may decide after all that she is too beautiful and desirable to be released at all!"

            "Or," added Makumo with another cruel laugh, "that she should not be released until, like those bought by your rich merchant friend, she has been crossed with a suitable young white boy, and has left behind a pretty young daughter for her Master's pleasure in his old age."

            Hassan laughed. "Yes, indeed. I can see that you are a man after my own heart... So come and look at my School of Motherhood."






"Here we are," said Hassan as the well guarded heavy wooden gate between the high walls was opened for him and Makumo to pass. "Welcome to our School of Motherhood, our white slave breeding farm."

            Makumo saw that the walls were exceptionally high with curved iron spikes on the inside.

            "We don't want any of our mothers-to-be escaping."

            "Or being stolen," laughed Makumo.

            "Certainly not before they have produced the required progeny!" agreed Hassan with a cruel smile, as he gazed about a small park-like garden. Six buildings with barred windows were arranged in a semi-circle around a circular path surrounded by flowers.

            "The exercise area," explained Hassan. "I like my young future mothers to be kept in pretty surroundings. It soothes them and makes them more amenable and resigned to their fate."

            "And the buildings?" asked Makumo

            "They're arranged in a logical sequence." He pointed to a building at the end of the semicircle. "New arrivals, who are considered likely to have families or husbands, who'd pay handsome ransoms, are first put into the House of Innocence. We call it that because the virgins and young married women we keep in it, still don't know why they're here. They just think they're going to be quickly ransomed and sent back home - so we don't let them see the other women."

            "I see."

            "Then, before they start the maternity process, we need to find about their their families or husbands back in Europe. And, of course, to establish their monthly cycles so that they can be sent onto the House of Conception at the right time and then go on round until they find themselves in the end one: the House of Delivery."

            "But what happens if you find that a girl's family is not willing or able to pay a worthwhile ransom?" asked Makumo.

            "Then she's immediately sent to my School of Love to be prepared for sale. But usually she'll still first have paid a little visit to the House of Conception. There's always a good demand for pretty white slavegirls expecting a Happy Event and carrying a white child - two for the price of one!"

            "Good thinking!" laughed Makumo. "And if her family is rich?"

            "Then," replied Hassan, "she will also go to the House of Conception so that she can earn her keep whilst the long drawn out ransom negotiations take place."

            "But how do you carry out the ransom negotiations?" asked Makumo, "and how do you actually get the money?"

            "Through that gentleman over there!" Hassan pointed to a large portly European looking figure who was coming through the guarded gateway.He was dressed in a long black hassock, like a Christian monk. "Stay here a moment, whilst I speak to him."

            Hassan and the strange figure entered into a deep conversation, pointing occasionally to a list of names, figures and dates. The strange man in black then bowed courteously to Hassan and made his way back to the gateway. Clearly, Makumo realised, he knew his way around the School of Motherhood and was well known to the guards at the gate.

            "That was Father Franco," said Hassan when he rejoined Makumo. "He's the representative of the Order of Redemptionists, a Christian order of friars whose role is to arrange the ransom of Christian slaves. They act as our go-betweens."

            "Christian monks!" cried Makumo. "You work with infidel priests!"

            "Oh yes," answered Hassan, "we all get on very well together. We wouldn't be able to negotiate the ransoms without them acting as intermediaries - and they, in turn, would have no purpose in life if we didn't enslave Christian women."

            "But how can you trust them?" said a still astonished Makumo

            "Very simply,"laughed Hassan, "because they get a share of each ransom they arrange. The bigger it is, the bigger their share! Oh, yes we trust them alright and we let Father Franco see how each woman is progressing here in this School of Motherhood, so that ransoms can arrive at the same time as the birth. Father Franco brought some good news. He said that the families of two of our more advanced little mothers are now desperately anxious to get them back and he thinks that we should be able to get really good ransoms for them by the time they both produce their little progeny in a couple of months time."


Just then half a dozen naked young women ran out of the House of Innocence.

            "I find it best to keep the women in the School of Motherhood naked and unveiled," explained Hassan. "It helps the eunuchs to keep a better eye on the progress of each girl's maternity- and after all they're not the concubines of a jealous owner, to be hidden away from the sight of other men!"

            Makumo saw that they all been depilated.

            "We keep them all like that here," said Hassan. "Once again it helps their supervising eunuchs."

            The women were followed by a black eunuch carrying a long carriage whip who went and stood in the centre of the circular path, cracking his whip to keep the women alternatively running and walking, round and round.

            "He's the exercise overseer. It's an important post. He must know just how much exercise each group of women, in their different states of expectation, as we call it, should be given to keep them fit and well. His task is to help the safe delivery - or in the case of these girls a successful visit to the House of Conception!"

            Then Hassan pointed to a very pretty tall, young woman at the end of the line. "But Father Franco also said that the husband of that young woman would never be able to raise a worthwhile ransom, despite what she told us about him. But never mind, she'll train very well in the School of Love and with looks like hers, she'll sell for a high price. I think we'll now send her on to the House of Conception."

            Makumo saw that whilst most the girls seemed quite young, one rather distinguished looking woman seemed older. She was obviously particularly embarrassed at being seen by strangers being exercised, naked and under the whip.

            "Do you successfully breed from older women?" he asked.

            "Oh, yes," answered Hassan. "And the older the woman, the more she is likely to respond well to the secret fertility pills that the overseer of the mating kiosk gives them. He says they're an old African tribal remedy for barren women. Anyway, they seem to work well, and we've even had women in their forties, still virgins, successfully producing twins. It as if nature intended them to catch up with the motherhood that they've been missing."


Moments later a black eunuch boy came running over to Hassan, salaamed and whispered in his ear and then went over to his colleague supervising the exercise parade.

            There was a crack of the whip.

            "Run to the House of Inspection," ordered the older black eunuch to the two leading women in the line running round the exercise garden. He was speaking in the half Italian half Arabic Lingua Franca that was the language used to address white slave women in Hassan's establishments. He was pointing to the next building in the semi-circle. "And you, too," he added to the tall girl.

            "All three have now been checked out," said Hassan, "and it's time they moved on to the next stage. But, first, these ones are going to visit House of Inspection - to be shown to the wife of a rich elderly merchant. We also provide a service for rich women who want a child, but who either can't or who can't be bothered to go through nine months of discomfort themselves. Instead they can use one of our girls, and choose which stallion to put her to. Our normal breeding stallions are half a dozen blond boys - mainly German and Scandinavian cabin boys who have been captured at sea. But, of course, our rich Arab ladies usually want a dark haired Italian one rather than one of our blond ones, and so we've started keeping two Italian boys specially for them."

            "But how does the lady arrange all this?"

