Yasmin reached for a folder, and extracted some photos. “Here we are. Last Sunday. A couple walking in the woods. The girl looks remarkably like you. She appears to be showing the man a pair of panties, and smiling.”
Yasmin held the photo in front of Emma’s eyes. She recognised herself, with Peter, but couldn’t understand who could have taken the photo; they had both thought they were completely alone in the forest. He had been making suggestive remarks, and she had gone behind a bush for a pee. She was showing him that she hadn’t bothered to pull up her panties, but had taken them off. Almost immediately, he had wrestled her to the ground while she pretended to resist, and had fucked her hard for the first time that day. Who had been watching them?
Yasmin turned to the next photo. “I’m not sure if these are all in order, and on some the faces are obscured, but they do seem to be the same couple. This one appears to be in the same location as the first, missionary position, on the grass, in public, in broad daylight. A third one is a different location, with him fucking her from behind, bent over a large rock. A fourth one seems to show them fucking, standing up, face-to-face, against a tree. And finally, here’s one with him lying down on the grass with her on top.
“Sunday evening. Same couple, lying on a bed, naked, his cock down her throat. And again, missionary position.”
Emma looked at the photos in astonishment. How had they got photos of her and Peter in her bedroom?
“And now Monday. Looks like the same girl, lying on the same bed alone, naked, her thighs spread, with a large dildo up her pussy and a vibrator on her clit. She looks totally absorbed! And this is probably the same girl, on all fours, from behind, still with the dildo up her pussy, but now with the vibrator on her arsehole. Mmm – very sexy!
“And finally, Tuesday. Looks like the same girl on the same bed, but with a different man. Again, I’m not sure if they’re in order but it’s quite a collection. Fellatio; cunnilingus, with him on top; cunnilingus but with her on top this time; fellatio again; sixty-nine with him on top; and sixty-nine with her on top; missionary; doggie position. Looks like a busy night!
“Perhaps,” she continued, “the meaning of the word ‘slut’ has changed since I left England, but I would have thought the evidence pretty conclusive. What about you?”
Emma looked in horror at the photos of herself with Max. “Yes, Madam,” she concurred, in a whisper, “I suppose I am a slut.”
“Good girl. When you’ve finished your training here, you will be a real slut, and will be proud of being a slut. You will enjoy being your Master’s slut. Now that you’ve learnt to be good, would you like to be released from the frame, so that we can chat in more comfort? I will allow you to ask some questions.”
“Oh yes please, Madam, please, Madam, please!”
“Mmm – you should really say, ‘If it pleases you, Madam, it would please me greatly,’ or something similar, but you’ll learn that during your training, so we’ll let it pass for now. I’ll undo your ankles first. Don’t forget, there are two guards outside the door whom I can summon immediately if I need to!”
Yasmin knelt to undo the ankle restraints. “Now brace yourself while I release your wrists. You may feel a little shaky and wobbly at first. Grab hold of the edge of the frame while the circulation returns.”
Emma indeed felt giddy as her wrists were released. As blood rushed back to her fingers, the pain increased momentarily, but as she rubbed her arms and wrists together, she began to recover.
“I expect you would like a toilet now?” Yasmin asked, with surprising concern.
“Oh yes, please, Madam,” Emma replied, adding after a short hesitation, “if it would please you.”
Yasmin smiled. “Good girl; you learn quickly. Through that door there. You will also find a basin with soap and hot water; you’ll look better if you wash your tears away. You’ll find a robe and some slippers too; put them on and come back here. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh yes, Madam, if it would please you.”
Yasmin pressed a button on the desk. A guard immediately appeared at the door and she ordered tea – “English style,” she said.
Emma went through the door that Yasmin had pointed out. She sat on the toilet seat, still rubbing her arms and wrists, trying to regain circulation and improve the pain. She looked at the chafe marks on her wrists and the weals on her breasts and on the rest of her body. Her head spun with questions. She had to find a way out of here. For the moment, she would try to placate Yasmin, to obey her, maybe even to befriend her.
