Prologue
A few days after the yacht Jamila Eashiqa has docked at Piran, a charming port city on the Adriatic shore of Slovenia, three young women of mixed nationality were escorted down the gangway by a middle-aged man. Just before the luxury, multi-million-pound private yacht left the port of Piran three different young ladies of mixed nationality were escorted aboard by the same middle-aged man.
The yacht had now been cruising down the Adriatic coast for several hours and the owner was in his stateroom ready to receive the three ladies of mixed nationality. The middle-aged man brought them in together. Each one with their hands held behind their backs. Each one wearing impossibly high healed black court shoes. Each one is otherwise totally naked. Each one was tall, slim, large breasted and extremely attractive. One with long blonde hair, one with wavy brunette hair, one with short black hair. Otherwise, their bodies were totally hairless.
The middle-aged man arranged then in a semicircle in front of the owner of the Jamila Eashiqa and was about to introduce them when the owner waved his hand dismissively at him. The middle-aged man bowed slightly, turned and left the stateroom.
How three attractive young ladies of mixed nationality came to be standing naked in the stateroom of this multi-million-pound luxury yacht could only be surmised by some outside observers. The man they were standing naked in front of did know because he had placed the order for them with their owner.
The man was an Arab. He was no longer an attractive man. Perhaps he had been when his entrepreneurial powers had been at their peak and he had amassed his vast wealth. Now he was what some would call, portly. Still a stately figure of a man, but portly. Probably the result of nearly forty years of indulgence in the pleasures of the world. Some would say, debauchery. His hair was now sparse and silver in colour through still well-groomed. His eyes were still remarkably bright for a man with such weather-worn features.
After studying each of the young women of mixed nationality for several minutes, he stood up. Now you would have seen just how portly he was and yet how well he transported his portliness. This was a man who still carried power on his shoulders.
Slowly he walked around the semicircle of young ladies, just observing each one in turn without touching their nakedness. He knew what he was looking for. After all, he had recently had three similar young ladies of mixed nationality returned to their owner. Almost certainly there had been others before them. Obviously, this elderly, powerful, wealthy man was very well acquainted with the physical appearance of beautiful young women, whatever their nationality.
On this occasion though, as with the previous three young women, he was looking for more than exceptional physical appearance.
Then for six weeks, the luxury, multi-million-pound yacht cruised the Adriatic from port to port. When in port various male guests of the owner boarded the Jamila Eashiqa but left before it went back to sea.
Eventually the luxury yacht, Jamila Eashiqa reached the Albanian port of Durres. During those six weeks the three attractive young women of mixed nationality, who had all been harshly trained during their teenage years, before their eggs were harvested and their tubes cut and tied, provided the elderly, but the still physically healthy owner of the Jamila Eashiqa and his gusts with many varieties of sexual pleasure.
After the yacht docked the three young women of mixed nationality were escorted down the gangway by the middle-aged man who had brought them, and then returned to their owner.
The owner of the luxury yacht Jamila Eashiqa did not order any more young women before the yacht left the port of Durres. He had become dissatisfied with having so many different attractive young women of mixed nationality, however well trained, for his sexual recreation. Instead, he instructed his secretary to contact another party, known within his circle of acquaintances for providing women of a different calibre.
Chapter 1
Julie Browning had only buried her husband two months ago and from how her younger sister Alice was looking at her, she could see the concern on her face.
'I'm doing all right,' Julie told her.
'How are you getting on without Norman, Julie?'
'Being the merry widow.' she jokingly replied and saw the look on her sister's face. 'I've got lots to do,' she said, trying to reassure her sister. 'All the legal stuff for one thing, then there are all of Normans things I'm starting to sort out.'
'Julie,' Alice admonished. 'How are you doing without him?'
Julie sat back in her chair. Alice had always been able to dig things out of her older sister. It's how she had found out about the way Norman treated her. Well only a little bit about the way he treated her. 'There's been too much to do to think of much else,' she told her sister.
'When are you going back to work?'
'Next week,' she told her, hoping to close the subject.
'That's good.' Her sister smiled at her. 'You need to get your life back to normal.'
It was her sister's emphasis on normal that annoyed Julie. Normal, thought Julie. Is anyone's life normal? Was Alice's life normal? All she ever did was work in that library. Never any boyfriends. Was that normal?
'Yes, your right, I need to get my life back to normal.' Julie knew she sounded sarcastic but she knew what Alice meant about getting her life back to normal.
Her sister looked concerned again. 'Oh Sis, I'm so sorry.'
Julie knew she was sorry and also knew that Alice would never understand why she had let Norman do the things he did to her.
Half an hour later her sister left and Julie was again alone, surrounded by her big, silent house of memories.
Two weeks later and Julie had cleared all of her dead husband's clothes and most of his personal stuff. Even with the help of their solicitor and accountant she had found the legal and financial things the most difficult to deal with. Now there was a decision about the house itself.
Selling it made some sense but not enough and there was still the other bedroom to sort out before she could allow anyone to view the property. Somehow, she had even managed to keep her sister out of that room.