            "Oh she'll probably pretend to be expecting an happy event herself and then take delivery of the child as if it were her own as soon as it is born. It's a profitable little sideline for us - and one that saves us the time and expense of having to raise the child for years before it is ready for sale."

            The astonished Makumo followed Hassan into the building, where a veiled figure stood waiting. Hassan greeted her with respect and led her to an inside room where the three naked young women were lined up, standing on a bench, under the supervision of another black overseer.

            The overseer salaamed to the veiled woman, and then escorted her to the three rather frightened looking women.

            "The girls don't, of course, know what they're being inspectedfor," laughed Hassan, rubbing his hands at the prospect of a highly profitable deal.

            The veiled woman turned and said something in Arabic to the black eunuch.

            "Attenzione!" he ordered and cracked his whip. Terrified, and obviously deeply embarrassed, the women clasped their hands behind their necks and, looking straight ahead, thrust out their bellies. Clearly they had already been well disciplined in their short time in the House of Innocence. Indeed Makumo could see the distinctive marks of the cane on their buttocks.

            Again the veiled woman walked slowly round the three women. She stopped in front of the prettiest one and pointed at her.

            "An excellent choice," murmured Hassan to Makumo. "She's a newly married young Contessa with a very rich husband, who is going to go out of his mind with worry." Then he laughed. "Just imagine how much more worried he'd be if he guessed what we're now going to do with his precious new wife! But I expect we'll have no difficulty in stringing him along for nine months before sending her back. If necessary we can always delay matters by demanding an even more exorbitant ransom!"

            "And so increase your profit anyway," laughed Makumo, "with him never guessing that's she left a valuable little white slave behind for this lady to rear!"

            The black overseer now told the other two girls to run back and join their companions who were still being exercised outside.

            The selected girl, however, was now hooded and blindfolded and her hands tied behind her back.


Moments later two naked but masked white boys, both with dark hair, were brought into the room by two large negresses. Each negress had one of the boys, straining on a lead like a dog brought up to a bitch on heat. They were slim and muscular, but Makumo was intrigued to see that a strange looking padlock, like a brooch, had been thrust through each youth's foreskin, preventing his manhood from coming into erection.

            Seeing that the girl had been safely hooded, the Negresses removed the boy's masks so that the veiled woman could see their faces. They were both handsome in a rather saturnine way.

            "I prefer to use youths in their late teens," Hassan explained. "It's when they are at their most potent. The mere sight of a naked woman and they're instantly aroused and ready. They have a pleasant life here, under the control of these two large Negresses - although, as you can see, we keep their manhoods under lock and key when they're not actually performing in the mating arena - to maintain their fertility. But they have to wear masks at all times when outside their own quarters, for the women are always trying to catch a glimpse of them."

            "So they never see the father of their child?" asked Makumo, with professional interest.

            "Never! Just like, as I said earlier, they never see their progeny either - they're kept hooded and bent over to be taken from behind whilst being mated, and also hooded for the delivery with their hands chained above their heads. The child is immediately taken away and so they never see or touch them. In this way they don't form a bond with them. Indeed, they can pretend, when they get sent back home again, that their sojourn here in our school was just a bad dream."

            "Except that the virgins will have lost their virginity!" laughed Makumo.

            One of the young stallions was now standing back to back against the girl. They were both naked, shoulders and buttocks touching, with the girl's overseer holding her still.

            The veiled woman walked slowly round them, judging how suitable they were for each other. She said something and the negress holding the boy jerked his lead and made him stand facing the hooded girl. The girl's naked breasts touched the boy's chest. His manhood was now straining against the brooch but was held soft and helpless.

            The veiled woman shook her head and the other Negress brought up the second boy stallion. This time the woman nodded.

            "She'll attend each mating," explained Hassan. "I like to have three on successive days when the eunuchs reckon that she is ready to conceive. We'll encourage the woman to stand astride the kneeling, blindfolded, girl and hold her still, whilst she watches the boy's manhood being inserted. We always tie his hands behind his back to prevent him touching the girl, and both the girl and and the boy will be gagged to prevent them talking."

            "But the sight of the naked girl will arouse his manhood," laughed Makumo."

            "Indeed! And the woman will imagine that it is she who is being inseminated, and imagine that the child is growing inside her. To heighten the feeling she'll regularly come and inspect the girl's belly - with the girl hooded and gagged so as not to spoil the illusion. She'll pretend that her belly is swelling too. But quite often there's no need to pretend - she's so carried away by it all that she has a real false pregnancy."

            "And when the moment of deliverance comes?" asked Makumo.

            "Ah! Then the woman, dressed as if she, too, was in the last stages, will come and attend the delivery with her friends. She'll be sitting on a double Turkish birthing stool alongside the real mother, copying her every little cry and movement. Her women friends will be fussing around her, massaging her belly, and encouraging her to push - just like the girl. The bottom of the stool is curtained from the front so that only the midwife and my overseer, standing behind them, see that it's the girl, and not the woman, who's dropped the child."

            "Very clever!" laughed Makumo, "so she really feels it's hers."

            "Oh, yes, she's then put to bed in a special luxurious room and it's immediately given to her to hold. It lies in a special cot alongside her."

            "But doesn't the new born child need it's mother's milk?"

            "Initially, yes, and so the girl is kept in a bare little alcove next door. At feeding times she is brought in and made to sit up on the bed. Then the woman, with one arm round the girl and the other holding the child, puts it to the girl's breasts just as if she was nursing it herself. Of course the girl is still hooded and has her hands chained behind her back prevent her from seeing it or trying to hold it. Then after a day or two, the woman takes it home and gives it to a black wet nurse."

            "And the girl?"

            "If her ransom has arrived, then she's prepared for release, forgetting, in all the excitement of being released, about her recent maternity. But if the money hasn't arrived, or we don't feel that it's enough, then we get her ready for another mating!"






"This pretty building," said Hassan proudly as he unlocked the door, "is where they stay until they have conceived."

            Several Spanish or Italian looking young women with aristocratic features were kneeling silently on a carpet on the floor, under the supervision of a negress. Once again one was rather older looking. They were naked and muzzled.

            In the corner of the room stood a silent black eunuch, holding a dog whip. The women looked up, scared, as Hassan entered. Makumo was astonished to see that each of the women was holding a little black baby.

            "Giving them each a real little baby to play with is a wonderful way of bringing on the maternal instinct," explained Hassan, "and, it seems, helps conception."

            Hassan led the way to a small door. He unlocked it and led the way into a lobby, and locked it behind him. Then he opened another door and led the way into a large room, locking the second door behind him.

            "We don't want any of our young innocents walking into this room," he explained, "for this is our mating arena."

            He pointed to something in the centre of the room. It resembled a cock fighting pit with a lowered sandy floor.

            Makumo saw that there were rails round the top of the cockpit for watchers to lean against as they looked down. The tops of the rails were some eight feet above the floor of the cockpit. At the top they were curved inward with sharp spikes.