She looked in the mirror at her tear-stained face, appearing almost haggard. She washed away the stains. She mustn’t crack now! She had to get answers to her questions. She needed a plan.
Emma returned to the room to find the furniture rearranged. In front of the desk was a comfortable armchair, in place of the chair to which she had been shackled earlier. Yasmin sat behind the desk, and beckoned her to be seated, while she poured tea. “Milk, but no sugar?”
“Yes, please, Madam.”
“I thought we could dispense with the shackles now. You have permission to ask questions. Please drink your tea.”
“Thank you, Madam. I have so many questions it is difficult to get them in order. But first, where am I, please Madam?”
“I am not allowed to tell you that yet. But we are not in the United Kingdom – not even in Europe.”
“How did I get here, Madam?”
“I’m not sure of the details, but some of our agents gained entry to your flat on Tuesday, knocked you out by blowing a gas into your bedroom, and took you, with some of your possessions. You were kept under sedation all day Wednesday, and were flown here as part of the diplomatic baggage.”
It began to make sense. Emma recalled the noise, and the faint smell as she had fallen asleep on Tuesday. And what she had thought were dreams, were actually dim memories of events that had taken place.
“In a box, Madam?” she asked.
“Probably. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I remembered a nightmare, Madam, but perhaps I woke up briefly. Is it now Thursday, Madam?”
“Yes, that’s right. You slept through Wednesday.”
“Is that when I was tattooed, Madam? And shaved, and pierced?”
“Yes.”
“Please, Madam, what does the tattoo mean?”
“It shows your new name ‘Leila’ in Roman characters, Arabic and Japanese, and then your reference number.”
“D297? Are there 296 others, Madam?”
Yasmin laughed. “No, little slut, the last figure is a check digit. You are really number 29. The check digit prevents accidental access on the computer if someone makes a mistake in keying in your reference. The letter ‘D’ refers to your prospective master, His Highness.”
“But, Madam, I don’t understand. Why am I here? Why me?”
“You are here, my dear, because His Highness wishes it. He has selected you, and wants you trained to join his court. You are especially privileged to have been selected to serve him.”
“His Highness, Madam? Who is he?”
“I am not allowed to tell you yet. This is only one of his many palaces. He rules in this country, and his word is law. You will meet him when your training is complete.”
“Training for what, Madam?”
“To be a slave, of course. His slave. His slut. His servant. Unless, of course, he decides in the end that he doesn’t want you after all.”
“And what would happen to me then, Madam?”
“Oh, he will try to sell you to one of his brothers, or a minister, a general or anyone else he sees fit. If he can’t find a buyer for you, you will almost certainly go to one of the military bases, for the troops to use.”
“As a prostitute, Madam?” asked Emma, horrified.
“Oh, it’s not such a bad life, I believe. The girls are limited to six men a day, and a maximum of three at a time. They get a week off every month, and are paid piecework. They also get a whole year off for a pregnancy (four months before the birth and eight after) and additional payment – more for a boy of course. Some end up quite wealthy, and make a good marriage to a soldier. But I don’t think you need worry about that; I’m sure His Highness will want to keep you. Once he has confirmed that, you will be branded with his mark.”
“Branded?” exclaimed Emma, panic in her voice.
“Yes, of course. We all carry our Master’s mark. I belonged to His Highness’s late father, and have his mark here on my thigh.” Yasmin stood up, raised her skirt to reveal slim legs, well shaped for a woman of forty, encased in silk stockings. Emma caught a glimpse of her shaven pussy. On her soft inner thigh, about two inches below her crutch, were a pair of crossed swords enclosed in a 2cm square. “This is his mark; I am glad to wear it!”
“But that must hurt terribly!”
“Yes, of course, Leila. It hurts for weeks. But after your training is complete, you will come to yearn for it. It is a bit like a wedding ring, and shows that you have been fully accepted by your Master, that he has accepted responsibility for you, and that he is proud of you. You will not feel a complete woman until you have your Master’s mark on your body. My Master, God rest his soul, always had his women marked on the inner right thigh, like me. His Highness, my Master’s favourite son, usually prefers the outside of the left breast. I’m not sure which hurts most.”
