The Palace on the Beach
 

This is a sequel to my story "The Cabin in the Woods." You don't need to read the first part to enjoy this, but it helps.

Warning 18+: This is a fictional story that contains graphic descriptions of humiliation, degradation and non-consensual sex. If these topics offend you, or if you are under the age of 18, hit that back button now.

Trigger warning: contains explicit rape situations

Trigger warning: this story contains references to foreign countries and cultures, so if you are a Trump voter who knows all about the world because you were at the Epcot resort once, and gets offended by names of foreign places, stay clear. If you are offended by being intentionally offended, don't read this warning, because it intentionally offends some people.

The characters in this story are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, including maybe the royalty of some misbegotten, backwards TPLAC (with the A standing for "Asian" in this instance), is purely coincidental.
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T minus Zero

Foggy, rainy days are not the best kind of days to be driving down the Autobahn in a Neunelfer (the German term for an Porsche 911), and Ingrid wasn't actually enjoying the freedom of tearing down the asphalt at ludicrous speed. It's not that she didn't like fast cars - as a little girl growing up, sharing her dad's interest in cars was one way she could mitigate his clear disappointment at her not being born as a boy. Her interest in cars was what had gotten her her first job, as an intern at Arthur Bechtel's in Böblingen, where she met that customer who would seduce her, and then become her rapist, her lover, her agent, her pimp, her jailer, her torturer, her owner. The man from whom she was keeping a secret that could get her killed if he found out. The man with whom she shared dark secrets that would put them both in jail for life. But if she had learnt anything from her mom, who would serve dinner with a smile to her father after getting a black eye from him, it was that acting was not just a career, it was a survival technique.

Growing up, Ingrid had vowed never to become a porn actress, after coming across evidence of her mother's acting career. Watching the woman who raised her, and whom she used to adore, being used and abused, swallowing semen by the mouthful, oozing creampies, and worst of all - taking cock after cock in anal gangbangs while being heavily pregnant with Ingrid - still made her gag. And when a high school nerd discovered her mother's porn career in an internet archive, she had been forced at the age of 15 to give up her virginity to him (and probably take his) to keep it a secret. For a whole year, until his family moved to Bremen, he had made her practically his sex slave, doing the most disgusting things to her, while making her watch her mother's porn.

And yet, a porn actress was what Alexander had turned her in to.

Part of her irritation stemmed from the fact that her drive to Bochum had been in vain. Alex had got a call from someone claiming to be a casting agent for GGG (German Goo Girls - a bukkake studio), and she had driven 450km for a casting. Arriving in Bochum, she had discovered that the office building whose address she had been given was full of furniture shops and kitchen showrooms. She had driven to several similar sounding addresses with no success, after the "casting agent's" phone didn't answer her calls. Finally, she had called Alex and he had been furious, as if it had been her fault. Too tired to drive back and face his anger, she had spent the night at a hotel and hit the Autobahn early to avoid the traffic.

She wasn't in the mood to enjoy the picturesque valley bridges along the A45, because some fucktard in wimpy little Renault with Dutch plates was hogging the left lane at 130km/h. With the righteous fury that a German driver reserves for showing a foreigner what's "in Ordnung", Ingrid furiously flashed her headlights at him while tailgating at high-speed, until he finally got the message and moved over.

But that wasn't the end of her annoyances. After she had merged in to the A5 heading towards Frankfurt, she noticed a grey car tailgating her in the heavy traffic. The driver of the car would get very close and then move back, and repeat the annoying pattern. So, it was probably a Fat Forties Fuckboy, having noticed that it was a woman behind the wheel, and trying to attract attention. She ignored the car as it followed her all the way south to Darmstadt. She took the exit to A67, and noticed to her irritation that the grey car was still behind her.

Traffic was thin on A67, and once they had passed Darmstadt area, that delightful white road sign with a circle crossed out by three diagonal slashes came in to view, indicating they were entering an area of the Autobahn with no speed limit. Ingrid glanced at the rear-view mirror and saw that the grey car was still taunting her. Time to let the fuckboy dine on her dust.

With a grin, Ingrid floored the perforated metal accelerator pedal with a sneaker-clad foot, with the twin turbos roaring delightedly in response. With deft taps on the paddle shifter, she brought the 911 from a sedate 150km/h to the take-off speed of a Gulfstream jet within just a few seconds, feeling the sweet acceleration pressing her in to the bucket seat.

Throwing a quick glance in to the rearview mirror, she was shocked to see that, instead of being a dwindling speck, the grey sedan was effortlessly keeping pace with her, just about 30 meters from her bumper. Ahead, a series of blinking lights and speed limit signs indicated another annoying stretch of roadworks, and she was forced to reduce speed to a crawl. That gave her a chance to take a better look at the car behind her.

The iconic inverted triangle grill indicated that the car was a latest model Alfa Romeo Guilia. To keep up with her 911, it must be one of those sheep-in-wolf's-clothing Quadrifolgio models with the insane 500 HP Ferrari engine under the hood. That put the fuckboy theory in a bit of a spin. The favored mode of transport for a Fat Forties Fuckboy was, of course, a BMW 3 or 5 series (preferably with a matte paint job). A 150,000 Euro Alfa would be a bit out of reach for a run of the mill fuckboy. Probably a divorced banker fresh from a show-off session at Nurburgring then. The license plate started with an "S" indicating it was registered in Stuttgart. Well, not too unusual in this area, but a strange coincidence. Could it be someone she knew?

The next two letters (which are selectable by the car owner during registration) of the license plate were "EX". Yeah, shouldn't discount the fuckboy theory just yet. The numbers that came after were 346 - a license plate vulgarity, which, when pronounced in German, sounds like an invitation to a threesome. So - a rich fuckboy then.

Realizing that she would be unable to shake the car from her tail, Ingrid decided to do what any German woman harassed by a fuckboy on the Autobahn would do. She took the exit to the next rest area, west of Forsch. She had to pee in any case, and grabbing a coffee wasn't a bad idea either.

As she parked in front of the Serways restaurant, the Alfa rolled in to the vacant parking lot next to her. The passenger door of the Alfa opened and a petite, strikingly beautiful Asian woman, dressed elegantly in a black turtleneck and black leather pants stepped out, casually slinging a tan lambskin Chloe bag over her shoulder, her perfectly styled raven hair blowing in the wind. The fuckboy would have to be very rich afford that kind of girlfriend.

As Ingrid was turning away, trying to avoid the fuckboy, the driver's door opened and the driver stepped out. It was a woman. She was of medium height, slim but with narrow waist, wide hips, large breasts, and nose ring, dressed in a black World of Warcraft T-shirt with "Blood and Thunder" emblazoned in red text, and a pair of stressed jeans. Her pale blue eyes under heavy mascara and dark eye shadow locked in on Ingrid with an expression of pure hate, before the Asian woman walked around the car, took her by the hand and led her towards the restaurant. There was something familiar about the pink-haired woman, but at the same time, Ingrid was quite sure she had never met her before - maybe a minor TV personality perhaps. Well, not a Fat Forties Fuckboy but a Butch Emo-punk Drama-Barbie then. She must have pissed her off on the Autobahn somehow.

Coming out of the stinky, temporary toilet (the usual ones were under repair), Ingrid walked over to the counter and bought an over-priced Latte Macchiato and a Chocolate croissant. She took a bench seat in a vacant corner booth and started reading the angry messages from Alex on her phone.

Suddenly there was a movement to her side, and the Asian woman from the Alfa slid in next to her, trapping her in, while the drama-barbie slid in to the bench seat opposite. Before Ingrid could even begin to voice her annoyance at the intrusion, the drama-barbie slammed a piece of paper in front of her. As her gaze fell on the word written under the crudely drawn symbol on the paper, Ingrid felt the blood draining from her face and her legs going numb. Looking up at the pink haired woman, whose light blue irises had a thin brown border, indicating she was wearing coloured contacts over brown eyes, Ingrid felt the shock of recognition running through her like a jolt of electricity, paralyzing her with raw fear.


To be continued...

You are a good writer, please keep this story going im looking forward to reading more of it.

T minus 3 years, 3 months and 24 days (13 August 2016)

It was the longest flight she had taken in her life... and it would probably be the last.

The first leg of the journey was very short, about 3 and a half hours. The Learjet landed at an airport in Turkey. She recognized the airport - it was the kayseri Erkliet airport, in to which she had flown in a couple of years ago on a holiday trip to Cappadocia with friends. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had a life other than this. After the flight landed in Kayseri, it taxied to a remote part of the airport away from the main terminals where a set of hangars were located. In front of the hangars was a much larger private jet, with "Gulfstream G650ER" printed near the tail, and the Learjet came to a stop parallel to it, wingtips nearly touching. The two men in black suits disembarked and she was left inside the plane. About an hour later, another man, dressed in similar clothing but dark and Asian looking, boarded the plane and motioned her to come with him.

She was whisked out of the Learjet and immediately led in to the Gulfstream. The aircraft was very spacious, and was luxurious. Four huge, white leather recliner seats sat in two rows facing each other across a polished wooden table. Further back in the cabin was a leather sofa facing a large TV. Behind a wooden divider she could see a galley, and behind that, an area with a closed wooden door.

Sitting on one of the recliner chairs was a small, stern-looking Asian man with leathery brown skin, a thin pencil mustache and swept back salt and pepper hair, clad in an expensive looking navy blue suit. Behind him on the sofa was a plump, balding Asian man, rifling through the contents of a leather briefcase. An attractive tall blonde woman in a sky blue uniform dress was busy in the galley.

The man in the blue suit slowly looked her up and down, and then gestured for her to sit on the seat opposite to him. The man who had accompanied her sat on the seat across the isle her.

A man in a pilot's uniform came out of the cockpit and pressed a button, and the boarding door/stair lifted off the ground and hissed shut. "We are ready to take off, Your Highness," he addressed the man in the blue suit. "Doctor, would you please take your seat?"

The plump man came ambling over, and after a nod from the man in the blue suit, took the seat across from him. The stewardess served them all a brilliant yellow juice in crystal glasses. It was mango, and it tasted like heaven, after the time she had spent in the cabin in the woods.

In a few minutes, the Gulfstream sped down the runway, reaching the speeds at which a Neunelfer would speed down the Autobahn, and leapt in to the air as gracefully as an eagle taking flight.

The Gulfstream leveled off above the clouds. Strangely, there was no pressure on the eardrums or the popping of the ears that she associated with normal passenger airliners. The enormous flattened oval windows provided a panoramic view of the rugged landscape below.

The flight continued in silence for the next half an hour, while the man in the blue suit was engrossed in a newspaper that was printed in English alphabet, but were in words that didn't have any resemblance to European languages. The slave had been told by her only friend in the world that she had been sold to a prince from South East Asia, and that was a region of the world she was not at all familiar with. The other two men in the cabin were obviously not daring to break the silence, and the man whom the pilot had addressed as "Doctor" was fidgeting nervously.

The only one to break the silence was the stewardess. She pranced over in her impossibly short light blue uniform skirt and matching high heels and placed napkins, cutlery and porcelain plates on the table in front of them, and proceeded to serve them a salad, taking their orders for main course in perfect English with a slight Swedish accent. The men replied, with the man in the blue suit announcing his preference first. When the stewardess turned to her, the slave remained silent, staring at her lap. A slave should not choose. The stewardess seemed puzzled, but when no reply came after repeating the question, she smiled, tossed her curly blonde hair and retreated to the galley.

When the stewardess returned with a small cart and bent to place the plates on the table, her tiny skirt rode up, exposing lime green panties covered by thin transparent tights. As the stewardess bent over to serve the doctor, the slave could see the man in the blue suit staring at the same sight, licking his lips. The slave was served a spicy rice with beef, similar to what the doctor was having. The slave ate ravenously.

After lunch, dessert (a type of sweet pudding she didn't recognize, but which the stewardess cheerfully announced as sago pudding with gula melaka), and coffee service, the tables were cleared and the cabin lapsed in to silence. After finishing his coffee the man in the blue suit said something to the doctor in a language with short, clipped syllables. The doctor nodded and stood up.

"Come with me," he ordered the slave. She stood up immediately and followed him to where the couch was. Taking several small glass vials filled with liquid from his bag, he pricked her finger with a sharp lancet and squeezed a drop of blood in to each vial, as the stewardess looked on from the galley with a puzzled look on her face. The doctor started a timer, shook some vials, and took some notes. Finally, he seemed pleased. He then handed her a small plastic jar with a screw top. "Go pee in to cup," he ordered in broken English.

The slave stood up, unsure where to go. She walked up to the stewardess, who was now pretending that she wasn't eavesdropping, and asked "Umm... where can I find the toilet, please?"

"Oh, come with me, I will show you the guest toilet," replied the stewardess, ushering her towards the front of the plane, past the reclining chairs, and opening polished wooden door opposite the boarding door. "Is everything okay, madam?" she asked with a note of concern in her voice.

"Of course," replied the slave brusquely, trying to end this conversation. This idiot might get them both in trouble. The stewardess appeared surprised by the reaction. She seemed very young, 23-25 at most. "I am sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to intrude. This is my first flight with His Highness, and I am not very sure how things go." In spite of the slave's hostile attitude, the stewardess was beaming, her excitement at having landed the job opportunity of her life clearly overpowering everything else. "I will be right outside if you need me."

The toilet was unlike any airline toilet the slave had experienced. There was even a (cramped) circular shower cubicle with a rain shower and mood lighting, and all the fittings were from Dornbracht. The toilet seat was one of those crazy electronic ones, which opened as she approached, and was pleasantly heated. After filling the jar halfway, the slave emptied her bladder, feeling the piss drain from her. She wished that the traces of her friend's cunt juice would still linger, while she carefully dabbed away the hanging drops. She couldn't find the flush mechanism, and being too embarrassed to ask, exited without flushing. The stewardess went in and made a gesture with her hand over the toilet seat and it flushed.

The doctor added drops of her urine in to three more test tubes with clear liquid. One turned blue, and the others remained clear. The doctor nodded, went over to the man in the blue suit and whispered something in his ear.

The man in the blue suit stood up and walked towards the galley, and motioned to the slave to follow him as he walked by towards the door aft of the galley. The stewardess noticed where he was heading, ran ahead and opened the door for him, pressing herself against the fuselage to let the man pass in the narrow passageway. As the man passed by the stewardess, he reached out and groped her buttocks. The startled stewardess sprang back, hitting the back of her head against the fuselage with a thunk. The man smirked and motioned for the slave to follow him in. The stewardess closed the door behind them.

The compartment behind the door was a small, but fully appointed bedroom. Plush carpeting covered the floor, and a queen sized bed stood in the middle. The bed had small posts at each corner, and tied to each of the posts was a length of black rope. It reminded the slave of how she woke up on that fateful morning in the cabin in the woods.

The man stood near the foot of the bed and pointed to his crotch. The slave understood what he wanted. She dropped to her knees in front of him, and stroked his crotch, feeling a small but hard lump behind the zipper. She undid his belt buckle, fumbled with the clasp of the pants with shaking hands, and pulled down the zipper. The pants slid down the man's scrawny legs, exposing his white underwear, hiding a growing bulge. The slave caressed the bulge, feeling it pulse, and pulled down the underwear, exposing a short but fat circumcised cock surrounded by a mat of greying pubic hair. A drop of pre-cum gleamed on the pink, mushroom shaped head of the cock that was already starting to droop.

