My stay in Bucharest was over.
Divora had agreed to be my interpreter and assistant as we made our way to Moldova.
The agents I had sent there to remote rural areas had come up trumps. Their brief was to recruit farm girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty three for the Club. The chosen girls would be trained to withstand the physical punishment and pain meted out to them by members. More importantly, their mental capacity to endure intense humiliation and degradation and carry out demeaning tasks would be fully tested.
Sixty three young women had shown interest, spread over several Moldovan agricultural towns and villages. They had been made fully aware of what was required of them and had undergone medical screening for infectious disease and STDs.
Hardened by countless hours of outdoor farm work, these unsophisticated girls were unspoiled by modern home comforts, well used to relieving themselves in the fields within sight and sound of others and with a relaxed attitude towards their personal hygiene.
My task was to select out the best of them and give them a little taste of what they might expect if they signed a three year contract with us.
We were settled into a rickety hotel in a small rural town where five girls had been bussed in straight from their work in the fields. Divora had set up for our purposes in the only en-suite on the top floor, all of which we had booked.
On a sturdy wooden table she had placed a large basin acquired from the hotel kitchens. She had fashioned a flogger/ flail type of instrument out of her hairbrush, long thin strips of j- cloth tacked onto the wooden handle. Not custom made, but serviceable. A small vibrator with a clitoral notch etched into the tip, an anal speculum and an assortment of bulldog clips completed this modest array.
The girls awaited us, seated in the corridor outside - they were moving around uneasily, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Not surprising, of course, because they had been forbidden to use the toilet and unless they had the foresight to go in the fields before being collected, were under huge pressure.
Divora cruelly added to their collective discomfiture by using the corridor toilet with the door open and splashing her pee loudly into the bowl. She took the only roll of toilet paper with her, then inspected the girls, choosing one and motioning her to enter the bedroom. She finally gave the others permission to use the toilet and watched through the open door as they did so one by one.
The girl in front of me was big and upstanding, with wide straight shoulders and coarse fair hair entwined in a stained headscarf. Her face was slavic in cast, broad cheeks, wide forehead and long flat nose. Her eyes were greenish blue and impassive. Not a great looker, her best feature was her full, pouty lips. Similar to the other four girls, she was dressed in what seemed to be the farm girl's costume in these rural areas. A heavy cotton work shirt, under a gaudily decorated gilet, was tucked into a heavy grey knee length woolen skirt, cotton calf socks filling thick brown farm boots. She looked urgently at Divora, begging to use the en-suite. After a judicious pause, during which the girl's demeanour became desperate, Divora relented. We watched as she peed voluminously, emitting a string of pent up farts. Wiping herself, she resumed her stance in front of me. I think she was beginning to get the idea of what humiliation was still to come.
Through Divora, who barked out her orders, I instructed the girl to strip to her waist. She did so uncomplainingly, with a sort of bovine acceptance of her lot in life.
Her big heavy breasts swung downwards and outwards, fat nipples as yet unaroused. Her massive areolae were pink and barnacled with prominent tubercles, through which the odd coarse black hair grew. Lifting them up in my palms I examined their undersides. A film of sludge was deposited in the area where her breast joined the chest wall. This was an amalgam of dust, skin secretion and drying perspiration. It was evident she had not washed herself for some time, maybe days.
Moving to her abdomen, I inserted a forefinger into her deepset navel. I extracted some slimy material from it and sniffed at it like the wine buff I am (they say I have a nose as good as any sommelier). The aroma was quite similar to that of unwashed feet - days old sweat, dirt, shed skin. What made it different, though, was the unmistakeable whiff of semen.
My penis began to harden. I imagined her lying naked on her back in the fields, legs splayed wide, a labourer's huge member pumping into her and at the last minute pulling out and erupting all over her breasts and abdomen. She had obviously washed since, but neglected to clean out her navel cavity properly.