            "We don't want any girl escaping her mating, before she's been properly secured down in the mating stocks," Hassan explained with dry laugh, this time pointing to something resembling an old fashioned stocks in centre of the cockpit.

            "We call that the mounting block. It holds the kneeling girl's neck and wrists, and even if she's not hooded, she still can't see what's going on behind her or who's she's being mounted by!"

            Behind the stocks themselves was a padded bar that could be raised or lowered.

            "That keeps the girl's belly raised," explained Hassan, "so that the stallion's precious seed runs down into her."

            He pointed now to a large wheel on the side of the mounting block. "That enables us to adjust the height of the girl's beauty lips so that the manhood of the muzzled stallion standing behind her can be easily inserted - for, of course, his hands would be tied behind his back to prevent any touching."

            "So it's all very clinical with no love-making allowed."

            "Certainly, not!" laughed Hassan. "Indeed, the virgins often don't seem to realise that they've lost their virginity!"

            Hassan led the way back to the room in which the muzzled women waiting to conceive were silently kneeling, playing with their black babies, under the eye of the negress and of the black eunuch overseer.

            "Do these girls realise why they're here?" asked Makumo.

            "Some yes, and some no," replied Hassan. "You'd be surprised how many of these European girls, from rich and protected backgrounds, are still ignorant of the real facts of life - and not only the virgins. That's why we keep them muzzled, so that they can't talk to each other."

            "Very clever!" laughed Makumo.

            "Of course, they can all see the other girls being taken through the double door to have something done to them. They see them often returning in a emotional state and may wonder what happened. But as they're all kept muzzled, they can't talk about it."

            "And," laughed Makumo, "I suppose that as they never see the stallions, not even whilst being mated, many of them simply do not realise that they're going to be made to expect a happy event.


            Just then a large Negress entered the room, and started to discuss a list with the black eunuch overseer. They were pointing to some of the kneeling women, and ticking the list as they did so.

            "They're agreeing the mating list for the next few days," explained Hassan. "It shows which women are ready to be covered, and which are to be covered by which stallions, and on which days. I like each woman to covered four times. Unless we are dealing with a girl whose mating with a specified stallion has been paid for by a woman, as you saw earlier, then to improve the chanced of conception we use a different stallion each time."

            "And presumably they don't show the list to the women and so they never know when it's going to be their turn to be taken through the double doors, either for a first mating or for successive ones," laughed Makumo cruelly. "So they're kept in a state of permanent curiosity and trepidation. And, as I said, keeping them muzzled stops them satisfying their curiosity. We find if each girl is left alone with own thoughts. It makes her more submissive and willing to accept her fate - whenshe realises, to her horror, just what that is."

            Raising his whip in a warning fashion, the black overseer now ordered the naked women to line up in front of him, and part their legs. They were obviously highly embarrassed at having to do this in front of the visitors.

            The overseer pulled a notebook and pencil out of his pocket. "We keep very exact records," Hassan explained as the black eunuch went down the line, checking each woman, "of each woman's monthly cycle so that she can be put to the chosen stallions at just the right time. Then we record each time she is covered."

            Makumo saw that the black eunuch was also making each woman swallow some pills.

            "They're that old African concoction, I was telling you about, that's supposed to make the women more fertile," said Hassan with a laugh. "But it doesseems to work, for we get a surprisingly large number of twins."

            The overseer pointed to a very pretty young woman. The negress took her arm and led her over to a alcove. The black eunuch picked up what seemed to be a specially curved needle and some tick black cord. He came over to Hassan and bowed.

            "Good news about Number 63, Master. She was put to the stallion four times and, hey presto, she's been sick every morning for a week! Now it's also clear that she has missed. So we're just about to sew her up and send her on to the Growing House."

            "Excellent!" Hassan turned to Makumo. "She's another newly married young woman with a very rich husband. But, as usual, he'll say that he can't possibly pay the ransom we're demanding and negotiations will drag on. We'll assure him that his precious wife hasn't yet been sold as a slave, but will be if he doesn't pay up. He really would be upset if he knew what we were already using her for. But I don't expect his money will arrive until another nine months... but now come and see what we're doing to her."


Hassan led Makumo over to the alcove where the attractive young woman was now lying fasted down on a bench. Special straps held her wrists above her head, and others held her ankles wide apart. Her belly was held quite still by a strap round her still slender waist and by two straps round her thighs.

            A hard cushion under her buttocks ensured that her belly and beauty lips were well raised, showing off the Arabic numbers 63, written indelibly on her belly. They matched the numbers similarly written on her forehead.

            Her muzzle would prevent her from crying out and disturbing the women in the main room.

            The black overseer, still holding the strange needle and thread, leant over the girl, whilst the powerful looking Negress held her shoulders to keep her quite still.

            A little moan came from behind the leather muzzle, each time the needle was threaded through the beauty lips.

            "As you'll see in the Growing House, we think it best to sew up a girl, once we are sure she's taken," explained Hassan, adding with a little laugh. "It doesn't really hurt very much."

            "And if any little problems arise?" asked Makumo, admiring the deft and neat needlework of the overseer as he sewed the beauty lips close together. This, he was thinking, might well be a useful technique to introduce into the Emir's breeding operation.

            "Then it's very easy for the girl's overseer to cut the stitches, check that all is correct and then sew her up again, just as he does when her moment of deliverance arrives - until it is either time to have her mounted again by a stallion if her ransom has not yet arrived, or to release her if it has."

            The stitches inserted, the black overseer then used indelible ink to write some Arabic figures on the girl's belly below her number.

            "The expected date of deliverance," explained Hassan. "Though, of course, she's probably no clear idea of what's been done to her."

            The black overseer straightened up and handed Hassan a sheet of paper. It was the girl's mating certificate, showing her number and that of the stallions and the dates they covered her.

            The black eunuch smiled, another task now completed. Her certificate of mating had been completed. It was now time for her to move onto the care of other overseers in this School of Motherhood.

            He told the negress to unfasten the girl, take her to the Growing House, and to hand her over to his colleague the overseer in charge there.

            But there was no time to waste, the overseer was thinking. It's one woman after another, he laughed to himself, as he now studied the latest mating list. And the quicker they took, the greater his bonus!


A few moments later the black overseer whispered something to Hassan, pointing to the mating list he was holding.

            "You're in luck again," Hassan said, turning to Makumo. "That older woman you noticed is about to be have her first mating - and she's a virgin. It's a sweet story really. Apparently she was a nun and then gave up her calling to get married to her rich childhood sweetheart whose own wife had died. But our corsairs surprised her marriage feast and took her away before the marriage could be consummated. Naturally her husband is desperate to get her back - but he'll have to pay through the nose and meanwhile we'll consummate her marriage for him here!"