The slave felt a wave of revulsion sweep over her. She had never serviced a man this old before. Her dad, if he were still alive, would be younger than this man. Still, she remembered everything that cumrag had taught her. Holding the sagging cock in her hand, she licked the drop of pre-cum, looking up at the man. He had an approving smile on his face. She opened her mouth, and took his cock in.

She serviced his cock the way she had been taught - grip loosely with the lips, no teeth contact, tongue flat with the tip curled up to caress the head and shaft as it slides towards her throat. As she let go of her grip on the cock to take it all in (which was not a challenge, after being used to taking the much bigger cocks of her kidnappers), she could feel the cock hardening again. The man gripped two fistfuls of her hair and forced her head on to his cock, grunting in pleasure.

After a couple of minutes, she felt his cock going limp again. This was not good. She redoubled her efforts in panic, trying to cram as much cock in to her mouth as possible, but to no avail. The man appeared to be quite jaded to the kind of service he was getting.

With a sigh of impatience, he brusquely pulled his cock out of her mouth, trailing ropes of saliva.

Without releasing his grip on her hair, the man pulled her towards the bed. The slave tried to rise, assuming that she was to get on to the bed. But the man kept her head firmly down as he dragged her, and laid her shoulders on the high mattress, with her in a half-kneeling position at the foot of the bed. The man took the lengths of rope attached to the foot-end posts of the bed and tied them to her wrists. The position was very uncomfortable, with her arms spread out wide, giving no leeway to adjust her position to assuage the thigh and calf muscles that were already starting to protest.

The man savagely pulled up her black dress, and she could hear a seam giving way. With the hem of the dress piled up at her midriff, the man yanked the black lace thong that Cumrag had put on her that morning, down to her mid-thighs. With her buttocks and thighs exposed, the slave maintained her uncomfortable position, with her muscles protesting.

The man opened the overhead compartment and took out what looked like a black stick with a thin rod extending from it, ending in a small paddle. When he got closer, the slave realized that it was a riding crop. The man swished the crop in the air, his limp cock swaying like a pendulum. As he got in to position behind her, the slave knew what was coming.

She still wasn't prepared for the explosion of pain that followed the man's grunt, the whoosh, and the thwack. She yelped like a started terrier in surprise, and whimpered as tears clouded her vision and her right buttock burned. A second grunt, whoosh and thwack followed, and a searing blast of pain blossomed on her left buttock. The sobs came unbidden, as the man picked up the pace, landing blows on her buttocks, and backs of her thighs that were already screaming with the effort of holding her position. As the man moved back to get a better angle, the slave could see that his cock was erect and throbbing. Despite the pain, the slave felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that it was the pain inflicted on her body that was arousing the man. This emotion simultaneously surprised and scared her - just a couple of months ago, the idea of being so sadistically used would have horrified her... as it should. If nothing else, this was a very clear sign that she was no longer who she used to be. She had turned in to... no, had been turned in to, a woman whose only goal in life was to pleasure men at any cost.

With deft slaps with the paddle on the insides of her thighs, the man indicated to her that she should spread her thighs wider. Her muscles screaming in pain on top of the searing pain on her skin, she shifted her thighs, but the thongs at mid thigh level prevented her from spreading them more than a couple of inches. With a snort of impatience, the man bent over and with a savage yank, ripped the flimsy thongs apart, leaving the tatters hanging on her left thigh. Without waiting for a further signal, the slave spread her thighs wide, putting the burden of supporting her weight on to her lower back. Even with the spread thighs, if the man wanted to hit her inner thighs, he wouldn't get much of a swing. That wouldn't hurt much.

The sudden explosion of pain caused her to scream out, as the next blow, instead of landing on the inner thighs as she expected, hit squarely with explosive force on the meaty inner lips protruding from her gaping cunt. The pain blossomed blow after blow, causing her to almost black out. She was hardly aware when the blows stopped and the man got on to the bed.

The man had stripped completely, exposing scrawny thighs, a small pot belly and sparse, greying chest hair. He sat at the foot of the bed, his legs resting on the slaves back, with his crotch, with the engorged penis, snug against the slave's face. She could smell his arousal as she opened her mouth and took his cock in, extending her neck at a painful angle. The man shimmied his buttocks closer, burying his cock to the root in her mouth. Grabbing fistfuls of hair again, the man started rocking her head back and forth.

Each time her head was pushed on to his cock, with her nose buried in his pubic hair, she could hardly breathe. When he rocked her head back, her neck was pushed back at an angle that made her think that her neck would break if he pushed it further. The man was obviously enjoying her pain and the tears streaming down her cheeks, as evidenced by the throbbing of his cock inside her mouth.

This time, when the man finally pulled out his cock from her mouth, it was rock hard, with the engorged veins glistening with her saliva.

She was barely aware of the man getting his legs off her back and sliding off the bed sporting his proud erection. She heard him opening and closing the overhead bin again, and that jolted her back to full lucidity - what could he be taking out from there now?

Before she could even crane her neck to look, the man was at her side. She felt something being slipped around her neck - something like a belt, and then it started tightening. Panic overcame her and she struggled, changing her position as she felt the upper part of her throat constricting. The man stopped tightening the leather loop, but it was still making breathing an effort and bright spots swam in her vision. With a sharp slap to the back of her thighs, the man indicated that she should get back to the position she was in before she struggled in her panic, and the slave obeyed.

She felt his cock pressing up against her battered and bruised cunt. It hurt badly as the head of his cock pushed ruthlessly against the swollen inner lips, and the cry of pain she uttered came out as a croaky whimper from her constricted throat. Tears of pain coursed down her cheeks as his cock penetrated a couple of inches inside her before his pot belly intervened. As the man started pumping, it felt as if the entrance to her cunt had caught fire, but it did feel good inside her cunt. Due to the shortness of the penetration and the angle, the engorged head of the cock was rubbing against the front wall of her cunt and that was very pleasurable.

Despite the ring of fire at the entrance to her cunt, she was getting wet, and her whimpers changed tone. It became even harder to keep getting the oxygen she needed in to her lungs, as she struggled to breathe against her constricted throat. She was getting light-headed. It felt as if she were somehow separated from her body, yet trapped inside it. She could feel the pain and pleasure, but it felt like something happening to someone else. When the man suddenly pulled out of her, she could feel that cunt spasming, and waves of pleasure following the sharp pain of the cock pulling out through the swollen cunt lips seemed to happen to that someone else. So were the spurts of warm liquid that seemed to erupt from that cunt and gush down those thighs in time with those spasms. The man's laughter seemed to come from a million miles away.

When she felt that pressure against her anal sphincter, she was beyond resisting. The sharp pain as the impatient cock pushed in to her unprepared, unlubricated hole hardly made her squirm. She was oblivious to everything, except drawing in enough air to keep her from blacking out. The man was ruthlessly using her body, and he wouldn't care even if she died. To him, she was simply a toy he had paid for... an object to be used and discarded. The hard, uncaring thrusts ripping through her anus, sending lances of pain up her spine, kept her awake and focused on breathing.

After what seemed like an aeon of breathe... breathe... breathe... there was a sudden eruption of warm wetness inside her, accompanied by a heavy grunt from the man. The painful pressure that had been filling her insides was removed. And then came the blessed relief from the constricting pressure that had been strangling her.

When the man untied her wrists, the slave collapsed in a heap at the foot of the bed. The sleep that enveloped her was a deep as an abyss and dark as oblivion.

She awoke to someone shaking her by the shoulder. "Ma'am! Are you alright, Ma'am?"

She opened her eyes. It was the stewardess, with a look of horrified concern on her face. The mood lighting in the cabin was the bright yellow and pink of a fake dawn, and light string music was playing. She realized that she was still lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. The room door was open and a trolley with breakfast on it was parked nearby, unserved, with the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee wafting from it. The stewardess was squatting beside the slave, unintentionally opening up a view of her shapely thighs covered in sheer tights converging towards the neon green patch of flimsy lace covering her intimate areas.

"I.. I am fine," croaked the slave, struggling to get up, as the stewardess held her elbow. Every joint in her body hurt as she raised herself up, and as she did so, she saw the reason for the horrified look on the stewardess' face. Her dress was torn, with the hem of the dress still bunched up around the waist. The tatters of the torn panties still hung from her right thigh, and the bruises from the riding crop were turning purple on her inner thighs. Leaning on to the stewardess, she managed to stand up on shaky legs, her knees screaming in protest.

The man was sitting up on the bed, propped up by pillows and casting an impatient glance at the stewardess. "I...am okay. Serve breakfast," whispered the slave anxiously, fearful of what would happen to them both if the man got angry. The fear seemed contagious, and the stewardess nervously set about serving breakfast.

She took out a tablet, folded out a pair of leg frames and set it up over the man's lap, spread a white table cloth over it, and proceeded to serve breakfast. The slave held on to the overhead bin to keep her balance on her trembling legs. After the man's breakfast was served, the stewardess came over, took her by the elbow and led her to the door beyond the head side of the bed. Behind the door was a large bathroom, bigger than the one she had seen in front of the plane, which seemed to extend all the way to the tail of the plane. The slave staggered towards the toilet seat, which opened and glowed blue as she approached, and sat down heavily on it. The stewardess took a quick look in to the room, stepped in to the toilet and closed the door behind her.

"Hey, are you okay? If there's something wrong, you can tell me. I can contact the authorities when we get back to Europe," the stewardess spoke in a low voice as she leaned forward. "No... please. I am fine," murmured the slave, closing her eyes and letting loose a stream of hot piss, and wincing as it touched her bruised cunt lips. "Look, I do this for a living ok? I'm a fetish escort," she lied, hoping that this do-gooder idiot would let go and not get them both in trouble.

A look of distaste crossed the stewardess' face for an instant, before the plastic, professional look returned. She waited until the slave cleaned up, washed her face, and tried to make herself as presentable as possible, and then followed her back in to the bedroom. Taking out a second tablet from the cart and gesturing to the bed, she asked, "Shall I serve you your breakfast, Ma'am?"

Getting on to the bed with her owner, who was royalty to boot, didn't sound like something a slave would be expected to do. The slave simply sat down on the floor near the entry door to the room, facing the foot of the bed. The man smiled and nodded approvingly. The stewardess hesitated, set the tablet down next to the slave and served a croissant, butter, fruit, yogurt and a steaming mug of coffee on it. As the stewardess bent over, the slave could see the man looking at the girl's exposed rear end appreciatively. The slave wondered whether the goody-two-shoes girl even knew why she had got this job.

Half an hour later, the stewardess returned and cleared the dishes and tablets, placing them neatly on the trolley. As she was about to leave, the man spoke up, "You! There are some crumbs here. Clean up," pointing to his lap.

"Yes, your highness, I am sorry your highness," apologized the stewardess, grabbing a napkin from the trolley. She hurried over to the bed, and bent over the side of the bed, looking for the crumbs. The man's right hand immediately dived under the raised hem of her uniform skirt, and grabbed her nylon covered buttock. The stewardess gave a surprised shriek and started to straighten up, but at that moment, with practiced precision, the man's left hand grabbed the front of her dress, and with a pull from the his left hand and with a push on the buttocks with the right, the stewardess was tossed over on to the bed, landing face down, with her buttocks raised up right on the man's lap.

The stewardess uttered a yell of surprise and struggled to get up. The man kept a tight hold on her, grinning triumphantly. "Sir! Please, stop! Stop now! This instant!" yelled the stewardess, both anger and fear raising her voice to the high notes. There were steps down the aisle, and the man in the black suit, whom the slave had tagged in her mind as the "bodyguard", appeared in the doorway.

The slave, still sitting on the floor, looked up expectantly. The stewardess, noticing the figure in the doorway, pleaded, "Help me, help me, please!"

The man came inside, shut the door and leaned against it, watching on silently with a porker face that showed no shred of compassion. Her hopes dashed, the stewardess began to sob, as the old man's right hand brutally yanked down her sheer tights, tearing them in the process. "Do something, please!" pleaded the stewardess, looking directly at the slave. The slave sat on the floor, staring at the bed, not moving, saying nothing. What could she do?

When the fact that she will not get any help from people around her dawned on the stewardess, she began to struggle in earnest, pushing up with her hands and knees and struggling to get off. The man responded by sitting up straighter in bed, pushing the struggling woman off balance, rolling her on to her back. With amazing spryness for a man of his apparent age, he pulled his legs from under her body, and in one fluid movement got on top of her, with his weight pinning her down. "No, no, no...stop it, stop it," screamed the stewardess, as the man secured her wrists at her stomach level and held them with one hand, using his body weight on top to keep her from pulling them out, and yanked at the front of her uniform blouse. Buttons popped and landed on the carpet. The stewardess bucked and rolled, her tattered blouse falling open, but the man stayed on top of her like a rodeo rider on an enraged bull.

Grabbing a bra strap, the man pulled it off the stewardess' shoulder, pulling the cup down with it, exposing a large milky white breast with skin as fine as porcelain, a dark pink nipple crowning it like a maraschino cherry on top of a scoop of vanilla ice cream. The man's lips fastened on the nipple, biting and sucking. The stewardess' face turned bright pink with the Nordic temper finally bursting through her fear, like her Viking berserker ancestors cleaving through a Saxon defense line. "You bastard!" she yelled, "you goddam fucking bastard! Get off me, you dirty fucking asshole!"

With all the force she could muster, the stewardess rolled to her side, nearly pushing the man off the foot of the bed. Her knee crashed against his side with a dull thud, and her manicured fingers raked upwards, seeking to make minced meat out of his face. The man deftly avoided her arms, grabbing and pinning them to her sides. Rolling her back to on to her spine, he sat astride her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. His hands fastened around her neck and squeezed hard.

The stewardess' mouth gaped wide, struggling to breathe, and her hands, now freed, went to her throat, trying to pry the man's hands apart. The slave watched the stewardess' face turning red, veins bulging, and eyes wide open and darting. If this continued, the man could easily kill her.

The slave stood up on her aching legs and stumbled towards the bed. Behind her, she could hear the bodyguard stirring.

The slave stumbled over to the foot of the bed, in her torn and tattered dress. She leaned over, grabbed the stewardess' hands and pulled them over the girl's head and held them tight. The man looked at her, gave a faint smile and a nod, and released the stewardess' neck. The stewardess gasped in lungfuls of air, too winded to resume shouting. The bodyguard, who had followed the slave to the bed, relaxed and went back to his post at the door.

While the girl was trying to recover her breathing, the man pulled down her tights and ripped them through the middle, separating each leg, like stockings with tattered rags hanging on top. Hooking his fingers on the waistband of the stewardess' lime green panties, the man started pulling them down.

Jolted back to awareness by this latest violation, the stewardess started struggling again, pushing her thighs tightly together, and trying to bend her knees. She managed to find her voice again, and directed her anger at the woman who was helping her rapist, "You bitch! Why are you doing this? Why are you helping him? Are you out of your mind?"

Despite the stewardess' struggles, the man managed to pull the panties down below her knees, and and pulled one leg out, leaving the panties hanging obscenely on the other. He forced the girl's legs apart, but was having a hard time keeping them apart, due to her struggles.