Even now, as Julie opened the door, there was the familiar musky, body odour. The black rubber sheet was stretched taught across the bed. She knew her husband had left it like that, waiting invitingly for her to lie on it again.
The wrist and ankle bracelets were hanging from their hooks on the four bedposts and the leather-covered cushion rested on the closed lid of the large chest at the foot of the bed. Julie closed the door behind her and stood in a moments silence. Then, in her head, she heard the sound of the whip hitting her flesh and her responsive cries.
Why did she wonder hadn't she waited until tomorrow morning before opening the door of this room? Was it because she couldn't wait any longer to remind herself just what this room looked like. Or was it because this was the time of day when her husband had usually led her here.
As Julie let her dressing gown slip off her shoulders and slide down her body she wondered why she come here naked under the gown. Then, as she climbed onto the bed and lay down on her stomach and felt the smooth, erotic coldness of the rubber against her skin, Julie knew why.
She missed everything her husband used to do to her.
After several minutes Julie turned onto her back. Above her was the large mirror in which she had watched herself being impaled by anal and vaginal dildos. The mirror in which she had seen her breasts and crotch flogged. The mirror in which she had watched her body stretching and straining in the throes of intense, vibrator induced orgasms.
The mirror in which she was now watching as she masturbated herself. And it didn't take Julie long to relieve nearly three months of enforced abstinence. After it was over she knew her husband would have been proud of her.
As she lay on her back and watched herself slowly recover she also knew why it had taken her this long before she had allowed herself to enter this room again. She hadn't known what to do with all the toys and other things her husband had accumulated during the last five years of their marriage. Five years during which he had changed from a normal husband, fucking her at weekends and occasionally during the week to a man who constantly demanded his wife satisfied an extraordinary sexual appetite.
Subconsciously Julie had already made her decision. She was going to take them all back to the private shop where he had taken her so many times to make her choose a new toy for him to abuse her with. All the cuffs, and chains, the floggers and whips. All the creams and lubricants that had made it so easy for him to push so many different things into her body. All of them as well.
As she closed the door behind her Julie promised herself to start early tomorrow. If she had everything packed in the car by mid-day she could be at the shop by mid-afternoon. Time to visit the pub on the way home where they usually stopped for a meal while her husband told her what he was going to do to her with their new toy.
When Julie entered the shop with one of the boxes she saw the girl, Alexia behind the counter and wondered it if might not have been a better idea to throw the stuff in the local refuge dump. But it had cost so much and someone might want it.
The girl immediately recognised her. 'Hello, Julie.'
Julie thought she sounded concerned, probably because she had always been with her husband.
'Where's your husband?'
'He died three months ago,'
'Oh my God. I'm so sorry. So that's why we haven't seen you.'
'Yes.'
'So, what can I do for you?'
Julie looked around the shop without seeing any other customers. 'I've brought back all the things my husband bought from you. I can't use them on my own and wondered if any of your customers would like them.' She put the box on the counter and pushed it toward Alexia. 'I've got three more boxes in the car.'
For a moment the girl just stared at her. No one has ever brought anything back before. 'Don't you know anyone you could give them to? Or someone who, you know, could use them with you?'
Julie knew what she meant. 'No, I don't know anyone, only my husband used them.'
'Look, I can't take them but Mr Havant, the owner is here today. I'll ask him to come and see you. Wait here.'
As Julie thanked her Alexia disappeared through a door behind the counter. To Julie, it seemed ages before Alexia returned.
'Mr Havant will see you and he has asked for you to take the box with you. I'll get the other boxes from your car.'
As Julie put the box on his desk Mr Havant pointed to a chair. 'Please sit Mrs Browning.'
After a moment he looked up again. 'May I offer my condolences, Mrs Browning. You must be missing your husband a great deal.'
Julie nodded. 'Thank you, Mr Havant. He died very suddenly, an aneurysm.'
Julie saw him reach for the box and draw it toward the edge of his desk. Then he opened it and Julie wished she hadn't come here. Slowly he took each of the wrist and ankle cuffs out of the box and laid them on his desk. Then he lifted out the nipple clamps and the labia clamps, with their weights.
Just then Alexia came into the room with another box and put it on the floor beside the desk. 'There are two more boxes to get,' she told Mr Havant then left the room.
Mr Havant picked up a nipple clamp and let it dangle from his fingers. 'Have you brought back all the items your husband bought from me to amuse yourselves with?'
Julie couldn't take her eyes off the dangling nipple clamp and didn't quite like what he'd said about amusing themselves. 'Yes, I can't use them myself and thought one of your customers might like them.'
Mr Havant picked up the box from the floor, opened it and lifted each of the butt plugs, gags and vaginal plugs out of the box, laying each one on his desktop.
When Mr Havant opened the box of vibrators and laid them beside the butt plugs, Julie wished she hadn't packed them all so carefully.'
'I understand you don't want anything for them?'
'No.' Somehow, she stopped herself adding, sir.