            Moments later Makumo watched as the woman, now weeping, was led down down into the arena.

            Hassan nodded and the naked woman was taken up towards the mating stocks. Her neck was thrust down into a cutaway half circle and her two hands into two smaller ones. Then the top half of the stocks was brought down holding her imprisoned by her neck and wrists. Then the adjustable padded bar was brought up under her belly.

            Desperately the woman looked around her. She could see Hassan and Makumo looking down at her, but nothing behind her, because of the high top of the stocks behind her neck. With her feet still on the ground and her neck and wrists held down in the low stocks, and her belly raised, she was bent over invitingly.

            The black overseer strapped the woman's ankles wide apart. She was now held helpless with her head down, her buttocks raised, and her parted knees slightly bent. Her feelings, as a bride and as an older woman, had not even been considered. She was, in Arab eyes, just a Christian slave woman - something to used as required, and now for breeding.

            Then a hood was put over her head and she could see nothing.

            This was the signal for a door into the cockpit to be opened. A white youth eagerly bounded into the room, his eyes fixed on the naked female buttocks in front of him. He was held on a lead by a large negress and was stark naked. He was muzzled and his hands were tied behind his back. The restraining brooch was firmly in place and his straining manhood was still soft.

            The negress holding his lead held a little whip in her hand, and used it give him a sharp tap. Immediately he came up to the woman and started to stroke the soft cheeks of her buttocks. He kissed them. Then the Negress pointed with her whip to the woman's hanging breasts. Obediently he came round to the side of her and kneeling down thrust his tongue out to her nipple, sucking and licking - something that no man had ever done to her before. Oh how she had been looking forward to her husband doing this on her wedding night - the night that the corsairs had so cruelly interrupted.

            Soon the woman could feel her body reacting - oh, the shame!

            But worse was to follow, for the negress gave the boy's lead a jerk and pulled him back.

            She heard the negress give an order and heard him kneel down behind her. Then she felt his tongue on her freshly depilated beauty lips. She could not help a thrill running through her body. She felt his fingers gently find and then stroke her beauty lips.

            Oh, another thrill! She could feel her body wriggling excitedly behind the stocks. Oh, but also the shame!

            Then suddenly she heard her overseer clap his hands and call out something. It was the signal that she was ready. She felt the young stallion boy's tongue and hands being withdrawn. There was a metallic noise as the negress unlocked the brooch holding back the boy's manhood, and then quickly massaged it into a full erection.

            The woman felt her overseer's hand on her beauty lips. She nearly died of shame as she felt a little ball of grease being pushed gently up inside her, up to her tightly stretched hymen - to make her even more ready to take the thrusting manhood.

             She felt something probing at he beauty lips. She could smell her own arousal. Bent over as she was, she could feel the grease, now melted by her own heat, running up inside her, and, although she did not know it, preparing the way.

            She felt the overseer part her beauty lips. She felt something strange thrust into her and then seemed to be stopped.

            "He's reached her hymen," whispered Hassan.

            Makumo saw the negress now raise her whip and bring it down across the boy's buttocks making him jerk forward. He was through!

            The woman felt herself being stretched where she had never been stretched before. She gave a cry of horror and pain.

            She could hear laboured breathing from behind her as whatever it was moved in and out of her. Against her will, her own arousal soon made her stretch back to meet these thrusts- much to the amusement of the watching Hassan and Makumo.

            "This older filly of yours is certainly responding well now," laughed Makumo.

            The woman heard his cruel laughter, but was too carried away now by own excitement to care. She could now feel her own climax building up.

            Suddenly she felt something warm and slippery shooting up into her. It was enough to trigger her own climax. She gave a little cry of intense pleasure.

            "Sometimes it's best to let the woman reach a climax for the first mating," said Hassan as he led the way out. "Another couple of performances like that and you'll soon be able to have her sewn up too!" said Makumo admiringly, as he and Hassan left for the next building.


"This is the House of the Dawning of the Truth," laughed Hassan as he led the way into a small building.

            "Here we keep our girls, our valuable investments, for the first three or four months, until their bellies really begin to show, and they they realise the truth about what's been done to them."

            They entered a long room with a line of cages down one side. The cages were raised on a platform and were only about three feet high. Wooden partitions between the cages prevented the occupants from seeing into the next door cage.

            Inside each girl was a naked young woman, crawling around her cage. A black overseer, armed with a dog whip, was patrolling up and down the line of cages, pausing sometimes to shout at its occupant or apply his whip through the bars.

            "This is an exercise period, and he's making sure that they all keep crawling round their cages. I don't let them stand up at all during these critical first months - we don't want them to lose our valuable investment! But it's important that they don't just sit idly in their cages."

            Makumo noticed that once again the girls were muzzled.

            "Some of the girls," explained Hassan with another cruel laugh, "just have no idea about what's been done to them, and are happy to accept their overseers explanation of 'indigestion' to explain their morning sickness, and later the kicking of the little progeny in their bellies. Others may perhaps know only too well. So it's important to keep them muzzled to prevent them talking to the girls in the next door cages, about their states. The less they know the better!"

            Strapped onto each girl's wrists were a pair of large fingerless gloves, like boxing gloves.

            "When some girls realise the truth, they become desperate," said Hassan. "Of course, their beauty lips are have been sewn up as a precaution, but just to make sure we also keep these gloves on them as well. Then they can't use their hands at all, they can't even hold anything."

            He pointed to a circular gap in the bars in the front of each cage. "As they can't now feed themselves, when it's feed time, they each in turn stick their heads out, and are fed the special nourishing food that will ensure their progeny gets off to a good start. This also allows the overseer to make sure that each girl actually eats up her feed."

            Hassan looked proudly down the line of cages.

            "This regime works very well," he said, "and we don't have to send many of our little mothers back to the House of Conception to start again."


"This is the Growing House," said Hassan as he led the way to the largest of the buildings. "This is where we keep the women who've been successfully mated, and have successfully been made, in the House of Dawning Truth, to hold their progeny several months. Then they come here until it's time to move them on to the House of Deliverance."

            Makumo found himself in a large room, warm but airy.

            "We keep this Growing Kiosk well heated," said Hassan, "for we don't want these precious creatures catching a cold!"

            The room had a pretty tiled floor, on which some thirty mattresses had been laid out. Lying silently on each mattress was a naked woman. Each woman's blue robes were neatly folded up at the head of her mattress and at the head was a wooden stool and a well polished brass feeding bowl. They were no longer muzzled.

            "They're taken outside for a little fresh air and exercise twice a day," said Hassan, "and allowed to sit up on their stools to eat, but the rest of the time I like to keep them flat on their backs with their overseer periodically making them do their birthing exercises."