The slave let go of the girl's hands, and laid herself over her, with her thighs on either side of the girl's head. "You bitch! Cunt! Get off of me!" yelled the stewardess, trying to push her off with her newly freed hands, but failing to find enough leverage. The slave slid forward on the stewardess' body, and helped keep the girl's thighs apart with her elbows. She undid the man's robe with her hands, and teased out his cock from his boxer shorts. It was hard and throbbing, with veins bulging from the short, thick shaft. Squeezing the base hard in her fist, the slave took the circumcised cock head in her mouth and caressed it with her tongue as the girl beneath her squirmed and screamed expletives. But it was clear that the stewardess was weakening, slowly losing the 2:1 battle.

The man pulled his cock out of the slave's mouth and grabbed a handful of her hair, and pushed her head down between the stewardess' thighs. The slave could see clearly from the stubble that the stewardess was a true blonde. She had a small cunt, that was opening up like a dark pink rose as the thighs were being forced apart. It didn't smell like a rose, though. It had a slightly unpleasant odor - smelling of sweat, of clothing worn too long, mixed with the sharp pungency of stale piss and a faint, fishy smell. The only cunt the slave had ever licked belonged to her friend cumrag, but cumrag had always been freshly showered and smelling nice whenever she had come over. Her cunt had smelled faintly of the soap that she had washed the skin around it with. The slave had never smelled the cunt of a woman who had been on duty for more than 12 hours, wearing the same panties the whole time and even napping in them, without the chance (or the need) to clean up.

But it was not her place to refuse. The slave obediently ran the tip of her tongue between the inner lips of the stewardess' cunt. It tasted salty and tangy. It wasn't bad, except for the smell. She started a rhythm of flicking her tongue on the tiny clit, and then moving it all the way over the pee hole to the entrance of the cunt, circling around it, and all the way back - just like how cumrag had shown her. The surprised indignation was evident in the stewardess' voice as she yelled, "Noooo!! What the fuck? What are you doing, you pervert? Stop that! Stop it!"

As the man kept her head in position for several minutes, the slave understood clearly that the reason the man made her do this was not to arouse the girl but to humiliate her. And it was working. "Oh no, oh god no, please stop," sobbed the girl in a defeated voice, "why are you doing this to me? Please, please let me go. I won't tell anyone. Please..."

Finally, the man pulled her head up by the hair, and in one brutal thrust, buried his cock in the stewardess' tiny cunt, glistening with the slave's saliva.

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I had help with this installment, in the form of, "bollocks... you have to re-write that. Her cunt isn't going to smell nice, she's been working for hours in those panties. I've only been on the road for a few hours and I still washed mine before I let you lick it," followed by a vivid description of how it might smell like. I promised to document that help, so here it is.

The stewardess screamed. It was a long scream that dissolved in to raking sobs as she gave in to the inevitable. It was a scream of pain, anger, defeat and humiliation. The slave knew how the girl must be feeling, being forced to submit, being violated against her will. The man's shaft was rigid, engorged, and it was stretching the girl's cunt. It had been dry when she licked it, so the girl must be in pain. She would have been in greater pain if it hadn't been for the saliva that the slave had coated the man's cock and the entrance to the girl's cunt with. Gathering some more saliva, the slave spat on to the man's cock as it emerged from the cunt, easing the passage a bit more.

The girl had stopped struggling and was sobbing her heart out and babbling incoherently (probably in Swedish) as she was being raped. One of the words was repeating sounded like "more" with the R being rolled, and that puzzled the slave. Was she really begging for more? (It was only a couple of years later that the slave discovered that "Mor" in Swedish meant "mother." When she had learned that, she had cried.)

At that moment though, the slave had very little emotions. After the "training" that she had been put through in that cabin in the woods, her mind had learned to automatically shut off emotions and simply focus on survival. There was also another kind of conditioning her mind had gone through - abuse and humiliation brought on sexual arousal. Even though the abuse was not physically happening to her, watching the girl being brutally raped, with the man's cock plunging mercilessly stretching the tight pink hole while the girl cried, was making the slave's cunt wet.

The stewardess was almost the same height as her, so as the slave lay to top of the girl with her face at the girl's crotch, her own crotch was at the level of the girl's neck, with her thighs straddling the girl's face. The slave reached back and pulled up her dress. The thongs that she had been wearing when she had boarded the plane had been torn to shreds by the man last night, and her cunt, covered in purple bruises, was bare. The slave slid back a couple of inches, and her cunt came in to contact with something hard, probably the girl's chin. The slave started grinding her clit against the girl's chin, sighing as her bruised cunt rubbed against the girl's lips. With the fight gone out of her, the girl barely resisted. Looking up, she noticed the man smiling at her. She had done well.

After a few minutes, the man motioned for her to get off the girl. The man pulled her cock out of the crying girl, and the slave, following the man's cues, helped the man roll the girl on to her stomach. Without even being told, the slave pulled up the stewardess' crushed uniform skirt up to the waist, and pulled the girl's knees up under her belly. The girl barely resisted, her face streaked with tears and running mascara, the false eyelashes detached and hanging askew, her lipstick smeared across her face and chin. The slave took the man's cock in her mouth, and cleaned it of the whitish streaks of saliva mixed with pre-cum and secretions from the girl's cunt. The initial smell of the cunt had been replaced with something musky, that reminded her of when she sucked cocks that had been in cumrag's cunt. The thought aroused her even more. She did her best to coat the cock in a fresh layer of slippery saliva. She knew what was to come... the girl apparently didn't realize it yet.

When the man pulled his cock from her mouth, the slave straddled the girl's prone body and pulled the girl's buttocks apart. Although her cunt was reddened and gaping, the girl's anus was tightly closed. The slave managed to give the anus a quick lick, laying on a coating of saliva, before the man pushed her head away. He clearly didn't want to make it easier for the girl - his behavior last night showed that he enjoyed inflicting pain and making women go through pain to satisfy him.

The quick lick on the anus stirred the girl, and when she felt the man's cock pressing against her anus, her impending fate finally dawned on her. "No, no, no, not in my ass... please, no. I haven't... no, please, it'll hurt," she pleaded between sobs. That last thing was probably the wrong thing to say. "No! Please! Stop! I'll do anything..." she yelled, as she felt the man's cock trying to force its way in.

The slave held the girl's buttocks stretched out, while the man gripped his cock and guided it firmly at the stewardess' virgin hole. The girl's pleading grew louder and more intense, as her sphincter slowly yielded to the rigid cock. She screamed as one savage thrust buried the mushroom shaped head of the cock completely inside her anus. The man thrust in mercilessly, pushing in his entire shaft without even a slight pause to let the poor girl's anus adjust to the intrusion. The girl was crying in pain as the man's onslaught increased in force and speed, pulling out almost the entire girth before slamming it in, filling the air with the unmistakable earthy smell of an ass fuck. The man started slapping the girl's buttocks with his hands with each stroke, alternating the buttocks for each slap, turning the pale Nordic skin in to a bright peach shade.

It seemed like an eternity before the man grunted and buried his cock deep inside the girl, grabbing her hips and pulling her on to him to receive his sperm deep inside her. Even after what she had suffered so far, the girl had one final cry of pain to mark this final indignity. The man withdrew his cock from the girl's anus, eliciting another sharp cry of pain as it exited, coated in streamers of slime, foamy white, tinged with yellow and pink in places. He grabbed the slave's head and pulled it towards him. The slave opened her mouth and took him in, trying not to gag or retch from the dank, earthy smell, the feel of that wretched slime on her tongue, and the taste of the girl's ass tinged with the coppery taste of blood. She bathed the cock with her saliva, letting it drool out from the corners of her mouth, trying not to swallow.

Satisfied, the man pulled his shrinking cock from the slave's mouth, and walked in to the bathroom. The stewardess lay in the same position, crying. The slave moved off the stewardess' body, picked up the napkin the girl had dropped earlier, and gently dabbed at the girl's gaping anus, leaking semen and blood. Finally, she spat in to the napkin to get rid of the foul taste in her mouth, and threw the napkin on to the trolley. She noticed that the bodyguard had opened the door and gone back in to the cabin.

"Are you okay?" the slave asked the girl, knowing how stupid it sounded. The stewardess had been raped and sodomized, and those words would be as helpful as a cigarette offered to a Hindenburg survivor at Lakehurst. "Get! Away! From me!" spat the stewardess venomously. The anger seemed to focus her, and she slid off the bed on to her feet, wincing in pain. She smoothed down her pale blue uniform skirt, adjusted her bra, and covered the tatters of her white blouse with the uniform jacket. The man they had called "the doctor" entered the room, probably prompted by the bodyguard. He looked at the stewardess, then pointed to the trolley and ordered, "come with me."

The stewardess meekly complied, seemingly relieved at having something to do after the horror that had just happened. As she pushed the trolley out of the door, her legs wide as she walked, the doctor steadied her. The slave wondered whether she should help, but decided these men would "have a protocol" for handling situations like this, which she suspected happened pretty frequently.

Several hours later, the plane landed. As she disembarked the aircraft, the slave saw the stewardess standing at the door, her clothes rumpled, but her face cleaned up, without make up. The stewardess glared at her with undisguised hate, and spat on her as she passed.

The slave didn't expect the girl to understand what she had done. The stewardess simply didn't understand that she was a disposable toy in a world where men could easily pay out a million euros to buy a sex slave, kidnapped from her previously sheltered life, and have her smuggled out of two countries without even a passport. If she hadn't intervened, the stewardess might have been seriously injured or even been killed. And in that event, there would have been a nice cover story created to conceal it - "Swedish stewardess dies in freak swimming accident on a tropical beach" would probably be how it would be reported. If the slave had tried to stop the man, with the bodyguard just a step behind her, they both might have ended up dead - and the death of the slave wouldn't have needed a cover story... Just an unmarked grave or a kilo of thermite would do the job.

The slave didn't expect the stewardess to understand, but she had saved the girl's life. She hoped the girl won't do anything stupid.

It was almost an year later when the slave saw the stewardess again, but the girl didn't even recognize her.

T minus 3 years, 3 months and 15 days (22 August 2016)
 

The rasping sound of the buzzer woke her up as the single fluorescent bulb flickered on. The bed creaked as she tossed the blanket aside and rolled to her side. The buzzer meant that it was 5:00 in the morning, and if she didn't hurry, the shower stalls would be full. She heard the creaking of the other bed. "Selamat pagi, Salleh," Suri called out in her sing-song voice.

"Selamat pagi," the slave answered drowsily, and proceeded to haul herself out of bed. Suri always called her "Salleh" - from "mat salleh", which means "pale skinned person" in Malay. The name given to the slave was Zaheera. The name had been given to her by the stern, beautiful woman who took custody of her when the guards had brought her from the airport to the palace.

It had been a short drive. After the prince had been driven off in a shining Rolls Royce Silver Phantom, escorted by four black Land Rovers, a small white paneled van had driven up to the plane and picked her up. She was seated in the windowless back of the van with two uniformed guards, and could only see the crowded, narrow, dusty streets through the front windshield. The crowded, traffic-choked streets had quickly given way to a wide road with no other vehicle on it. That road led to the palace.

The first thing that she saw were the tall white walls rising out of the dusty brown fields, shimmering in waves of boiling hot air. The walls were broken by a pair of huge black sheet metal gates, flanked by two guard houses, surrounded by sand bags. The van was waved in. As the gates opened, the stark contrast to the outside was astounding. A lush garden of green surrounded a huge, sprawling white building, built in a mix of styles, combining Moorish domes and minarets with European baroque, like a cross between the Hagia Sophia and the Residenzschloss Ludwigsburg. It was surrounded by four large mansions, a building that looked like an office, and a few other smaller buildings. Glinting far beyond the buildings was the ocean, with a brilliant white sand beach.

It was in the office building that the slave had been received by Madam Li, the woman who introduced herself as the "personnel director of this facility." Madam Li seemed too young to be holding such a position - the slave would have imagined a harem keeper to be a stern elderly butch woman with a crew cut. Madam Li was strikingly pretty, with long narrow eyes, high cheekbones of a pure-blooded Han Chinese, and thick straight black hair cut at the level of her shoulders with bangs covering her forehead down to her neatly shaped eyebrows, framing a porcelain-doll face with a small dainty nose and perfect lips. The kind of etheral beauty that would make other women feel insecure and irrationally jealous at the same time if they ever caught their boyfriends/husbands glancing at her.

Memories of that first meeting still made Zaheera blush. Madam Li had ordered her to strip, and stand on a wooden platform, and inspected her body as if she was a lab specimen, noting things down on an iPad, taking photos of her bruised vulva and breasts to complement the notes. Then, while she stood there naked, she had been subjected to a torrent of intimate questions in Madam Li's tight clipped emotionless voice about her health, her sexual experience before and after the abduction (instead of "abduction" though, Madam Li used the word "recruitment", as if all this was a job contract she had signed up for). When Madam Li came across the infinity symbol branded on the inner part of the slave's upper left thigh, she visibly stiffened - the only time during the interrogation that her cool composure changed. She asked the slave how she had got the brand, and the slave, not knowing how much she was allowed to disclose, and how far she could trust this woman, replied that the person who had trained her after recruitment had given her the mark. Madam Li didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but she didn't press it further. She did, however, take a couple of photos of the symbol using her mobile phone, although she didn't seem to document it on the iPad.

Afterwards, the slave was lead to a different room, where a wizened old Asian crone had measured practically every part of her body with a measuring tape, muttering to herself and not taking any notes at all. The measurements included even the length from her clit to the perineum, the width of each outer cunt lip, and how far each inner lip could be stretched. After the humiliating measurements, she was given clothes to wear, which didn't fit her well at all. They consisted of a short red batik blouse (similar to a bikini jacket), which was fastened in the front, and a length of cloth. The crone showed her how to wrap and secure the ankle length cloth around her waist, leaving her midriff bare. After she had got dressed, Madam Li gave her an approving smile, and informed her that henceforth, she will be called Zaheera.

For the first week, she was kept in a room in that building, and each morning she had "orientation" sessions. Some of these were done by Madam Li, who explained to her the structure of the harem. At the top of the food chain were the four proper wives of the prince, carrying the title Puteri (Princess, in Malay) - Aishah, Raqueema, Suleika, and Tasmia. Each of the princesses had their own residence, which were the four mansions in the compound. Aishah was the first wife, and the other three were by tradition, one step lower in the hierarchy to her. However, Madam Li confided in a conspiratorial tone, Suleika was the prince's favorite. Next came five concubines (with the title, Gundik) - Mayang, Nayla, Tatyana, Rachel, and Anca. The concubines were of foreign birth, and therefore, ineligible to be proper wives, but their children could carry the title prince. The concubines lived in the main building. Zaheera was to be a Pengiring (or, companion) to either a Puteri or a Gundik. Below her level were the servants.

During that week, she was taught the proper etiquette and forms of address by Madam Li, seductive dancing techniques by a young Chinese girl named Siew Ling, and massage techniques by the old crone, whose method of instruction consisted of demonstration, grunting, gesturing, and slapping when the student made a wrong move. That was how she was introduced to Suri, the Pengiring who was to become her room mate. Suri suffered through the sessions as the guinea pig for Zaheera's attempts at learning Malay massage. Several days later, she was informed that she will move in to the main building, with Suri as her room mate and guide. It was also on that day, that the Doctor, whom she met on the plane, injected her with Depo Provera, a long term contraceptive.