Emma shuddered at the thought. Her future prospects were becoming clearer to her. She was destined to be a sex slave to some foreign prince, to be subject to his every whim, and branded with his mark. Unless, of course, she failed in her training, in which case she would at best be a sex slave to some lower official, at worst a prostitute in a military base.
“But Madam, I don’t understand. Why me? How and when would His Highness have selected me?”
“I have no idea, Leila. I know he was in Scotland a few months ago. He may have had business with your company and seen you there. Or he may simply have noticed you in the street, or in a restaurant, and taken a liking to you. He is very partial to petite blondes, and he doesn’t have any Scottish girls in his entourage. Perhaps he took a liking to your soft Scottish accent.”
“And he has had me followed ever since?”
“No, only for about three weeks. As you will have realised from the photos I showed you, they would have gained entry to your house, and installed recording equipment for both sound and video, probably when you were at work. We needed to be quite sure we had the correct person, and required photos to show His Highness to confirm that he was still interested. He was most impressed with some of the photos we showed him. Once he had given his approval, we could go into action. The planning for an abduction has to be precise, and co-ordinate with a shipment of diplomatic bags.”
“And will I ever be released, Madam?”
“Unlikely, but possible. When my late Master died, I was offered my freedom, but I decided to stay here. I have four children here now, between six and eighteen. My eldest boy is just starting officer training. He was my Master’s son. I was very privileged in that my Master ensured only he would have access to me for the first three years after my training was complete. Both my first son and my first daughter are his children; I’m unsure about the other two. By then, His Highness was sometimes lending me to others – high officials and visiting ambassadors – people whom he particularly wanted to reward or impress.”
Emma pondered, and a tear trickled down her cheek. The thought of being used as a sex-toy filled her with horror and despair.
“I think that’s enough questions for now,” continued Yasmin. “You must be tired, and probably a little confused. I suggest we break for lunch now, and resume this afternoon. I’ll get the guards to escort you back to your room. I suggest you bathe before lunch; you will find a large jar in the bathroom labelled ‘Bath Balm’. Apply it liberally to the marks from your beating; it will soothe the pain and help to heal the marks.”
“One final question, Madam, if it would please you?”
“Yes, OK.”
“Well, Madam, in my room are some very fine clothes, but I can find no underwear. Also, I like to wear trousers, but there are none.”
“Ah, Leila, we don’t allow trousers here, or knickers or panties, or normal tights. Crotchless tights are allowed sometimes, but stockings are preferred. All our orifices have to be available at all times.”
“Orifices, Madam? Available to whom?”
“Mouth, vagina and anus. They must all be accessible, and available to anyone who has authority to use them, at any time. In your case, that means anyone in Level 3 or above; that includes the palace guards, but not common soldiers or domestic staff. Where possible, breasts should also be free and accessible. Bras are allowed for older women, or those with large bosoms requiring support. Yours are nice and firm, and do not need supporting yet.”
“Thank you, Madam,” Emma whispered, increasingly downcast at her prospects.
“One final thing, Slut – don’t try to get information from the maidservants. They are sworn to silence, and they know that if either of them divulges any information to you, they will both have their tongues cut out! In any case, the two girls servicing your room are new here, and have very little English as yet.”
“Tongues cut out, Madam,” exclaimed Emma in horror, “Both of them?”
“Oh yes, both. We operate a system here, which we call the ‘Système Copain’. It comes from the French word ‘Copain’, meaning ‘Friend’ or ‘Mate’. The feminine is ‘Copine’. Every employee, up to Level 6, is assigned a ‘Copain’ of the same sex and the same Level, with whom he or she works most of the time. Any privileges earned by one are automatically given to the other, and any punishment due to one is given to both. We find it improves discipline and promotes team spirit. Soon, you will be assigned a suitable ‘Copine’.”