            The mattresses were laid out neatly in half a dozen lines running across the large room and arranged in half a dozen rows, so as not to be in touching distance of each other - or even whispering distance. This allowed two negresses, each carrying a long slender dogwhip, to patrol constantly up and down the rows and the lines, checking that there was no talking and that each woman's hands were kept innocently at her side. But that was not all, for a black eunuch overseer was also watching from a raised platform in the centre of the room.

            "The women are even watched at night," said Hassan. "We don't want them forming emotional attachments with each other or discussing what's happening to them. They should just be concentrating on successfully carrying the little progeny they can feel kicking away in their bellies inside their sewn up beauty lips."

            "Sewn up like we saw Number 63 being done?" queried Makumo.

            "Exactly! We like to keep a girl sewn up, once she's been successfully mated. Not only does it stop her from getting at her beauty bud, but, more important, it also prevents her from trying to harm the valuable little creature she's being made to carry. Sewing up young girls to protect their virginity is an old Arab custom. We've simply adapted it to protect our progeny!"

            Each woman was lying on her back, her hands to her side, with the Arabic writing painted on her belly showing prominently - particularly if her belly was well swollen. Makumo noticed that the naked bellies of the women to right of the room were large than the others.

            "As you can see," explained Hassan, "the women are gradually promoted to lines more to the right of the room as their bellies swell. The more to the right they are the more food they get! And the more they take a pride in their state!"

            "How clever," laughed Makumo, thinking how very different were the arrangements in the Emir's much simpler Haratin slave breeding farm. But this was for breeding white slaves.

            Hassan pointed to the rows of neatly sewn up little pink beauty lips being displayed beneath the the numbers painted on the naked bellies, and then up at the stern looking black eunuch up on the platform. "Keeping them naked and depilated helps their overseer keep a check on each woman's progress. And now you can see why each woman's number and expected date of deliverance is painted on her belly!"

            Hassan paused and then continued: "And to encourage him to watch over them carefully, he gets a bonus on each woman who is successfully passed on the House of Deliverance!"

             Then he pointed to the wooden bowls. "Watching from his platform he can make sure that each girl eats up her ration of the special food that is really intended to feed her little growing progeny. But enough talk, I expect you'd like to have a closer look at these women?"

            Without waiting for a reply he turned and gave an order to the senior of the black eunuchs.


"Inspection!" the overseer called out in his falsetto voice.

            The women all jumped up from their mattress, rather awkwardly climbed up onto their stools and stood at attention, once again with hands clasped behind their necks. Those to the right of the room were leaning back slightly to balance their swollen bellies. They were all looking straight ahead, their chins raised.

            "I like my investments to be well disciplined," laughed Hassan.

            Makumo saw that several of the women had the marks of the cane across their buttocks. "We use the cane throughout pregnancies," said Hassan, pointing to a long whippy cane hanging prominently on the wall, "it never seems to do them any harm."

            Like a drill sergeant inspecting a squad of troops, Hassan, followed by the overseer and by Makumo, walked slowly up and down the lines of naked young women standing up motionlessly on their stools.

            As Hassan came up to each woman, she nervously sucked in her breath, keeping her eyes still rigidly looking above his head. Then he would put a question to the overseer, or invite Makumo to to feel a growing little breast, to stroke a gently swelling belly, or to admire the neat stitching on a particular pair of prominent beauty lips, before moving on.


The House of Deliverance was different. Several young women were lying strapped down naked on two tiers of bunks, able only to raise their heads. Their hands were chained to a ring above their heads. A stiff leather curtain over their bodies prevented them from seeing their now greatly swollen breasts and bellies.

            "These women are due for their day of deliverance," said Hassan, "but I find that white progeny tend to be rather delicate when they're born, so here the delivery overseer uses a special remedy of his own that can delay deliverance if he thinks it necessary. Even a week or two's delay can make all the difference. Meanwhile we keep them on their backs, with the curtain stopping them being alarmed by seeing their much more swollen bellies."

            He led the way the round to the foot of the bunks. "As you can see with the hands kept chained above the heads, we feel it's now safe to cut the stitches - though in principal the overseer here believes in keeping the stitches intact until the last possible moment."

            In an annex off the main room, two burly negresses were standing, Holding long whippy bamboo canes, their arms akimbo as if waiting for their next patient. "Our midwives," explained Hassan.

            "And the canes" asked Makumo.

            "Oh, it may sound a little cruel, but the fact is that the cane is an excellent way of getting things moving!"

            Then he added with a smile. "Now that you've seen our methods here in this School of Motherhood, I think it's time I took you back to what you've really come to see to see - the more numerous inmates of my other school for slave women, my School of Love!"






An armed guard unlocked the massive looking door. Hassan led the way in and pointed down at a large pool surrounded by tiles. Light flooded in through opaque glass windows.

            Several dozen European women and girls were standing up to their breasts in the water, splashing or swimming up and down. Their dark, or occasionally blond, hair was untied. Generally in the Moslem world the women's bath is a scene of laughs and jests - and even of lascivious caresses. But here in the Love School of Hassan, the slave dealer, there was absolute silence.

             Several fat and elderly black eunuchs, dressed in long white gowns and white conical hats, patrolled up down the side of the large pool, each watching a group of women. They were armed with carriage whips with thongs several yards long, and at the slightest sign of any suspect behaviour, the delinquent was rewarded with a stroke across her naked shoulders.

            "I mainly use retired chief black eunuchs as the supervisors in the school," said Hassan. "Each has his own class for which he's responsible for training and preparing for sale," he explained. Then he added witha grin, "Perhaps I'll take you on one day!"

            Makumo gave a little chuckle. He was also amused to see that one of the overseers was also carrying a large net, like an outsize version of the nets that anglers use to land a fish they have caught. It had a long handle and, as they watched, he neatly dropped it over the head of a woman who was whispering to another girl and not paying attention to her overseer.

            The girl gave a little cry as the net settled down over her shoulders and she found herself being drawn to the steps of the pool.

            "These nets are useful for catching disobedient young pupils," explained the slave dealer with a smile.

            As they watched the black overseer deftly swished the net up off the woman with one hand and then with his other brought his whip down across her shoulders. Then he gestured to her to rejoin her group. It was very noticeable, however, that she now kept silent and diligently watched her overseer.

            The women were naked except for a black iron collar and a cord round their waists from which hung, in front, a little line of beads that half hid their beauty lips.

            "I like to save my slave's modesty," explained Hassan with a laugh.

            Makumo saw that shackled to their wrists were black iron manacles, similar to the collars, and connected by a short length of heavy chain.

            "The collars and manacles are all part of the breaking-in routine," explained the slave dealer, "but I keep them on later because I find that many clients are only too willing to pay higher prices for top quality European women, paraded in front of them, if they are collared and manacled. Indeed, the mere sight of a beautiful Christian woman in manacles has made many a client really keen to get the girl home and locked up in his harem before another client snaps her up. So much so, they often cut short the normal bargaining process and tell their chief black eunuchs to pay any price, provided they get the girl."