Each morning she and Suri had to report to the office building for lessons with the old crone. Zaheera had become quite good at the massage techniques, although at night her hands and shoulders ached from the practice. She envied Suri, who had to just lie there and be massaged.

"Today is special lesson, Salleh," winked Suri as they headed to the showers. "Madam Li teach you today."

"You won't be with me today?" asked Zaheera, with some concern in her voice. Although she didn't consider Suri as a friend (at least not yet), there was something comforting in knowing that this always-cheerful Malay girl was there with her. "Why? You miss me already, Salleh?", laughed Suri, casually tossing her night smock in to the laundry bin. Her large breasts bobbed as she picked up a shower kit from the counter and tossed one to Zaheera. The Pengiring didn't have any belongings - it was forbidden. They brushed teeth with disposable tooth brushes, and washed their hair with shampoo that came in single use sachets. Their towels and clothes were picked up from bins, and tossed in to laundry bins when done. The Pengiring were not allowed to wear bras, and panties were only allowed if they had some menstrual bleeding in spite of the contraceptive.

There were around 15 - 20 Pengiring, as far as Zaheera had been able to keep tabs. Every morning they showered in the communal shower, had breakfast of rice with a spicy beef or fish curry, and went to their assigned duties. Zaheera didn't have duties assigned to her yet, and Suri's duty was to be her guide. As they headed towards the office building, the fresh breeze blowing from the sea smelled invigorating.

Madam Li was waiting for them inside the instructions room.

To be continued...

T minus 3 years, 3 months and 15 days (22 August 2016)
 

Zaheera almost gasped in surprise.

Instead of her usual white blouse with grey pin-stripe jacket and skirt, Madam Li was dressed in an elegant burgundy off the shoulder dress that went down to her ankles, with high stiletto heels to match. Her perfectly shaped lips, which usually had only transparent lip gloss on them, were now neatly coloured to match her dress. The mascara and eye shadow accentuated her almond eyes and framed her delicate cheek bones making her look like that Chinese model from Estée Lauder that Zaheera couldn't remember the name of (well, not only was Liu Wen a difficult name for a westerner to remember, but she was already even forgetting that she used to have a different life). The transformation of Madam Li from a stern but pretty administrator to a beautiful seductress was breathtaking. How she had not been enlisted in to the harem itself was a mystery, as she looked more beautiful than the princesses and the concubines. Perhaps her business attire was a way to disguise her beauty.

The steely edge in her voice wasn't gone though. "So, I have been informed by Suri here that you think you are ready to fill the new vacancy in Gundik Rachel's entourage that just came up... well, you seem to be in a hurry to climb up, aren't you?"

Zaheera had had no such conversation with Suri, and neither did she even know that there was such a vacancy. She shot a questioning look at Suri, but the Malay girl was simply staring straight ahead, not even glancing in her direction.

"Well, in this case, you will be tested today, and if you pass, I will assign you to Gundik Rachel. If not, when Suri returns to barracks duty, you will go with her. Understood?"

Barracks duty was something assigned to Pengiring who didn't have the right skills or class to make it as part of an entourage. And it was exactly what the job title said - to entertain the guards and make sure that their sexual needs were fulfilled, so that they wouldn't be tempted to "taste the forbidden chicken", as the Malay saying went.

Zaheera hadn't known until now that Suri had been pulled from barracks duty to be her guide, and she still couldn't understand why the girl that she thought was her friend, had put her in this position. She had no idea what she was going to be tested on, and from the hint of irritation in Madam Li's voice, it was clear that she wouldn't have an easy time at it. However, she also instinctively felt that if she mentioned this now, it wouldn't end well for her, and neither for Suri.

"Come with me," commanded Madam Li, and glided gracefully on her stilettos towards a door on the side of the instructions room.

Behind the door was a very spacious, lavishly decorated bedroom, fit for a princess. A huge, gilded four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room. A sitting area with a Divan (an type of padded Malay couch with a padded, rounded arm on one side, and no arm on the other) crested with intricate gilded wood carvings, a tea table with a tea pot and Chinese tea cups, and a large wooden dresser occupied one side of the room, while the other side had tile floors, with a large white and gold enamel bath sitting on four guilded feet styled like lion paws.

"Welcome to my quarters," Madam Li said, her voice softening and acquiring a hint of pride at the look on Zaheera's face. "It's a privilege I get for having to train people like you on serving royalty." Her voice hardened again, as she pointed out, "A training, which you have not had the benefit of having."

"Now, imagine that I am the Gundik, and I am back from attending an official event. Help me relax. Do this well, and you will earn your place. If not, you will learn a lesson in the virtues of patience."

Zaheera was expecting something of this sort as soon as she had had a glance at the room, but that didn't mean she was prepared for it. She knew there was some sort of etiquette and services she was supposed to perform, but her training had not gotten to that stage yet.

Madam Li caught her deer-in-headlights look, and added in a quiet voice, "And the other two most important lessons - never to trust anyone here, and never to take the fall for someone else. You have no friends here. Remember that."

Zaheera's mind went in to overdrive. To hell with etiquette - what would a woman want when she comes back to her apartment, tired after a long evening?

She bowed to Madam Li with her right hand over her heart(that much she knew from the etiquette), and led her to the divan. Madam Li lay down on the divan, her head resting on the round padded arm and her feet at the armless side. Zaheera knelt down and removed Madam Li's high heels, and started massaging her feet. Madam Li sighed in pleasure and stretched lower on the couch. Matching her delicate porcelain doll face, her feet were small, dainty, exquisitely pedicured, and very soft to the touch - unlike Suri's rough feet, which Zaheera had practiced massaging on. It was almost a pleasure to run her fingers on such beautiful (yes, beautiful was the first word that popped in to her mind) and exquisite feet. Zaheera had of course heard about foot fetish, and it was only now that she could understand why some men felt so attracted towards them... hmm, maybe not only men.

When she felt Madam Li relaxing, Zaheera stood up, walked to the marble washbasin and washed her hands. She poured some jasmine tea from the tea pot in to a cup, and carried it to the couch. Kneeling at Madam Li's shoulder level, she presented the cup, holding it between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand and with her left palm supporting the bottom. She had seen that gesture before, when Suri had offered tea to the old crone who gave her massage lessons. Madam Li turned her head and sipped from the cup while Zaheera held it, in spite of the heat burning her fingers and palm. After a few sips, Madam Li nodded, and Zaheera, hiding her relief, quickly placed the cup back on the tea table. What should she do next? A bath - of course.

Zaheera quickly crossed the room to the bath. Although the bath itself and the fittings had a vintage look, instead of the usual taps, there was an electronic control panel, where the water temperature could be set. It confused her for a moment, as she didn't know which temperature it should be set at. Then she remembered that at the hot springs she used to visit, the Mineraltherme Boeblingen, her favourite hot pool had a sign saying "41 degrees". She turned the dial to 41 degrees, and pressed the button that showed a bath filling up. Immediately, the water started hissing through the spout.

Squatting at the head side of the divan, Zaheera started massaging Madam Li's shoulders and neck. Sliding her hands behind the back of the dress, she found the zipper and slowly pulled it down.

Zaheera's fingers glided under the shoulders of the unzipped dress and found the tense knots between Madam Li's shoulder blades. Like the old crone had taught her, she teased them out, feeling the satisfying crunch under her fingertips. Madam Li sighed, relaxing and closing her eyes, lulled by the sound of water burbling in to the bath tub. Zaheera could feel the weight of the woman's body relaxing down on to her arms. The movements of Zaheera's hands pushed the off-the-shoulder dress even lower, gliding the front of the dress smoothly off the woman's breasts.

Her breasts were small, but perfectly formed. The pale skin framed neatly circular milk-coffee coloured areolae, topped by tiny shy buds that hardly raised their heads above the tops of the mounds. Zaheera's hands moved from under the shoulder blades to the tops of the shoulders, around the neck, and between those exquisite breasts pressing down on the chest bone, eliciting another sigh from the woman. As she leaned forward, letting her fingers curve under the bottom of the breasts, avoiding touching the nipples, Zaheera's own breasts pressed up against the woman's head, cradling it against the softness.

The fingers circled the woman's breasts, kneading them but avoiding the nipples, following the Malayan Urut Jamu massage technique Zaheera had learned from the old crone, originally developed for post-natal care, but modified in the harem to tease and arouse. The teasing and arousal were definitely working, as the woman's breathing became shallower and tiny motions of her body tried to push those nipples on to the path of Zaheera's roaming fingertips, that were studiously trying to avoid them. The tiny buds hardened in to tiny sharp points as the arousal painted the pale nipples in a shade of blush pink. The dainty Asian porcelain-doll sighed again and relaxed in to the massage, with only the flutter of her closed eyelids and the beating of her heart against the chest betraying the nervous excitement she felt.

Teasing only works as long as you deprive the person of what they crave at the moment. So Zaheera deftly moved her hands back to the shoulders, gave them one final squeeze, and rested the woman's head back on the upholstered arm of the divan. Kneeling at the open side of the divan, she started rubbing the woman's feet, pressing on the pressure points as she had been taught, and, moving on to the Achilles tendon and calf muscles. The woman shifted her legs, bending her knees slightly, allowing Zaheera's hands to reach underneath and perform the painful but pleasurable squeezing. When the hands moved to the knees and pushed them apart, the woman complied, letting Zaheera push the hem of the elegant dress above the knees.

The fingers moved slowly up along the inner thighs, caressing, gently spreading the thighs apart, until they met at the point where feverishly warm flesh was covered only by sheer lace, and then the fingertips would traverse along the edge of the lace to the front of the thighs and begin their slow journey back to the knees. Each cycle increased the woman's rate of breathing, and each time the fingers met the lace, an almost involuntary thrust of the pelvis betrayed how aroused the woman was, just as how the increase in warm wetness seeping through the lace did.

A beeping from the bath tub indicated that the bath was ready. Leaving the woman's side, Zaheera walked over to the sideboard, tested the bath water and added rose-smelling bath salts from a crystal bowl. She helped the the woman rise up from the divan, letting the dress crumple down to her ankles. Kneeling in front of the woman, Zaheera slowly peeled down the black silk panties from the woman's hips, letting them join the dress on the floor, revealing a dark triangle of jet black straight pubic hair neatly trimmed on the sides and along the bikini line, the downward point of the triangle ending neatly at the cleft where the soft mound was split in half.

Almost unable to stop herself, Zaheera glided her hands on the woman's smooth skin from the ankles where the panties were lying in a heap, along the front of the calves, veering to the inside of the thighs the moment they climbed over the knees, then circled the woman's hips around, the palms coming to a rest cradling her pert buttocks. Not even thinking anymore, Zaheera pressed her face against the woman's crotch, the thick straight Asian pubic hair pricking her forehead, and inhaled deeply.

Madam Li smelled similar, but yet different from the only other woman Zaheera had known intimately in her life - her fellow captive at the cabin in the woods, the girl who called herself cumrag. Cumrag's cunt smelled of carbolic soap when it had been washed, but when not, it had a strong but alluring musky odour, with a light overtone of urine, and sometimes that wet bark smell of semen indicating that the men had used her. Madam Li's pussy smelled clean, with almost no discernible smell except a light musky tang that was different from cumrag's but just as alluring... maybe even more alluring.

Madam Li sighed as she opened her legs, knees slightly bent outwards, letting the Pengiring better access. Her hands grabbed the harem slave's head and pulled it tightly towards her crotch, pushing her sensitive clitoris against the kneeling woman's face. She was feeling extremely aroused from the massage, and humped herself on the western slut's face almost as if punishing her for awakening the dragon within.

From the time she was a teen, Li Xue Feng had been attracted to women - a desire she had kept well under control. The first person to awaken those feelings had been her cousin, several years her elder, who slept in the same bed as her in her parents' tiny apartment in Suzhou. Mei Zhen, whose name meant "beautiful pearl", had guided her sexual awakening with both passion and patience. After she had lost her beautiful pearl, Xue Feng had had several female lovers, along with some men, who couldn't arouse in her the same passion that a female body could. The men were just the cover story. When she was recruited in to her main job after completing her degree in foreign languages Shanghai, her recruiters knew about her "flexibility" and valued it instead of judging her - like her family did when they found out.

This assignment in this god-forsaken harem did help keep her away from unwanted attention from men, but she had up to now also kept away from the women. A dalliance with a titled woman could damage her neutrality in the fierce harem politics and put her position (and maybe even her life) at risk, and an affair with a harem slave could harm her position of authority. The harem was a veritable swamp of gossip, and one had to be always on guard.

But now, as she brutally mashed her clit against the slave's face, smearing the pale woman's nose, lips and chin with the secretions of her desire, all caution was thrown to the wind. A line had been crossed. After months of deprivation, Xue Feng let her desire take flight, and as she reached the peak of her climax, she whispered the name of her beloved, who had been taken from her, but never gone from her memories.

Later, as she stepped out from the relaxing bath in to the bathrobe the pengiring was holding out for her, Madam Li shot her a cold hard glance, and said, "Well, as I expected, you did everything wrong."

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This part took me the longest to write. I've been stuck here for months. I wanted to convey the interplay of complex emotions, and I wanted to experiment with using certain titles to express the complexity of Li Xue Feng's personality. I refer to her as Madam Li when she is authoritative and powerful, as "the woman" when she lays the mantle of authority aside and relaxes, and use her name when she is most vulnerable and alone. I also shift the point of view from Zaheera to Xue Feng and hopefully the transition was not too abrupt. Out of all the variants I tried, this seems the best, and this will form the cornerstone of what is to come.

Gundik Rachel was a Filipina, and at 19, she was the youngest of the concubines. Born out of wedlock to a single mother, she came from a background of poverty and misery, but had managed to study until junior high school, when her mother's finances mysteriously dried up, and she couldn't afford to study anymore. That was when she had got the first break in life - at 15 years old she was crowned Miss Cebu at a local fashion contest. Rachel was tall for a Filipina, had very fair and unblemished skin (unlike most Cebuanas), and had a rare, delicate, highly coveted Mestiza look. It was rumoured in the village that her mother had been impregnated by the American manager of the resort in Bohol where she worked as a masseuse, and it was around the time that the manager met an untimely death in a boating accident that her mother's finances dried up, lending credence to the rumour.

"Just after the pageant I got a call from the organizer, saying a foreign official wanted to meet me," said Rachel with just a barely perceptible hint of regret in her voice, sipping her iced watermelon juice. Her P and F defect made the word "foreign" sound "poreign", and, coupled with the sing-song way of Filipino speech, Zaheera found it adorable. The official turned out to be an associate of the prince, assigned as a cultural attache at the embassy. Rachel was offered a large sum of money to make an appearance at an event in the country, and the amount was far more than what her mother would make in a year.

Zaheera could already imagine how this story would go. The naive young girl would have been easy to manipulate. She was amazed that Gundik Rachel had come to trust her enough within the short time she had been in her service, to even open up to her about this. It had only been three short weeks since she moved in to Gundik Rachel's apartments in the main building. Maybe Rachel simply trusted her because she wasn't Asian. Or maybe she was simply tired of holding everything in, and wanted a friend to confide in. Zaheera had come to like this very young, down-to-earth woman... which made what she was doing behind Rachel's back all the more reprehensible.

"Well, as I expected, you did everything wrong," Madam Li had said, after the test, which Zaheera had thought she had aced. "For one, you never touch the Gundik without her permission. The preparation of the bath was wrong, and you didn't check the temperature of the tea... among many other things." Zaheera's heart had sunk - not because she had feared the barracks duty (after all, after what she had gone through, how much lower could she sink), but due to that ingrained German fear of failure. That was when Madam Li had given her an alternative (well, not so much an alternative, but more an imperative - consequences for refusing could have been extreme) - Zaheera would be given the position, and given a crash course in what she needed to know. However, she was to report back to Madam Li anything and everything she heard or saw in the Gundik's company. "If you ever breathe a word of this arrangement to anyone, or keep information from me, I will personally make sure that your downfall will be quick and painful," Madam Li had added, the threat being almost redundant due to the sheer imbalance of power. Zaheera had dutifully reported back to Madam Li every few days, giving a full account of whom the Gundik met with, what she did and talked about... which was mostly boring and monotonous. Zaheera could not understand what secrets Madam Li was looking for, from the most junior of the Gundiks.

"I was so excited to get that opportunity. It was like a dream come true. I thanked God for giving me that break. I thought I was going to be famous, traveling the world, and getting enough money to build a nice house for my mother," continued Rachel, staring off to the distance. "I never expected it would end up in something like this."

Rachel had to get her ID and her passport done, and the foreign dignitary sent her money to get the paperwork done (and for the bribes to get things expedited), and to fly to Manila to board the first international flight of her life. She was flown first class - something she had never imagined in her life before. As soon as the flight landed, she was whisked off in a luxurious limousine, and was brought to the palace on the beach.

The purpose of her trip, the "event", was never well defined, and to the inexperienced 15-year old, it had never occurred to ask or get anything in writing. Not that it would have changed anything.

Damn! You are GOOD! One of the best writers on here. I am enjoying it immensely. Been binge reading, I can't get enough.

Thanks for the encouragement. I will try to post more frequently, but sometimes real life gets in the way.

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Rachel had been whisked in to the main building by the black suited men who met the limousine. She had been tired, excited, confused, and scared, and none of the men bothered to tell her what is going on, or answer her questions about where they were taking her. She had been brought in to a spacious room with elegant furniture, asked to take a seat in a luxurious chair upholstered in crimson satin, and told to "wait here."

After a short while a woman had come in carrying a tray full of Malay sweets and a silver pot of tea with matching cups. Wordlessly, she had poured a cup of tea for Rachel, bowed with her right hand on her chest, and left. The woman had been pretty, and unlike the women Rachel had seen on the streets on the way from the airport, who were dressed in black niqabs, this woman was dressed in a tight short sleeved batik blouse and a skirt made of knee length cloth wrapped around her waist - a very sexy take on the Malay Baju Kurung. Rachel had been shocked to notice that the woman apparently wasn't wearing a bra, and that her nipples were clearly outlined against the thin fabric tightly clinging to her breasts.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened and a beautiful Chinese woman had walked in, dressed in a smart business suit with jacket, white blouse and pencil skirt. She had introduced herself as Madam Li, the personnel director of "this establishment", and had taken a seat opposite Rachel, neatly crossing her legs.

What followed was called an "interview" by Madam Li, but turned out to be almost a three hour long interrogation. Rachel had been asked about every single aspect of her life - her childhood, her health and childhood diseases, her mother and relatives, her school and friends, her sex life, her menstruation. Rachel had been reluctant to discuss the private details of her life, but Madam Li had been very persistent in her soft, melodic voice, coming back repeatedly to certain points where Rachel had been evasive, until she got the answers that she wanted. It wasn't very long before the innocent 15 year old gave up resisting.

Even though she had been brought up in a conservative society, Rachel hadn't been totally naive about sex. She had often seen her mother naked (there wasn't much privacy in the one bedroom annex they rented) so she knew what the body of a mature woman looked like, and there was that perverted old man on the way to school who would sit on a plastic chair in his baggy shorts outside his hut, so that his genitals were visible through the leg holes to the preteen school girls passing by. Before her second boyfriend, a penis in Rachel's imagination was formed by the glimpses of that old man's circumcised, thick, sausage-like appendage.

The first "boyfriend" had been at the age of 10, and there had been nothing sexual about it. The second had been when she was 13, and she had been very proud to catch the interest of a 17 year old senior in the school. She was already well developed for her age, and a lot of her friends were already jealous of her breasts. Rachel had been flattered that the older boy was giving her attention, even though many girls in his age were openly flirting with him. She had had her first French kiss with him, his hands had been the first to touch her breasts. On the evening of the day before he left for a better high school in Cebu City, they had kissed inside an old shed behind the school. He had taken off her school uniform and his own clothes. When he struggled with the clasp of her bra (she was the only girl in her class to wear a bra, and she was already a B cup), she helped him with it and took it off. He had then kissed her nipples and sucked on them. It had given her a ticklish but pleasurable feeling, accompanied by fear, shame, and happiness. Seeing him suckling like a child on her breasts made her feel almost maternal and protective towards him, and she hadn't wanted him to stop. She had stopped him when he wanted to put his hand inside her boy shorts printed with hearts and tiny ducks holding umbrellas, but let him rub crotch of her underwear. She had held his rigid penis in her hand, and let him guide her hand in making it harder, until he groaned and the warm, sticky, white liquid liquid spurted on to her breasts and body. She was disgusted, thinking that he was peeing on her, and then realized that it wasn't pee at all. On the way home, she had felt the uncomfortable, cold, clammy wetness in the crotch of her boy shorts, and at home when she took it off, she had seen the large wet patch. She had initially thought that she had peed herself, but the wetness didn't smell like pee, and had a slippery feel to it, and had turned in to a whitish residue when it dried. It had been her first and only experience with him. After he started with the new school, his texts had become less and less frequent, until they simply stopped.

Madam Li had been dutifully noting down each detail, without any show of emotion or judgement. That clinical detachment, and the relentless questioning while refusing to take no for an answer, broke down any defenses the 15-year old had. Rachel answered every question in detail, just to make it stop. She had told Madam Li about the abuse she had suffered during the beauty pageant, where the producer hand put his hand up her dress backstage, and the stage hands and camera crews groped the girls' butts and breasts and made lewd comments. She also related the account of how one of the judges came in to the dressing room, ordered her to follow him to a storage room, where he made her kneel in front of him and forced her to take his penis in her mouth, promising her that he would vote for her. The man had ejaculated in her mouth and ordered her to swallow the foul tasting liquid. Rachel had complied. After all, what choice did she have?

Finally, Madam Li had smiled and risen from her seat, and wished Rachel a pleasant stay at "this establishment." The ordeal was finally over. As soon as Madam Li had left the room, the woman who had brought in the tea had come in and announced that the bath was ready.

It had been only the second time Rachel had had a bath in a bathtub. The first was when she was around 10 years old, when after a strong typhoon, their area had been flooded, and the manager of the resort in Bohol where her mother worked (the man rumoured to be her father), had allowed them to stay for a week in one of the rooms in the resort until the waters receded. In spite of the loss of some of their belongings, that had been the happiest time of her life.

She had been brought in to a suite, where the bathroom was bigger than the annexe where she lived with her mother. Her luggage was already in the suite. The sexily dressed woman who brought her there had not left, as Rachel expected. Instead, she started unbuttoning Rachel's blouse. The unsophisticated, 15 year old girl from a provincial village in the Philippines had not expected to be undressed by a woman, and had tried to indicate in stuttering English and gestures that she could do it herself. The woman had obviously misunderstood her, bowed, and started removing her own clothes. The batik blouse and the wraparound cloth were on the ground in seconds, before Rachel could clarify, and the woman had stood naked in front of her. The woman had large but firm breasts with small brown areolae and small but protruding nipples that had been visible through the blouse. She wasn't "slim" in a beauty pageant sense, and had curves in the right places.

Rachel had also noticed with some embarrassment that the woman was clean shaven. The small mound between the tops of her thighs didn't even show a trace of stubble, and the sides of the slit running down from the dimple was completely hair free. It wasn't that Rachel hadn't seen a clean shaven woman before - her mother had shaved whenever she had to leave for night shift at the resort, and she had seen in the changing room that some of the girls at the beauty pageant were clean shaven. Rachel's own pudendum had been covered in a triangular mat of curly black hair, just neatly trimmed to avoid any hair showing during the swimsuit competition (her mother didn't think she was old enough to start shaving). She was embarrassed because some of the other contestants (mostly those girls from Cebu City) had made fun of her ("Oh look, the jungle girl brought the jungle with her").

The woman had wordlessly undressed Rachel, who had been too embarrassed, and too out of her depth to protest. After the woman had knelt in front of Rachel and removed her panties, she had asked in heavily accented English, "Madam want toilet?"

Embarrassed again, Rachel had nodded. She hadn't peed since she had been to the first class toilet on the flight (where she had stuffed the bottle of lavender scented hand lotion in to her bag, hoping no one would notice). All the tea she had drunk during her three hour interview/interrogation had now made its way to her bladder and was making its presence felt.

The toilet that the woman gestured towards was nothing like Rachel had ever seen. instead of a straight seat and straight back of the European style toilets, the seat of this toilet was angled back, towards a white leather padded sloping back rest. The bowl itself was an elongated oval with foot rests on either side. The woman showed her how to get on to the seat and lean back. Rachel had been acutely aware how in this position her intimate areas were spread open and on full display, and the presence of the woman had made it difficult to get her sphincter to relax. Of course, as a girl growing up in a small village, she had often peed on the side of the road with her friends on the long walk home from school. Sometimes a three-wheeler or a jeepny would unexpectedly drive by, and often the driver or passengers would whistle and cat-call. But this was different, because the woman was expectantly looking on, as if Rachel emptying her bladder was the most important thing in the world. Rachel closed her eyes, and eventually a small warm trickle issued from between her legs, strengthening to a hissing stream as her bladder sighed with relief.

What happened next was not something she had expected. As Rachel had been squeezing out the last drops, the woman picked up what looked like a silver teapot with a long straight spout from a sideboard. Kneeling in front of the toilet bowl between Rachel's spread legs, the woman poured lukewarm rosewater from the pot on to Rachel's pussy, while the fingers of her other hand washed every nook and cranny, after which she dried it carefully with a soft linen towel.

"I was shocked when she touched me like that, but it actually felt good," smiled Rachel mischievously as she took another sip. "It felt like that time when long ago Manoy was touching my panties between the legs, but even nicer." She gave Zaheera a serious look, then burst out laughing. "Now I like it when you do it too," she giggled uncontrollably. Zaheera smiled, and nodded, still wondering why the Gundik was taking her in to confidence on all this.

When Rachel had tried to get out of the strange toilet, the woman had motioned her to remain. She fetched a pair of blunt nosed scissors and started carefully trimming Rachel's bush, until only a triangle of stubble remained. Then she fetched a can of shaving gel and a feminine razor and carefully shaved the stubble away, moving her way down to Rachel's labia, and even making sure that the space around her anus was hair free. She had then washed the hair free mound with rose water again, dried it again, and then helped Rachel stand and walk to the bath.

The bath was exactly the right temperature, and covered with rose petals. The woman had scrubbed Rachel's skin with a peeling glove, making sure that every inch of her skin, including her breasts, were smooth and exfoliated. After the bath, the woman had asked Rachel to lay down on a low massage table, and massaged her with warm rose-scented oil that seeped in to her skin and didn't leave an oily trace. Rachel had never even dreamed of such decadent luxury in her life.

Rachel's tone suddenly changed. "It was like a fairy tale, you know, like being a princess for a day. I was scared, shy, and so happy... but then the night came."

I was overjoyed to see another installment and even happier after reading it. Love your work. Keep them coming. Please!

Thanks :). Here's a short installment. Either I stop at this cliff hanger, or spend a week or so writing up to the next...

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The bed had been a huge four poster bed, a veritable bed for a princess, with sheer white curtains hanging down from a blue satin canopy and the most comfortable mattress that Rachel had ever slept in until then. The woman had brought her dinner in the sitting/dining area of the suite, which Rachel had eaten dressed only in bra and panties under a pink bathrobe. After clearing the dishes (which simply involved placing them outside the main door to be collected), the woman and announced that she would be sleeping on a mattress that she unrolled at the foot of the bed, in case Rachel needed her. Even at home Rachel had mostly slept with her mother in the same room and same bed (except when her mother was on "night duty" of course), and the thought of sleeping alone in a strange place had scared her. She was happy that the woman had offered to sleep in the same room.

After a brief WhatsApp call with her mother, gushing about the luxury she is experiencing (leaving out the interrogation and the little details about the toilet and the shaving of her pubic hair), Rachel was ready for bed. She took out the pink Hello Kitty pajamas she had bought for this trip, but the woman took out a beautiful white silk nightie from a closet and insisted that she wear it. "For first night must be very pretty", the woman had said, with the true meaning of the first three words escaping Rachel, as she assumed that they referred to the first night of her stay here. At home, Rachel had usually slept with her bra and panties under her pajamas as her mother did. The nightie didn't have room for a bra, and it had been a new experience for Rachel to feel the incredibly soft material of the nightie rubbing against her nipples.

She had been almost falling asleep in the dimmed light when the sound of fists thudding against the main door startled Rachel awake. The woman had immediately got up from her mattress and padded to the door. A softly spoken question had been answered by a terse male voice from outside the door, and Rachel heard the lock click open. Click of leather shoes and thud of heavy boots followed.

The woman scuttled back in to the suite bedroom, walking backwards. She had been sleeping naked, and had sprinted to the door without bothering to cover herself up. She had bowed as a small, thin Asian man with a pencil mustache had walked in. Rachel had immediately recognized him from the large portrait that was hanging in the room where she had been "interviewed." Madam Li had noticed her looking at that portrait, and had introduced the man as "The prince, your benefactor. You'll meet him soon."

Rachel had thought that she might have an audience with him (a prince!) in the coming days, but had never expected the man to walk in to her bedroom in the middle of the night. The naive 15-year old had pulled the covers up to her neck as she sat up on the bed, keenly aware of how the sheer silk nighty exposed her to the world.

The heavy boots belonged to a tall muscular man in uniform, with a rifle slung across his shoulder. He looked in to the room, walked across and opened the bathroom door and checked inside, and when he was finally satisfied, bowed to the prince, walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

The prince flashed her a toothy smile and barked an order at the naked woman, who rushed to him, took his jacket, and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. Rachel had still been trying to process the unexpected visit and the question of why the woman would run around naked in front of the prince had not yet had a chance to register in her brain.

"It only started registering when she started unbuttoning his shirt," recounted Rachel, nursing her iced tea. "That's when I got really scared. I was 15 then, but that didn't mean I grew up in a convent. But still, I thought that maybe the two of them are going to fuck and just make me watch, or something."

The woman had knelt in front of the prince, carefully removed his shoes, pants, and underwear, and had taken his limp cock in her mouth, while Rachel still sat on the bed, frozen like a deer in the headlights. The prince had grinned at Rachel, grabbed the woman's head by her hair and had started moving her head rapidly up and down his slowly hardening cock. Rachel had looked on, unable to tear her eyes off this frightening, repulsive, but strangely fascinating spectacle unfolding before her. It had been a surreal feeling, as if she was in a weird fever dream.