            Makumo gave a laugh. "Our Masters!"

            "But, don't forget," remonstrated Hassan, "that by wanting to take and discipline a Christian bitch, a True Believer is showing himself worthy of the rewards that Allah may bestow up on him."

            "Indeed, indeed, my brother,"agreed Makumo. "And he is giving employment to such as I!"

            The sight of Hassan and his black companion startled some of the women, who stood up in the pool and covered their naked breasts with their manacled hands - much to the anger of their supervising black eunuchs.

            "Bare your breasts to Hassan Effendi and his guest," they shouted, using their whips to make them drop their hands again.

            Both Hassan and Makumo laughed at the women's coyness.

            "You see how, despite everything, these European women remain delightfully bashful," remarked Hassan. "My overseers like to bring their classes to this pool to exercise them. Making them try to swim in their heavy heavy manacles does wonders for firming up their breast and belly muscles. The overseers get a small share of the profit I'll make on each of their pupil's sale. So they have a direct interest in her progress."


"Over there is my special Number One Class," said Hassan proudly, pointing to a group of women. A huge black eunuch was making them do swimming motions in one corner of the bath.

            "A special Class?" queried Makumo. "In what way special?"

            "You'll soon see," laughed the slave dealer. "The other classes are divided between our virgins and our widows - and, just as we did in Turkey, here we use two different types of instructors for the different types of classes."

            "Instructors?" asked Makumo. "What do you mean?"

            "Well, to preserve the innocence of the virgins I use, as instructors, negresses speciallychosen for their knowledge of female voluptuousness. Under the eye of the girls' overseer, they whisper advice to them, embrace them and may even spend whole nights with them. The girls may have been doctored, but they can still learn to give pleasure and to obey the words of command. So when a chief black eunuch buys a virgin from me, he is buying for his Master a girl trained to please - even if she knows nothing of men. My school produces virgins with a wonderful mixture of shy prudishness and chasteness in front of her Master and the underlying skill of a courtesan."

            Just what I want, Makumo was privately thinking. Then, aloud, he asked, "And who are the instructors for your classes of widows?"

            "Ah, they're very different. For them I keep a team of uncut virile negroes from the Sudan - like the Black Guards of your Master. I call them my Black Stallions as they are so inexhaustible. With them the widows, again under the supervision of their overseers, learn just what it is to be a woman, To these giants, nothing is unusual or forbidden, and there is a word of command that the women have to learn by heart for each of the stallions' wildest whims. So the women bring to their Masters all the little tricks they have been forced to learn - together with the appropriate standard Arabic word of command."

            "And are the widows always willing accept their Black Stallion teachers?" asked Makumo with a cruel smile.

            "No! But their resistance only servesto excite my stallions further - and my overseers have the authority to enforce the stallions desires with the whip - provided, of course, they do not leave any permanent marks. It always surprises me how after only a few lessons, the white pupils always seem only too eager to jump to obey even the most humiliating of the standard words of command."

            Hassan laughed cynically.

            "Indeed, in no time," he went on, "these highly respectable young women are eagerly serving their teachers in ways that they would never have dreamed of doing for their husbands back in Europe - and not merely out of fear of their whips..."


Makumo pointed enquiringly at the little brass tags, prominently engraved with an Arabic number, that hung from each woman's right ear.

            "That's their school number," explained Hassan. "All the women here are tagged with their number. It helps us to keep a proper record of their progress here and stops them being muddled up with each other. These are valuable creatures and I like to treat them as individuals. Of course when they're sold then they're tattooed with our house emblem of diamond and their school numbers."


Suddenly one of the overseers cracked his whip. Half a dozen naked young women stood up obediently and looked at him enquiringly.

            "Class One, Out!" ordered the hugely fat black eunuch in a high falsetto voice.

            Six naked young women, the special Class that Hassan pointed out earlier, now clasping their manacles wrists behind their necks, made their way towards the steps that lead out of the bathroom. Looking highly embarrassed at being seen naked by Hassan and his strangely dressed black guest, they formed a line in an evidently predetermined order.

            Then, in response to another crack of their overseer's whip, the women ran up the steps, still keeping their manacled hands clasped behind their necks. Their overseer called out an order and raised his whip. Immediately, and keeping carefully in step, they began to prance round the pool, one behind the other, their rows of beads swaying and tinkling as they strained to raise their knees high in the air.

            "The order 'Prance!' is one of the words of command they have to learn," explained Hassan, clearly rather proud at the way the class of young women were prancing in step.

            The women pranced right round the pool towards an alcove where several large negresses stood waiting with large towels. Any woman who failed to keep step or to raise her knees high enough got a crack across her back from the long carriage whip of her black overseer.

            But what had caught the eye of Makumo was that every woman in Class One was clearly expecting a happy event, with her little belly prettily curved above the cord holding her row of beads. The young woman with the most swollen belly was leading the way.

            "Yes," explained Hassan, "the third category of slaves we sell, as well virgins and widows, are our young mothers-to-be, our special Class One."

            "Mothers-to-be?" repeated Makumo with surprise. "You mean the ones passed on from your School of Motherhood whose families can't pay a ransom?"

            "Yes, one or two of them as well, but several of the girls in this class came from a specially planned raid on a convent where disgraced daughters of rich Neapolitan families are secretly sent to have an illegitimate child, as the accurst Christian unbelievers term it. These girls' parents never thought, however, that their precious daughter would be delivering whilst she was locked up in the harem of a rich Moslem!"

            "And you say that there is a good demand for young Christian women in this state?" asked Makumo.

            "Oh yes - and it's not merely a case of two for the price of one," laughed Hassan. "Unlike those stupid Christian men, we Moslems feel that it is a natural and desirable state for a young woman. Most wealthy Moslems like to have a slave girl or two expecting a happy event in their harems. We Turks have a saying: 'A harem is not a harem without a few little swelling bellies.' It adds a little spice to a Master's pleasure and entertainment! But, as he himself would be horrified at the thought of fathering a child from an infidel Christian girl, he prefers, periodically, to buy in a pretty well educated young widow like these ones. So I always like to have a good sized Class One, under the supervision of an experienced overseer."

            "And do you ever supplement your stock by having a young widow or two covered by a Dinka giant?"

            "Oh no!" protested the slave dealer. "The House of Hassan would never sell a girl expecting mulatto progeny. Our clients must be sure that a mother-to-be they buy from us soon be producing a little white creature - preferably a little girl who can be brought up and trained in the harem and then in the fullness of time join her mother in the Master's bed."

            "And if the mother produces a boy?"