The woman started making choking and retching sounds as the prince used her brutally. Rachel had heard about oral sex, and one of her friends, Malou, who was known to be the class slut, had boasted that she had sucked the cocks of several boys. However, what she had described had been very different. Entirely different. In how she had said it, the boy would lie down, and she would hold the cock in her hand, lick the tip like a lollipop (they had been licking Chupa Chups when they were talking about it, and that had made Rachel blush), and take just the tip in her mouth and suck it. There was no mention of the boys shoving their thing in her throat until she gagged while kneeling in front of them. Maybe Malou had just been making shit up.

The prince suddenly pushed the woman away, and his erect cock stood pulsing, covered in shiny strands of saliva. He smiled at Rachel and started slowly walking towards her bed, his throbbing member leading the way like a purple headed arrow aimed at an innocent young fawn. Frightened, Rachel started backing towards the other edge of the bed, never taking her eyes off the man. As she wriggled backwards across the bed, tightly clutching the sheet shielding her modesty, she suddenly backed in to a soft, warm barrier. Turning her head, she was startled to see that the woman had in the meantime got on to the bed from the other side, trapping her, and preventing her escape.

Not that there was anywhere to run, of course.

Loving it! You are good!

Thank you. Encouragement is always appreciated. It gives me motivation, knowing there are other people other than my slutty little Brexit refugee at home, who read this. Not that I wouldn't write this just for her - it's a "labor of love", after all, hahaha.
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As Rachel had looked around in panic, the prince had climbed on to the bed from the other side. Now she was trapped between the man and the woman, both naked, all three of them sitting propped up against the fluffy pillows.

"That's when I realized that I have no choice... Like that time when the beauty show judge took me to that storage room. People with power - they can do anything. People like me - we... we never have a choice... right?" Rachel's voice faltered, betraying her emotions. "So I had to... just let it happen."

The woman had gently but firmly tugged away the bed covers Rachel had been gripping, leaving her in the sleeveless silk nightie that barely covered anything below her hips, letting the prince ravish his latest conquest with his eyes. But of course he hadn't been content with just roving over her body with his eyes. Licking his lips, his eyes gleaming, his hands reached out to his latest posession. Rachel had flinched as the prince's hand squeezed her breast and would have instinctively backed away, had the woman not been trapping her in position with her body. The prince's other hand stroked the frightened 15 year old's thigh. Impatiently, he had barked an order to the woman, and she reached for the shoulder straps of the nightie and pulled them down to Rachel's upper arms. The prince had yanked the front of the nightie down, and Rachel's breasts spilled in to view, heaving with the sobbing breaths the girl was now taking. Enjoying the unfettered access, the prince had mauled her breasts so hard that the bruises had taken a week to go away.

Following the prince's next order, the woman had leaned across the sitting girl's lap, her breasts pressing against Rachel's thighs and had taken the prince's cock back in her mouth. "The weird thing is, that made me sort of jealous... you know. I didn't know whether he wanted me or her. I think if he had just fucked her and not done anything to me, I might have been even disappointed - as if I am not worthy or something. There was some serious mind fucking I was doing to my own mind at that moment," Rachel commented, following up with a mirthless laugh.

Rachel had been pressing her thighs together tightly to prevent the prince's hand from getting between them. Now with the woman's breasts resting on her thighs, the prince's hand had other distractions it could enjoy at the same time. Without even thinking about it, Rachel's thighs had relaxed, following the innate narcissistic instincts buried deep inside every woman's brain, that make women want to be a man's centre of attention, keeping him focused only on them, especially when competition was around. Prince's fingers took advantage of the new found access, abandoning the woman's breasts and reaching Rachel's most intimate area, protected only by the soft cotton of her panties. His rough fumbling was uncomfortable and was nowhere as pleasurable as what Rachel had experienced a couple of years ago with her second boyfriend, where she had come home with a large wet patch on the crotch of her panties.

After a few minutes the prince had pushed the woman away and slipped from a sitting position to lying on his back on the bed, and waited expectantly. The woman gestured to Rachel that she should now take over the servicing of the cock with her mouth. With firm pressure, the woman had made Rachel lean over, so that her mouth was in line with the erect cock. Rachel had hesitated... the cock was wet with the woman's saliva. She had looked around for something to wipe it with, and at that point the prince had lost patience. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he had forced Rachel's mouth on to his cock. Rachel had obediently opened her mouth and taken it in. The prince's cock had been far larger than that of the pageant judge, which, up to now, had been the only cock that had been in Rachel's mouth. The judge's cock had been the typical tiny Filipino cock, and had barely managed to fill half her mouth. This one had stretched her jaws open. The prince impatiently pushed her head down on his cock, forcing her to take far more than she could handle. Rachel had at that moment understood how the woman had felt just minutes ago when she had been on her knees servicing this rod. Tears streaming down her face, Rachel had gagged, and had fought to keep her dinner where it belonged. Mercifully, the prince pushed her off his cock after a few thrusts, as if knowing that she was not yet ready to be pushed too far... or maybe it was because she hadn't known yet how to keep her teeth away from the cock that she was servicing.

"Of course, now I am doing my exercises, so I am much better at it now," Rachel said, referring to one of the trainings that Zaheera helped her with daily, where Rachel practiced oral on large latex dildos. "I am just glad I didn't puke then." The other trainings included kegel exercises, body toning exercises, and breast massage to promote breast enlargement and milk production (which Zaheera was also obliged to do on her own self, as she had been doing since her time in the cabin in the woods).

The prince had uttered another command to the woman, and she made Rachel lie on her back, lifted up her nightie and pulled off the panties in one smooth movement. Then, in a move that had taken Rachel completely by surprise, the woman had spread Rachel's legs and given a quick, very wet lick on Rachel's pussy. That earned her a thundering slap from the prince and a sharp rebuke. "I was so shocked that she did that. I seemed so perverse to me at the time that a girl should lick another girl's pussy, and I was glad she got slapped. It was only later that I understood that she was probably trying to help me - with her saliva she probably made my suffering a little bit less. And she got in trouble because of that."

When the prince had spread her thighs apart and positioned himself, Rachel knew what was about to happen. "Please... please...Sir, I am a virgin," she had managed to croak out between sobs. The prince had replied with a smirk and uttered the only English words he had spoken that evening, delivered with a perfect upper class British accent as routinely heard around the halls of Eaton - "Yes, I know."

"It was my first time, but it was not how I had imagined it would happen," continued Rachel pensively. "It was no fairy tale, but it was in a palace, and I gave my virginity to a prince, at least... How many girls could say that, right?"

The engorged head of the prince's cock had pressed hard against her unused entrance. In the end, the dab of saliva the woman had gifted her with hadn't helped much. All it had done had been to make the cock slip off and go sliding over her clit, making her gasp from the unaccustomed sensation. The prince had tried again, but the tightness of her 15 year old virgin entrance still resisted his invasion. The woman had then put her hands behind Rachel's knees and bent her legs at the hips, pulling the knees almost to Rachel's shoulders, making her lower lips blossom open to accept the old man's cock. Her virgin hole was revealed to the prince's gaze, protected only by a thin, pinkish white curtain of tissue with a small opening in the middle that was only meant to let her menses flow out and definitely not big enough to allow in a ravaging cock. The prince's third attempt was a resounding success.

The prince had positioned his cock again at the entrance to her virgin hole and pushed in hard with a grunt. Rachel had felt herself being stretched open by something that felt gigantic, which at first felt uncomfortable, but not painful. Then the thing invading her stopped for a moment, and she had felt it pushing against something in her body, and then the pain began to start. It felt like someone was pinching the sensitive skin inside her and twisting it hard. She had bitten her lip and mewled, but neither the woman nor the old man had paid any heed. The pinching sensation intensified, until suddenly a sharp tearing pain ripped through her, followed immediately by the very uncomfortable feeling of being stretched and filled with something hard and huge deep inside her. Rachel's yell of pain and surprise only brought a smile to the face of the old man who had just taken the virginity that she had been preserving for marriage.

With pushes and grunts, the man had shoved himself further and further in to her, ignoring the young girl's sobs. Her pitiful entreaties born out of pain and fear - "please Sir... please... stop... it-it hurts" - had not been not deemed worthy of royal mercy. With each push, Rachel had felt the massive thing inside her moving further up than she had ever thought possible, creating pressure against her bladder, and giving the impression of organs moving inside her abdomen to make space. With each thrust of the old man's hips, she had expected that he would rip her open inside. With the woman holding her legs spread open, Rachel had been helpless to prevent the relentless invasion, and her hands pushing against the man's chest had not had any effect on the assault. The intrusion had continued until she could feel his balls resting on the space between her pussy and anus. When he finally stopped pushing himself inside her, she felt a feeling of relief washing over her, even through the dull pain in her lower abdomen due to the massive thing thrust inside her, that felt somewhat like period pain in between spasms.

That relief had faded when the man grunted again and started pulling himself out. Pain had flared up at her ruptured hymen as if someone was dragging a finger across a wound, and feeling of the huge lump inside her moving out seemed just as uncomfortable as it was when it pushed itself in. The man had slowly pulled himself almost out of her, before he rapidly and brutally thrust it back all the way in. Rachel's yelp of pain was probably audible to the guard standing outside the door.

The old man had repeated the rhythm, pulling slowly out and then thrusting brutally in to his possession, with no regard to her cries of pain, begging, or sobbing. As her body slowly adjusted to this new and unfamiliar form of abuse, the pain slowly gave way to a mild, not too intolerable discomfort. When the woman let go of her knees, Rachel had dutifully held the position, letting the prince use his new, young, and freshly deflowered toy in the way he wished. When the woman had slipped her hand between them and started massaging Rachel's pubic mound in-between the thrusts, the discomfort faded away completely, and a warm, pleasurable sensation began to spread from her loins upwards. It was at that point that the old man had suddenly grunted and thrust savagely in to her, keeping his cock buried deep inside her.

Rachel had felt a strange, warm sensation flowing inside her as the man held his position. When he finally pulled his cock out of her, it hadn't felt that big or hard anymore, and it had been coated in some icky pinkish and clear slime-like substance that trailed viscous strings from her opening. Rachel had immediately felt embarrassed, thinking that she was having a discharge, before it struck her what it really was - it was semen, like what had come out of her boyfriend's dick when she had stroked it inside that shed near the school... and it was tinged pink with her blood. Her mother had told her that a good virgin bleeds for her husband, and it had comforted Rachel to know that in spite of what she had done with her boyfriend, that she had remained a good virgin.

The woman's mouth had immediately engulfed the prince's cock, and it had revolted Rachel to think what had remained in the woman's mouth as she watched it emerge clean. The woman had smiled at her and swallowed, as the prince got out of bed without a second glance at either of them. Rachel had laid on the bed, staring at the blue satin canopy, her mind in a blank fugue, as the woman fussed around the prince, helping him dress. Rachel had hardly been aware of the click of the leather shoes and the sound of the door closing. It was only when the woman had started gently cleaning her with cotton pads soaked in rose water that Rachel had began to cry.

"I thought you were happy here, Madam," ventured Zaheera cautiously. Rachel appeared to trust her, and she didn't seem like someone who would take offense easily, but this was dangerous ground in the politics-laden harem, where wives and concubines routinely plotted against each other.

"Oh, I am happy here," replied Rachel quickly, in a defensive tone that indicated that she was anything but. "The prince sends an allowance to my mom monthly, and he gifted her a little house with a garden in Cebu. And I am living in luxury here. That's more than I could have hoped for in my life." After a sigh, she added, "I just wish that he visited me more frequently. I hear he spends quite a lot of time with that... princess Suleika lately. I wonder what she does with him that he likes so much. I mean, I am sure I can do the same. I can learn."

When Zaheera didn't rise to the obvious bait, Rachel pressed the point. "Maybe you could ask the Pengiring that attend to her... I would really like to know what she has on him." After a pause, she added, "If you can help me, I will do what I can to put in a good word for you with that dragon woman... And I always treat you nice, right? Like a friend and not like a servant."

Zaheera could now understand why the Gundik had taken her in to confidence. It was to build a level of trust, so that she could ask Zaheera to spy on the princess. Even at this very young age, Rachel had the street smarts and survival instincts that Zaheera was only now beginning to develop. A concubine had no official stature, and the life they enjoyed could evaporate in an instant if they failed to please. Rachel, of course, would know that she could never aspire to the status of a wife, but being a favoured concubine could give her more security.

Knowing that she couldn't refuse, Zaheera nodded. As Rachel had remarked before, those who don't have power have no choice. In a way she was relieved that Rachel had made her intentions known upfront. After listening to the young concubine's story, Zaheera had almost felt as if she were a friend. But the request (order) that followed immediately after re-affirmed what Madam Li had told her - that there were no friends in this place.

That evening, instead of returning to her sleeping cell in the lower levels, Zaheera made her way to the office building. There weren't any checks on whether a Pengiring returned to their cells to sleep, as the concubines or princesses they serve would sometimes order them to stay overnight in their residences. They didn't even have permanent assigned cells (in the same way they weren't allowed to have possessions). They were assigned to rooms after dinner, and even the room mate for the night was assigned - unless they had someone they were training/guiding.

The door to the instructions room was unlocked, as always. Zaheera knocked softly at the door at the end of the room, and heard the rustle of clothes and the padding of feet within. The door opened, and the voice of Madam Li sounded surprised, "Why are you here today? You are supposed to report to me on Thursdays."

Zaheera had reported back to Madam Li twice before, and both at the appointed time on Thursdays, and Madam Li had always been prepared - in her business suit, with her trusty tablet and stylus. It was apparent that this time Zaheera had caught her unprepared. Madam Li was dressed only in a short white silken robe that she was holding closed with one hand, without her make up, and her face was somewhat flushed. "I am very sorry Madam. But you told me if there was something very important, that I should come to you immediately," answered Zaheera, staring at her feet. Madam Li cast a furtive glance in to her apartment, then held the door open. "Alright, then come in quick."

As she passed through the door being held open by Madam Li, Zaheera could smell the soap on her freshly showered skin, that evoked memories of that morning when she had unsuccessfully attempted the test. That had been her last sexual encounter. Contrary to what she had thought, life in the harem hasn't been a non-stop debauchery... well, at least not so far. Rachel was obviously not leaning bisexual, and had not used Zaheera for anything other than her personal errands and the twice daily breast massages for inducing breast growth and lactation.

The dimly lit room was refreshingly cool, and the air-conditioner responsible for that was humming softly. Madam Li padded over to the divan and sat down at the end with the arm. The other side of the divan was covered with a haphazardly thrown blanket, on which rested her tablet, screen side down. She had obviously been resting covered by the blanket looking at something on the tablet when Zaheera had knocked. As Zaheera squatted down on the floor at Madam Li's feet, something peeking out from under the folds of the blanket caught her eye, only visible from that angle. In spite of her fear of this petite but formidable Asian woman, Zaheera felt a moment of warmness towards her, knowing that she was a woman after all, as much a prisoner here as Zaheera was, in some sense, all alone in this place with her own intimate needs, which only that tiny pink vibrator hurriedly hidden under the blanket could satisfy.

"So, what is it that is so urgent?"

As Zaheera began recounting her long conversation with Gundik Rachel, Madam Li instinctively reached out to the tablet where she usually made notes, but stopped herself. It was obvious that whatever was currently displayed on the screen was something Madam Li didn't want her to see, and in combination with the vibrator that she had glimpsed, Zaheera could guess what it probably was.

"So, Rachel wants you to spy on the prince and princess Suleika... Do you know what could happen to you if the princess finds out that you even talked about this?"

Zaheera nodded. No, it wasn't that she knew exactly, but it was not that hard to guess. Madam Li was implying that if Zaheera had any brains, her best option would be to go to princess Suleika and rat out Rachel... but she simply couldn't. Yes, there were no friends here, but she was no sociopath - she couldn't simply just trade off people for her own benefit.

Madam Li's frown deepened as the silence grew. This stupid white bitch might get them both in trouble. If this woman were tortured, she would blurt out everything, and even at this point, it would get Madam Li in trouble - well, at least necessitate a hasty departure via emergency channels, which would be detrimental to her career in the long run. It may have been a mistake to trust this naive white woman, but that first sexual encounter in a long time had weakened her defenses at the time... and she needed a way to get more information on certain things, and a slave would have more access to those details than an administrator would. Yes, this would be a risk, but on the other hand - the information that Rachel wanted this woman to find out might also be valuable to her and the people she reported to.

"As you know, I can't be any part of this," stated Madam Li flatly. "My advice to you would be to forget that this conversation ever happened, and also forget the conversation you had with Gundik Rachel." She paused, and added with emphasis,"Do you understand?"

Zaheera nodded. She had half expected this.

"Oh, and by the way, " continued Madam Li, "I am planning to do some staff rotations for the junior Pengiring, so that they can learn from the more senior ones. As of next Sunday, I am assigning you to the staff of Princess Suleika, and moving one of her staff to Gundik Rachel. You will be with the Princess for a week. Learn well. I know that the prince will be visiting her in the middle of next week, so it would be a good opportunity for you to gain experience. Until I announce this, you have no knowledge of this change, do you understand?"

A wave of relief spread through Zaheera as she began to understand the meaning behind the words. With this swap, any information leak would have another potential culprit - the harem slave from the princess's staff joining Rachel's (who might have gossiped while serving Rachel). At the same time, it would also give a chance for the princess to spy on Rachel, if she so desired, leveling the playing field. Madam Li, of course, would stay neutral and above suspicion.

"Is there anything else?" questioned Madam Li, in a tone that suggested that it was time for Zaheera to leave. As soon as Zaheera left, would Madam Li continue what she had been doing, with the vibrator hidden under the blanket? Or had this discussion killed her mood? Zaheera felt guilty for disturbing the woman's private pleasure, but the deed had already been done.

"I could give you a massage," the words escaped her lips before Zaheera could stop them. Images of Madam Li pleasuring herself floated through her mind. "...Madam" she added, remembering her place, but that pause could not be erased. "I... I could help you relax a bit, maybe", she added, blushing, digging the hole deeper.

Madam Li stared at the woman incredulously. This woman was being way too forward for a harem slave. Then again, this was probably because the slave was a westerner. Other than concubines Tatyana and Anca, the slave was the only western woman in the compound at the moment... And the last western slave had also been rather different - but in a rebellious sense, which had ultimately led to an unfortunate outcome for her.

Xue Feng did find herself oddly attracted to western women. Even though her first love and the subsequent women she had slept with had been Asian, and although the glimpse of a classic thin and willowy Chinese female form always made her heart flutter and reminded her of her Mei Zhen, there was something primal about the chunky, curvy body and the sharp, angular face of a western woman. They smelled different too... down there... not the delicate and light aroma of a Chinese pussy, but strong, musky, and full of pheromones. One could even catch that scent from just sitting next to them. Xue Feng sometimes masturbated to fantasies of the Ukrainian, blonde haired Gundik Tatyana seducing her, holding her down, and...

Western women reminded her of the legends of Amazonian warriors that she and Mei Zhen had read about on their shared bed in her early teens. During the innocent start of what had gradually evolved in to something beautiful, they had often wrestled on the bed, pretending to be Amazon warriors in training, inevitably ending with the older, stronger Mei Zhen lying on top of her, the small but already developed breasts pressing against Xue Feng's budding little nubs, their thighs gripping each other, giggling as they caught their breath.

This Zaheera, this western woman, had awakened the desires that Xue Feng had kept under control ever since she took the job of administering the harem. When she had examined Zaheera when she first arrived, she had enjoyed the process more than she would have dared to admit. The woman had nice symmetric and perky C cup breasts with the perfect 45/55 profile, a small waist flaring out in to ample hips and buttocks, creating a womanly, hourglass figure that contrasted with the girlish, bamboo stalk figure that Chinese women strived to keep. She could smell the musk of the woman's cunt as she had examined the bruises on her thighs that indicated that her flight with the prince had been a rough adventure. The light arousal Xue Feng had been feeling had only been broken when she had discovered that symbol branded in to the woman's tender flesh, banishing all emotion and setting off a train of logical thought, calculation, and plans for manipulation, as she had been trained to do.

Still, the sexual attraction she felt at that moment may have had a part in deciding to recruit this woman in to her confidence (against her own better judgement, and to the chagrin of the people she reported in to). That "test" she had staged in order to fail the woman (to push her in to agreeing to cooperate) had unexpectedly ended in Xue Feng's first sexual encounter with a woman in more two years of living in a harem surrounded by nubile young women. Maybe that's why it had felt so good.

However, taking this any further would be a mistake... and in her line of work, even a fatal mistake. Emotions cloud judgement, as her trainers had drilled in to her. It was time to take a decisive step to end this, as anyone in their right mind would do.

When Xue Feng stood up and let the robe fall off her, she wasn't in her right mind. Not by far.

Zaheera was staring down at Madam Li's feet, simultaneously excited, afraid, and embarrassed at what she had blurted out.

The memories of that massage and Madam Li's perfect feminine body, the sexual deprivation Zaheera had been experiencing ever since she had arrived here (which was not something that had would have bothered her before she had been brought to the cabin in the woods), seeing Madam Li not in her usual strict makeup and business clothing but as a normal young woman with startlingly disarming natural beauty covered in just sheer nightwear... all that had conspired to make her a fool of herself. Not to mention seeing the young Chinese woman's vibrator - with the thought of what it would taste like if she were to lick it running through her mind.

Even though the woman had evidently been receptive to that "massage session" a few weeks ago, it didn't mean that she was open to that sort of pleasure all the time. It may have been a one-off thing. Although Cumrag had assured her that deep down all women were born to enjoy sexual pleasure with other women, most women she had known in her previous life hadn't seemed that way. Even Zaheera had not discovered that side of herself until she had met Cumrag. She realized that the fear she was feeling was not fear of punishment... rather, it was the fear of rejection.

With a sound like a softly whispered sigh, the flimsy silk robe fell to the Chinese woman's dainty feet. Her heart beating, Zaheera's gaze traveled slowly upwards - from the woman's sleek calves, to her slim thighs, to that small, neatly trimmed thatch of straight jet-black pubic hair, along her firm belly, to those small but perfect milky white breasts with their light brown areolae the size of Euro coins... and that's when she noticed that those breasts were bobbing up and down with rapid, nervous breathing. The young woman's face betrayed her nervousness uncertainty, her usual stern, authoritarian composure having vanished like a dew drop in the morning sun.

It took Zaheera completely by surprise to see this normally confident young woman in such a vulnerable state. She clambered to her feet, towering over the petite Chinese woman by a head. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the snaps of the Batik blouse, exposing her own breasts, with the nipples already hardening in anticipation. Throwing the blouse to the ground, she hurriedly undid the cloth wrapped around her waist, until they were both standing, facing each other, naked, and unsure what to do next.

After a few awkward seconds, Zaheera reached out and took the woman's cold hands in hers and drew her close. Xue Feng closed her eyes as their lips met.

Madam Li's lips were soft and tasted like her strawberry lipgloss and they slowly parted under the pressure of Zaheera's lips. Zaheera clasped the petite young Asian woman's face in her trembling hands as her tongue explored deeper. She heard a slight moan mixed with a sigh as the woman's mouth opened to her exploration and her body relaxed, melting in to hers.

She was the second woman Zaheera had ever kissed like this in her life. The first had been the other prisoner in that cabin in the woods - the girl who called herself cumrag. From the first time she had made love to cum rag, she had been in control... holding the girl's wrists, lying on top of her forcing her tongue in... it had felt good to be in control. That's probably how men felt, when they held women down, and penetrated their bodies. The feeling of power she had felt over cum rag had been amazing. But now, she was holding Madam Li in her hands, the woman who had control over her in every part of her life, except in this. Taking control of this one single moment made that feeling of power surge through her, as the Asian woman clung on to her, eyes closed, vulnerable, and helpless.

Xue Feng was stunned by how easily she had surrendered control to this western woman... to this slave... this brown haired Amazon. It felt good to let the rigid control melt away like the mountain snow - the control she had to maintain day in and day out. It felt like setting aside a heavy burden. Letting someone lead her, just like how Mei Zhen had done when they were young and carefree, brought her back to that time of innocence, when her world revolved around the smile on her beautiful cousin's face.

Her last intimate encounter had been with that tall, sun-burnt, butch from naval intelligence who had been on the same training with her, whose name she didn't even know (they had been forbidden to tell each other their real names, and only used the pseudonyms they had been given). She had been strong and muscular and had also taken control in bed. However, that had felt different - almost as if she were with a man. In fact, she had even smelled like a man. Xue Feng was aroused paradoxically by soft, feminine curves that hid their power behind them.

Xue Feng felt herself being pushed on to the divan, with the western woman's predatory hands roaming her body, seeking her sensitive nipples and the taut, smooth skin over her abdomen. A loud moan escaped her as the lips found her nipples and the warm tongue circled them. Her fingers wound through the woman's hair as she fought to keep the mouth where it belonged... on her breasts. And yet, that hungry mouth wanted more - she felt her wrists being clasped in one hand and held above her head, as the lips explored their new-found freedom southwards. She shuddered as the soft kisses trailed down the middle of her flat stomach, and after a deft orbit with the tip of the tongue around her navel, continued to lead down to that triangle of dark straight hair.

Zaheera released the woman's wrists as she brought her mouth closer to the thatch of hair, breathing in the faint scent of the woman's arousal. Her hands parted the woman's thighs and her lips met the soft lips guarding the woman's intimate opening. Just like the lips guarding her mouth, these gave way easily to her probing tongue, rewarding her with the light tangy taste that was familiar from the day she had attempted the test.

The tip of Zaheera's tongue slid up along the groove between the smooth lips to the point where they joined together, hiding the small, hard nub that she was seeking. Xue Feng let out a long sigh that ended in a soft moan as Zaheera circled the sensitive little pearl without touching it. The tip of her tongue started a slow journey down the canyon, pushing apart the soft, fleshy inner lips, savouring the warm wetness carrying the faint hint of musky female arousal. When she reached that alluring opening, she quickly darted her tongue in like a bee sampling a flower, eliciting a gasp, followed by a loud exhalation as the tip of the tongue reversed direction and headed towards the throbbing little morsel again. Each traversal involved pushing the tongue a little deeper than the last, cruelly and deliciously teasing the petite Asian woman who quivered, moaned, and thrust her hips in anticipation.

Xue Feng's breath quickened as she let increasing waves of pleasure and arousal wash over her. Lying helpless as another woman took hold of her pleasure brought her back to her childhood, when her cousin Mei Zhen had moved in to the tiny apartment in Suzhou where Xue Feng had lived with her parents. The 14 year old Xue Feng had at first resented having to share her room and her bed with her cousin whom she had hardly known before, but soon, her 16 year old cousin became her best friend. They had had so much in common - their love of Manga (some of which are officially banned in China, but could be had at comic book stores if you knew how to ask.. which Mei Zhen did), the shared fantasies of fearless princesses and horseback female warriors, and the stubbornness and rebelliousness that often got them both in trouble.

Mei Zhen had moved to Suzhou to find a job. Her father had been jailed for a stealing construction material from his work (a fact that only came to light after he had angered the foreman), and that had destroyed her hopes of a higher education, even though she had been a star student in high school. In China, if one of your parents are convicted of a crime and sentenced to jail, you are automatically denied entry to universities and disqualified from ever holding a government job. Staying at her uncle's place, Mei Zhen had found a job at a roadside food stall delivering lunch to office workers, which hardly paid enough for expenses, let alone to move out.

Mei Zhen had brought her to school in the morning every day, threatened any students who dared bully her, and helped her with her homework. From her meager salary, she saved enough to buy them the latest copy of Elfen Lied and other Mangas, which the two girls excitedly read by flashlight under the blankets, marveling at the naked Manga girls experiencing forbidden pleasures. After they had fallen asleep cuddling together, Xue Feng would often wake up to feel her cousin's hand softly roaming her body. She would feign sleep and let the older girl touch her body covered in a thin nightie, and feel the deep sighs against her neck. Night after night, Mei Zhen would get bolder, squeezing her budding breasts, teasing the nipples, the fingers sliding under her nightie to roam her thighs and buttocks. She would feel Mei Zhen's other hand doing something else on her own body, until the girl's breathing would become faster until she would shudder and moan. Then Mei Zhen would hug her tenderly and whisper "Wǒ ài nǐ, wǒ de tiānshǐ (I love you, my angel)", and Xue Feng would feel a wave of love and contentment wash over her, even as she felt a strange wetness at the crotch of her panties. Falling asleep in Mei Zhen's arms was the happiest she had ever felt.

One night, she had timidly whispered back, "Wǒ yě ài nǐ, jiějiě (I love you too, big sis)" and that had changed everything. Knowing that Xue Feng had been awake and not resisted, made Mei Zhen bolder. Next night, she had pulled off Xue Feng's nightie, then her own, and found the budding young nipples with her lips. Xue Feng felt herself moaning when Mei Zhen rolled on top of her, pinning her down as they had often done when they playfully wrestled as Amazonian warriors, her large breasts pressing down on Xue Feng's tiny mounds, and forced her thigh between Xue Feng's thighs, and started a rhythmic movement that pressed each others thighs against each other's panty crotches. When she finished, Mei Zhen had kissed Xue Feng's lips and their tongues had met each other. The night after that, Mei Zhen's tongue had probed a different set of lips... Just like this western woman was doing. Just like that.

Zaheera felt Xue Feng's fingers caressing her hair, and slowly tightening their grip, pulling her mouth harder against the crotch, as the hips moved feverishly. If anyone had been outside the door, they would have clearly heard the loud moan that escaped Madam Li's lips as she climaxed.

In swimming terms, it could only be described as jumping from a kiddie pool straight in to a raging white-water torrent.

Unlike Gundik Rachel, who was from humble upbringing and treated her servants as human beings, Princess Suleika came from a prominent royal family in west Malaysia and regarded everyone who served her as sub-human. Married off to the prince at the tender age of 16, princess Suleika was the youngest of the four wives. At the age of 19, she had produced an offspring - male, who was thus able to make a claim to the prince's royal titles and inheritance if some misfortune were to befall his teen half-brother borne by the first wife, princess Aishah.