            Hassan looked embarrassed. "Ah, then in that case ... please forgive me if I am upsetting your susceptibilities ... then he can be castrated young and enter his Master's service as a page boy."

            "Oh, don't worry," laughed Makumo in his high pitched voice. "We despise white eunuchs. They fulfil no essential role in life. But we black eunuchs do! We are proud of our position. We control our Master's harems. Without us there would be chaos!"

            "Indeed, indeed," cried the slave dealer, "and where would the House of Hassan be without them? Rich men do not send their white eunuchs to look at our merchandise! ... But to return to your question, yes if I find we are short of Class One girls then I do make up the numbers by having a couple of young widows covered by a captured white youth - especially if they're rather flat chested. There's nothing like motherhood to bring on a girl's breasts."

            He pointed at the last girl in the line. "She was covered only a couple of months ago and her breasts are just beginning to swell nicely. I had her covered by a young Neapolitan Midshipman, who was captured at the same time as the British family you have just bought. I had thought of using him on their red haired maidservant, but she was already fairly buxom and so I decided on the other girl instead."

            "And the young Midshipman?" asked Makumo.

            "Well, as he was both good-looking and of good birth I had acquired him for castration. Naturally I prefer to sell a boy who's never had any sexual experience before being castrated, but in the case of this boy my barber surgeon delayed the operation slightly!"

            "Slightly?" queried Makumo.

            Hassan smiled. "Yes, the boy was gagged and hooded, like the girl, so that neither of them had much idea what was going on. The barber surgeon held the castrating pincers ready and as soon as the boys seed shot into the girl, he closed them shut - removing for ever the boys chance of ever reaching manhood. I sold him last month to a wealthy Merchant, and I don't think I really lied in saying that the boy had never enjoyed sexual relations!"

            Hassan burst out laughing and even Makumo, looking slightly askance, joined in the joke.

            "If you want another overseer with considerable experience in breeding," he laughed, "just let the Emir know."

            "Ah, yes," agreed Hassan, "the reputation of His Excellency's Haratin breeding farm is well known. And, of course there's nothing like a forthcoming maternity to bring on a rather flat chested girl's breasts."

            "Especially if she's been covered by a Dinka giant," interrupted Makumo with a sinister laugh.


Class Two, Out!" came an order, accompanied by a crack of a whip.

            Another group of young women was soon running up the steps and then prancing round the pool under the eye of an overseer with a long carriage whip.

            "These are a class of young widows," explained Hassan.

            They made a very pretty sight with their swaying rows of beads disclosing glimpses of their hairless beauty lips. But there seemed to be something unusual-looking about the lips. They seemed more like the simple slit of a baby girl. There seemed to be no sign of the normal protruding inner lips as is normal with a grown-up woman who's had a little sexual experience.

            "Now you can see," laughed Hassan, "how we trim back the inner lips of young widows so as to allow the outer lips to close more tightly - just as we did with the red haired maid-servant you bought. We call it giving a girl a trim. It gives the delightfully innocent little-girl effect that is so sought after by discerning Masters. It's also an outward sign of our superior merchandise - and one that enables us to charge considerable more than the ordinary run of slave dealers.

            Makumo saw that the beauty lips of these young women looked strangely young and innocent - just like that of Jeannie. What an effective little technique Hassan had developed!

            "But you do also remove the pleasure bud itself - as you do with virgins?" asked Makumo.

            "Of course, all our women are doctored," replied Hassan with a smile. "It's the least we can do to make life easier for busy black eunuchs like you!"

            Makumo saw that in the case of a blond girl, a narrow little strip of red hair had been left along the top of her otherwise smooth and hairless mound. "Yes, that's the 'Slaver Dealer's Moustache' you saw earlier on. We leave it especially so that buyers can check that a girl, described by us as a blond or redhead, really is one."

            Makumo gave an appreciative little laugh as he saw that this girl's 'moustache' certainly matched the long locks flowing down her back, as she pranced round the pool.

            "Of course," Hassan was explaining, "we don't give all our widows a trim. We find that men buying more mature European women as concubines, like the mother you bought, prefer us to leave them as they are."

            He pointed to a group of slightly older women prancing round the pool. One was a strikingly beautiful woman with blond and blue eyes and a voluptuous figure. Makumo saw that her beauty lips had indeed not been trimmed.

            "Just like the mother you bought earlier," Hassan said.

            "And has she been doctored, too?" asked Makumo.

            "Of course," laughed Hassan.






"This might interest you," said Hassan pointing down into a room in the centre of which was a bench on which a naked European woman was held down on her back by straps round her her ankles, her belly, and her neck. She was blond and strikingly pretty.

            Next to the bench were two wooden stocks, each holding a kneeling woman by the neck and wrists.

            A black overseer was standing in a corner of the room, a short dog whip in his hand. Round the room were several cages. The doors of three of them, apparently those of the women fastened in the centre of the room, were open, but in the remaining ones were three naked women, collared and manacled like those in the pool. They were kneeling, gripping the bars. They were all slightly older women, perhaps in their thirties, but still very beautiful, several with voluptuous figures. Makumo noticed that their beauty lips had not been trimmed.

            "This is a class of older widows -" The slave dealer broke off as suddenly three huge negroes strode into the room, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

            They, too were naked, except for loin cloths. They had the bodies of wrestlers with wide shoulders and slim waists. Their black muscular arms and bodies glistened as if they had just been oiled. They seemed to be comparing the women's bodies, reaching down and playing with them.

            The black overseer made a gesture to one of the giant negroes and pointed to the blond woman strapped down on her back. The big black man flung off his loin cloth, disclosing tight muscular buttocks and a long manhood that was slowly coming into a huge erection.

            "One of my Black Stallions," explained Hassan proudly.

            The three women still in the cages and the two in the stocks were watching silently, their eyes wide open, in a mixture of horror, fascination and, even, jealousy.

            The naked negro straddled the bench and, facing the blond woman's feet, lowered his buttocks down towards her face.

            "Lick Buttocks!" cried the overseer. The words were apparently one of the standard orders the women had been taught to obey. Makumo saw a little tongue hesitantly begin to reach upwards. Then the overseer called what seemed to be another standard command. "Right up!"

            The woman began to strain to raise her head and then with a horrified look she half turned her face away. The big negro, keeping his buttocks slightly raised above her face, shook his head.

            Immediately the overseer came over to her and raising his short whip gave her three strokes across her naked belly and the front of her thighs.

            "Lick Buttocks! Right Up!" he repeated angrily with each stroke.

            The woman gave a little sob of despair and moments later the black giant, feeling a soft little tongue, nodded to the overseer. Then he lowered himself down onto her face, and nodded again.

            "You see the power of the whip," said the slave dealer with a smile. "This woman will soon be ready to practice these orders not tied down at all, but just eagerly lying on her back. So you can see how my merchandise gets a perfect training."