The first wife, princess Aishah, was a devout, scholarly muslim woman in her mid 40s who was rarely seen without her gold embroidered hijab. Although she had produced his heir apparent, the prince was said to hardly visit her residence, and she was only seen with him when they left the palace for official receptions at the royal palace in the capital city up north. Princess Tasmia, from the Indonesian royal house of Puranawanto of Solo and an Oxford educated veterinary surgeon, had not borne a male heir, and was said to be out of favor with the prince due to her progressive views. Rumour had it that she has been on an extended visit to the UK with her young daughter for the last couple of years, and her residence was simply being maintained to keep up appearances that she might return. Princess Raqueema, also from a west Malaysian royal house, had given birth to twin daughters, but due to complications during that pregnancy, was unlikely to carry another pregnancy successfully to term.

The four princesses had been assigned four separate residences built at each corner of the massive square palace complex. The best situated residence was the one at the north-western corner, with a beautiful view of the ocean to the west, and of the cool, dense rain-forest preserve to the north. This residence had once been assigned to the first wife, but a couple of years ago, it had been abruptly reassigned to princess Suleika at the order of the prince. It was said that this decision followed the 5th birthday celebration of princess Suleika's son, and had been immediately been followed by princess Tasmia's sudden decision to visit her family in London. Something had obviously taken place during that celebration which had catapulted princess Suleika, now 26, to the unofficial top of the hierarchy.

It was clear why the prince favoured Suleika. Not only did she possess all the attributes of classical Malay interpretation of beauty (golden tanned skin, big almond shaped eyes, pointed chin, full lips, large breasts, hourglass shaped waist that had recovered from her pregnancy with no discernible impact, firm rounded buttocks and thighs that swayed as she walked), but she also seemed to possess the streak of sociopathic sadism that Zaheera had seen in the prince on that fateful flight. Although lacking higher education, she was said to be extremely clever and "sharp as a dagger", as Madam Li had put it.

Zaheera knelt on the thick carpet in front of the elaborately carved ebony divan upholstered in red satin, her palms resting on her thighs. She was wearing the tight batik blouse and the knee length batik wraparound that was worn by Pengiring that served the princesses (the ones that served the Gundiks wore similar garments, except that the wraparound was ankle legth). In Zaheera's case, the blouses made for Asian sizes pressed tightly against her breasts, and the wraparounds only covered halfway down to her knees.

The princess, sprawling luxuriously on the divan, glared at her suspiciously. "And why exactly did that dragon woman decide to put you under my service?" Princess Suleika spoke flawless English with a slight Australian accent, having attended school in Perth since childhood.

Zaheera kept her eyes on the carpet, as she answered deferentially, "Forgive me, your highness. I believe she wanted me to gain experience from your staff, so that I can learn to serve better."

"Well, fuck me dead!" swore the princess, obviously having picked up the very best of Aussie conversational English. "What am I doing here? Running a bloody school for educating slaves? That bloody slag can bugger off for all I care."

Zaheera kept her eyes on the carpet and kept silent. For all her power, the princess had no influence on the administration of the palace complex. Madam Li had absolute power to decide on the "personnel", and that power was probably given to her to prevent the princesses and concubines fighting among themselves to get the servants they preferred, or, even to sabotage each other.

"Very well," continued the princess icily. "You want to learn? I will give you every opportunity to learn, then. You will be my night slave from tonight onward. Get a single thing wrong, and I will send you packing, do you understand?"

A night slave was the woman who would sleep in the room of a princess in order to attend to her every need through the night. Unlike the pengiring who served the concubines, the ones serving the princesses always slept at the princess's residence in one big sleeping hall. Being selected as the night slave was considered an honour, but at the same time, a very important responsibility.

As she replied, "Yes, your highness. Thank you, your highness," without nodding her head (which would have been considered offensive), she wondered why the princess gave her that position. Was it because the princess wanted to make Zaheera fail? Or did the princess actually like having a white skinned woman at her beck and call, even while sounding indignant? Well, she would soon find out.

After the princess had finished her dinner that night, and completed the Maghrib prayers, the day slave exited the room and signaled for Zaheera to enter.

The princess was dressed in jeans and a white long sleeved shirt, sitting at her laptop. Zaheera padded in silently on bare feet, and knelt at the office chair the princess was seated on, with her eyes on the ground, waiting for the princess to acknowledge her presence. The position she had been trained to assume was meant to be uncomfortable - tips of toes and the knees touching the ground, thighs straight up, back ramrod straight, palms touching the thighs, with the head bowed. After a few minutes her muscles were on fire. The princess continued working on her laptop, her fingers flying. Finally, after about quarter of an hour, she heard the chair rolling back. "So... you are here. Get my bath ready."

"Yes, your highness," replied Zaheera, glad for the chance to stand up. As she did, she noticed that the princess's attention was still fixed on the laptop. It was open to Outlook Web, and she noticed that the princess was working on an email. Years of reading things over people's shoulders in her previous life as an office assistant allowed her to catch a quick glance. It was addressed to "[email protected]" and the heading read "Re:Re:Re: Private resort investment on Pulau Kancil island". While the princess was occupied, Zaheera was able to speed read the first couple of lines.

Zaheera turned away before a longer pause could betray her spying. Madam Li had specifically instructed her to find out anything about business deals the princess might be involved in, and this was obviously something she might be interested in. However, lingering further might arouse suspicion and put her life at risk. The princess didn't even look up, most likely used to the privacy she gets around slaves who aren't fluent in English. By the time Zaheera returned to the living room to announce that the bath was ready, the princess had already closed the laptop.

The princess stood up with a sigh, visibly irritated by the email that she had been composing. Zaheera hurried over to her and started unbuttoning the princess's shirt. The princess was wearing a floral perfume, but the scent had degraded to a sour note, mixed with the faint smell of sweat that carried a whiff of musk. Zaheera carefully removed the shirt and dropped it to the ground, and with a deft movement, unclasped the princess's thin lace bra, releasing the large breasts contained within. To Zaheera's surprise (and jealousy) gravity hardly seemed to affect the princess's double D breasts. They stood proudly, crowned by small inverted nipples that were just a shade darker than her Café au Lait skin, seemingly unblemished by the pregnancy five years ago. Although Zaheera knew that the baby was breast fed by a wet nurse and that the princess probably had the best post-natal cosmetic care that money could buy, she couldn't help but be amazed.

The princess shifted irritably, and Zaheera hurried to free her from the jeans and the black lace panties. As she knelt in front of the princess to lift each foot and free the clothing, Zaheera breathed in the musky scent of the princess's crotch. It was different from the delicate smell of Madam Li's pussy. The cunt of cumrag had always smelled like this when she was unused - strong, deep, and animalistic... with maybe just a hint of the soap she used to wash it with.

She led the princess to the large bathroom adjoining the sleeping chambers, and helped the princess lay back on the reclining toilet. She bathed the princess's neatly shaven vulva in rose water. It looked similar to cumrag's cunt - large plump outer lips that kept the tiny pink inner lips hidden. Cumrag had once told her that most women either had "V" cunts or "W" cunts. Zaheera had a "V" cunt - with small outer lips and big, meaty inner lips that protruded between them in the shape of a "V". Cumrag, Madam Li and the princess seemed to have "W" pussies - with plump outer lips that kept everything inside concealed, creating a pubic mount neatly split in half, looking like a W from the front.

As Zaheera leaned in to wipe the princess's vulva to prepare her to void her bladder, the princess suddenly clasped her thighs on each side of Zaheera's head. Startled, she almost pulled back, but managed to stop the reflex before her body obeyed - that would have been a big mistake. The princess owned her, and had the right to do with the slave whatever she wished. She could guess what the princess intended to do, and she was proven right.

With a loud hiss, a stream of hot, straw coloured piss gushed from between the princess's plump pussy lips, splattering Zaheera's face and mouth.

No one had ever pissed on Zaheera's face before. Not even the men who repeatedly, brutally raped her and broke her in the cabin in the woods. She had felt the slight hint of piss on cumrag's cunt and sometimes on the cocks of the men when they used her mouth. The urine that splashed on to her slightly open mouth was her first ever taste of a golden shower.

Although she promptly closed her mouth as soon as the warm stream hit, spitting out what got in to her mouth was not an option. The piss wasn't as salty as she had expected. It tasted slightly unpleasant, slightly salty, slightly sour, with a slight bitter aftertaste after she swallowed. It was like stale beer diluted with water with some salt added.

The stream splattering against her face grew weaker as the princess's bladder emptied. After a couple of spurts, it was clear that she had finished, and the pressure of the thighs against the sides of Zaheera's head lessened. As she reached for the rose water again, the princess commanded, "You do have a tongue, don't you? Use it."

Zaheera was momentarily confused, thinking that the princess was commanding her to speak. As she was about to clarify, it dawned on her what the princess meant. She obediently lowered her head, and started licking off the drops of piss clinging to the princess's vulva and thighs, swallowing intermittently. As she cleaned the cleft where the piss stream had originated from the princess let out a sigh, and spread her thighs wide.

Zaheera knew what she had to do. She certainly had definitely received enough practice. Her trained tongue traced the pink contours between the inner and outer lips of the princess's open vulva, gliding over the throbbing pink nub that crowned it. The princess strained and let out a small gush of piss as Zaheera's tongue slid over the tiny piss hole, giving her a new taste of the princess's excretions.

Zaheera understood instinctively that the princess enjoyed degrading women. She could understand it. Here was a young woman, brought up in a more liberal environment, educated in the very liberal Australia, being cooped up in a harem, surrounded only by women, with the only man who could touch her visiting her only infrequently. Her competitors for the man's affection were women. The people who served her were women. The people who irritated her were women. As in a women's prison, lesbianism was a way of having some intimacy. For the princess however, due to her position in the hierarchy, there was no hope of intimacy - she could only have sexual satisfaction with no emotional connection. Degrading the women she took pleasure from, treating them like objects or sex toys, was probably her way of creating an emotional detachment - which, over time, became a behaviour associated with the physical pleasure. However, it had probably also to do with her underlying personality traits as well, because Gundik Rachel had not changed in this way.

As Zaheera's efforts intensified, the princess's breathing became shallower, interspersed with an occasional moan. Suddenly, she grabbed two fistfuls of Zaheera's hair and started grinding her vulva against the slave's face and the thighs closed against the slave's head like a vice. Zaheera held her face still as the princess humped it, bearing the pain as the pubic bone mashed against her nose, her piss-stained face being covered by the slippery juices of the princess's arousal.

The pressure on the sides of Zaheera's head from the princess's well toned thighs intensified, and the grip on her hair was almost at the point of pulling out clumps of hair from the roots when the princess shuddered with a long drawn out moan, orgasming against the slave's face. after what seemed like an eternity, the princess's thighs let go of their vice-like grip, as did the fists intertwined in Zaheera's hair.

Zaheera cleaned up the wetness from the princess's vulva with her tongue, each touch bringing out a new shudder from the princess. Once all the juices had been lapped up and swallowed, Zaheera washed the princess's vulva with rose water before helping her up and guiding her to the bath set to the exact temperature as she had been taught.

That night, as the princess slept on her luxurious four post bed made from solid mahogany wood on silk sheets, Zaheera slept on a mat at the foot of the bed, as the night slave should.

Zaheera woke up early morning, and cleaned herself in the adjoining servant's quarters, trying not to disturb the sleeping attendants. By the time the princess woke up, she had the necessities for the morning ablutions prepared. The princess was definitely not a morning person. She woke up around 10am, missing the dawn Fajr prayers. Zaheera presented the princess with a small cup of jasmin tea in bed, and led her to the bathroom. Although Zaheera dutifully cleaned the princess's piss with her tongue as she had done the previous night, there was no sign of arousal from the princess, as had been the previous night. The morning piss tasted very bitter, like spoiled beer, and had a strong smell. This time, Zaheera had known well enough to keep her mouth tightly closed as the princess pissed on her face. Thankfully, when the princess voided her bowels, a tongue cleanup was not required - Zaheera wasn't sure whether she could have managed that, even under the pain of death. Instead, cotton pads soaked in rose water did the job.

As the princess was finishing up her breakfast (almost brunch) of Nasi Lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk and pandan leaves, served with fried egg, fried fish, roasted peanuts, cucumber and fiery sambal belachang), the day attendant came in, bringing with her the princess's son. The little prince ran in with the exuberance that every 7 year old possesses, dressed in a spiderman suit, waving a plastic light saber, yelling, "mama, mama, look! I am jedi spiderman!"

The little prince lived in his own quarters, being brought up by a wet nurse as an infant, and currently cared for by a pair of nannies. A private tutor schooled the little princes and princesses of the harem, until they were old enough to be sent to boarding schools in England or Switzerland. Every day, the little prince had a few hours together with his mother. He hardly ever saw his father.

The princess narrowly avoided falling off the office chair on which she had been sitting, finishing up breakfast while working on her laptop, when the little bundle of energy slammed in to her, enclosing her in a tight hug. "Jedi spiderman? Where do you get this silly ideas, anak?" tousled the princess the unruly hair on the boy's head, her stern face melting in to a sweet, happy smile of a mother enjoying a tender moment with her son. "Mama, have you seen? There's a huge ship!" babbled the boy excitedly dragging on the mother's hand. The princess stood up and let the excited boy lead her to the balcony, which opened out to the brilliant white sand of the beach, and the blue waters of the sea beyond, on which a large luxury yacht with several satellite antennae was sailing by. The day attendant motioned for Zaheera to clear the breakfast as she hurried behind the royalty.

The princess had left the laptop open. Zaheera glanced at the balcony where the boy was excitedly babbling and princess was laughing. It was the first time Zaheera had heard the princess laugh. Taking advantage of the distraction Zaheera studied the laptop while loading plates and dishes on to a tray. The princess had been looking at a PDF file, sent as an email attachment from what appeared to be an architectural firm in London. Having worked as an office assistant at the construction company Züblin prior to her last job, the slave could easily make out the plans.

It was a scale map of a small island with a small harbor, a helipad, several large resort style bungalows and several small buildings, labeled "spa", "massage pavilion", "music pavilion", "beach bar", and "catwalk". Noting the location where the princess was currently at, Zaheera quickly scrolled to the start of the document, which was titled "Resort project Pulau Kancil". The pages that followed had schematics and renderings of the buildings, ending with several pages of estimates. The final cost estimate ("not including expenses due to potential ground instabilities missed by the surveyors" read the disclaimer) came to 117 million pounds. Zaheera quickly scrolled back to the position the princess left the document at, picked up the tray and left, hoping that her small act of espionage would not be discovered. Even though she was sure that she covered her tracks well, her hands trembled as she held the tray.

In the late afternoon, when she met with her lover, she related everything she had memorized, and Madam Li took notes on her ever-present tablet. She appeared very pleased with the information that she was getting, and that made Zaheera happy. Afterwards, as they both lay in each other's arms, exhausted after the mutual orgasms, Zaheera knew she would do whatever she could for her lover, even if that meant risking her life.

That evening, when she entered the princess's apartment, princess wasn't working on her laptop. Instead, she was pacing around the room, and glared sternly at Zaheera as she entered. "Come here," demanded the princess, pointing at the floor at her feet. Zaheera quickly took her position, and waited nervously for the princess to speak, trying to hide the trembling in her hands. Had her snooping been discovered?