            Smiling, the overseer lowered his whip. The threat by this infidel white woman to his authority was over. Instant obedience had been imposed.

            "As I told you," laughed Hassan, with a touch of pride in his voice, "these widows soon learn to enjoy giving pleasure in ways that they would never have dreamt of giving to their husbands."

            Meanwhile, the other two black giants had also thrown off their loin clothes and were now standing in front of the faces of the two women whose heads and hands were held in the stocks.

            "Tongue!" ordered the overseer, giving each of the kneeling women a sharp tap on her exposed buttocks.

            Without a moment of hesitation each of them thrust out her tongue.

            "Tongue. On tip!"

            Each woman now reached forward with her tongue and placed it on the tip of the now swollen manhood in front of her.

            "Lick Sideways!"

            Each woman wiggled her tongue sideways across the top of the manhood. Raising his whip over the women's buttocks, the overseer looked quizzically at each of the negroes in turn.Each nodded. The women's performance was satisfactory.

            "Up and Down!"

            Each woman was now slowly and carefully licking up and down the underside of her negro's manhood.


            Each woman now took a huge erect manhood into her mouth. The overseer came and stood behind each of them in turn, his whip raised, making sure that each was performing perfectly.

            "Look how avidly they are sucking," said Hassan proudly. "Look how their heads are rising and falling. Like the woman strapped down on her back, they'll soon be ready to practice obeying the commands without having to be put in the stock - just kneeling at the negro's feet."

            "Did you have any difficulty with them at first?" asked Makumo, interested to compare notes professionally.

            "Oh yes!" replied Hassan. "They seem willing to obey now, but they didn't at first! They are mainly rather poor Neapolitan aristocrats who were fleeing to Sicily when their ship was captured, and they thought that being made to please these black giants was beneath their dignity - especially having to it so front of one another!"

            "And so?" queried Makumo.

            "So, their overseer had to use his whip constantly to get them to obey these simple words of command!" replied the smiling Hassan. "But they're now learning their lessons well and I'm confident that they'll all fetch a good price - and prove satisfactory concubines for their Masters."

            The overseer went over to the remaining women, who were still gripping the bars of their cages, their eyes fixed on the scene going on in front of them.

            "These ones have reached a more advanced level of obedience," explained the slave dealer.

            One by one the overseer unlocked the barred doors to their cages and flung them open.

            "Out!" he cried, using another apparent standard word of command.

            Each of the other three women crawled out of her cage and, still on all fours, scuttled across the room to where the three black giants was now standing in a line, their legs apart and their massive arms folded akimbo across their chests. Each of the women lowered her head humbly at the feet of one of them.

            Suddenly the black overseer called out another standard word of command.


            Instantly, the three women, their eyes apparently sparkling with desire, knelt up and then lowered the tops of their naked bodies to take the negroes manhood between their opulent breasts, and rubbed their erect nipples against it...


"Oh, by the way," said Hassan as he led the further along the corridor, "I forget to say that the mother you bought has been trained in that class you've just been watching."

            Makumo looked very pleased.

            "I told you I also like to train all my well educated European women to perform as dancing girls for the greater amusement of their future Masters," said Hassan, pointing to another screen in the corridor. The sound of Arab music came wafting up from it. "Look through screen and you'll see that this is something that not even the girls in my special Class One are excused. Indeed they make a particularly erotic sight - and they've been joined by the young widows of the Class Two that you saw earlier on."

            Makumo looked through the screen and looked down into a room in which in a corner three Arab musicians were playing traditional Arab instruments.

            The girls of Class One, their rows of beads now discarded, were now wearing just a long transparent skirt which was cut away in front to show off their prominently swollen bellies. They were standing in a line, gyrating their tummies in time with the music and following the motions of a Arab woman, dressed as a dancing girl, who was facing them.

            Class One's black overseer was walking up and down behind the line, a little dog whip in his hand, which he used to tap the buttocks of any girl he suspected was not putting her utmost into keeping her belly muscles moving.

            Next to the girls of Class one, were the girls of Class Two, also wearing long skirts that had been cut away in front, this time to display their neatly trimmed beauty lips, also gyrating to the music.

            At the end of the line a pretty, buxom, dark haired girl gave a little cry, and erotically thrust her prettily trimmed beauty lips yet further forward as if offering them to a watcher, as her overseer brought his dogwhip down across her buttocks.

            "It's surprising how even the most respectable European woman can be trained to put on a lascivious and highly erotic display of belly dancing," laughed Hassan, "even when, or perhaps especially when, expecting a happy event, or if their beauty lips have neatly trimmed - or if indeed, as in the case of virgins, they can also, as we say, show off their newly planted roses... Yes, it's a form of dancing that goes very well with a woman who's been carefully treated."

            Makumo nodded. Hassan certainly gave an excellent training to the European women who passed through his hands, as well as making some highly erotic little changes to their bodies.


"Come!" said Hassan, taking Makumo by the arm and now leading him back along the corridor towards the room in which the British women had been displayed for examination.

            "Well," said the slave dealer as she showed Makumo to a comfortable Turkish style sofa, "you've now had a look round my two schools, Love and Motherhood. What do you think of them?"

            "I'm very impressed," admitted Makumo, "very impressed indeed. I shall certainly be returning if the Emir decides that he wants more European women in his harem."

            "Good," exclaimed Hassan, Then he clapped his hands and in came three attractive looking girls carrying trays of sherbets, rose water, jams, sweetmeats and rakkat loukoum, 'Turkish Delight'. They were dressed as European maid servants with little white pinafores and caps, and seemed highly embarrassed to be dressed in this way.

            However, they offered their trays with deference, their eyes lowered submissively.

            "They all come from aristocratic families," explained the slave dealer proudly. "But they've now had to learn to be good servant girls as well as concubines. Although the House of Hassan specialises in providing European concubines for the harems of the rich, in fact some of our clients are women."

            "Women!" exclaimed Makumo."You mean like that rich woman we saw looking at the girls in the School of Motherhood."

            "Not exactly," replied Hassan. "She wanted a child. These rich wives or widows send their black eunuchs here to my School of Love to see my wares, just like your Master has sent you. They like to have a team of white girls in their service: virgins who have never known a man and they like the way we doctor and sew the up as part of our Rose Treatment. They also like the way we use negresses to train them to give pleasure."

            "You mean they want a girl for their own secret use?"

            "Exactly!" laughed Hassan. "But apart from young girls they will also pay handsomely for an aristocratic European woman to be their personal servant or maidservant: someone they can show off to their women friends and relations - or perhaps give away as a present to a favourite brother or nephew. So I like my merchandise to include trained maids as well as concubines - though I dare say some of the rich widows may use them as both."

            The slave dealer and his black visitor laughed and the so-called servant girls blushed.