The Devil's Hole (Closed, but feel free to read)

[OregonWriter14]

A Few Years Ago ... Deep in an Unnamed Desert:

Brett Lee tossed a bag of silver coins onto the table, asking, "Will that buy me a boy to perform labor and a woman to..."

"Warm your bed at night?" the older gentleman across from him asked with a knowing smile.

King Wanatab dumped the bag upon the table, performing a quick count of the gold, silver, and copper. He smiled widely. He was known throughout the desert lands for his honesty, even when he had the upper hand in deal making. And while he did, indeed, have the upper hand today, he told the Westerner across from him, "This will buy you two boys to perform your labor, Brett of Lee ... as well as a woman to warm your bed."

Brett beat his fisted hand to his chest twice, indicating his agreement to the deal. The elderly, frail King repeated the gesture, then -- with the aid of a bodyguard -- rose to his feet to lead Brett out of the large, canvas structure.

The harsh sun beating down upon the vast desert caused Brett to pause, allowing his shaded yet overwhelmed eyes to adjust. A moment later, he was following the King down the steps cut into the sandstone bank toward the river, where two dozen women were washing clothes, cooking utensils, children, and themselves.

"I will pick good boys for you, Brett of Lee," said Wanatab. "You will pick out the woman who will ... labor for you."

Upon realizing that their ruler was standing above them, the women -- who ranged from preteen to elderly -- stopped their work and turned to face him. Wanatab barked out an order in the language that Brett had been studying during his six years in this land and yet still want' fluent in.

Up and down the bank the women of breeding age began undressing, pulling their dresses either up over the shoulders and heads or off their shoulders to drop and gather at their ankles. A few hesitated, but at a second command from Wanatab, they, too, reluctantly shed their over-clothes and revealed their bodies.

Brett hadn't expected this. His eyes widened at the sight of so many suddenly nude or partially nude women before him. He slowly slid the satchel hanging from his shoulder a bit forward, trying to inconspicuously hide from the King and the women, too, the growth that was rapidly taking place below his belt line and forcing out the crotch of his groin.

But he knew he'd failed when the King laughed and bellowed, "You are a man! That is to happen, my friend. Enjoy it!"

Brett felt his face flood red, then he, too, laughed, though with a great deal of embarrassment in the tone.

King Wanatab swept his hand before him again, saying, "Choose."

Brett looked up and down the line, but knew that he couldn't so easily and so quickly pick a woman to become his sexual partner -- his sexual slave, in a sense. This wasn't how things worked back home in the West. Brett's upper class parents would have been appalled to learn that he was choosing his mate from a bevy of beauties -- naked beauties -- lining a desert river mud bank.

As his gaze washed over the exposed female body features, he chuckled and said as a delaying tactic, "How do I pick just one woman from such a gathering of feminine beauty?"

"Would picking two be easier, my friend?"

Brett looked to the King with surprise, then glanced over his shoulder at the open tent flap and the table covered with coins. "You are a generous man, Sire, but I don't think that will pay for another woman ... and I must retain what coins I have for supplies ... camels ... tools ... stock animals--"

"One year free water for my caravans," the King interrupted, "And a second woman you shall have."

Any where in the civilized world from which Brett Lee had come, trading water for a woman would have been immoral and, likely, illegal. Here, such a deal was commonplace. And because water came from the heavens and didn't cost Brett a single coin, it should have been an easy thump on the chest agreement for the man.

But, of course, he had to consider why he was here today and what the future held for him. It all went back to a conversation Brett had had with another foreigner while drinking tea at a skin show in the Capital City.

"It's an oasis, midway 'tween the Capital and the coast," the drunken man had been explaining between gawks at the topless dancer shaking her bosom before him, "and none of these superstitious Reetu fools will go near it. Call it The Devil's Hole. Say it's ... I don't know, haunted or something."

"Who owns it?" Brett had asked. "Who controls it? Someone's got to control it. It's water in the middle of a desert!"

"No one! That's what I'm telling you, friend. The Reetu won't go there, and per the Treaty, we can't go any further inland than 20 miles. The Governor only learned of the oasis two years ago, and he's been trying to negotiate with the King ... Wana-wana-whatever for two years to build a road to it. But the King knows that a road to the oasis is the first step to the West's further conquest of the Peninsula, so ... he ain't letting us get anywhere near that water."

Brett understood Wanatab's position. As liaison between the West and Wanatab during the treaty negotiations after the war, Brett had come to know the future king better than anyone. And he knew that Wanatab viewed the desert as the only thing keeping the Westerners stuck on the coast. Without inland water, the whites were staying on the coast, forever.

However, if the Reetu could take advantage of the water at Devil's Hole without actually going to the forbidden oasis, then Wanatab might gain an advantage over the occupiers of his control. Given a few years to build some infrastructure, some wealth, and some military forces, Wanatab just might be able to push the West off the Peninsula, once and for all.

And why would Brett Lee want to help King Wanatab toss out his own people. Well, he had his reasons...

"You will take these women and boys with you to..." Wanatab asked, hesitating, not wanting to even speak the words as he instead finished, "...that place."

"Yes, I will, sire," Brett said, his gaze still moving about the exposed bodies below him. "We will create a new village inside the ... oasis. And we will create a trading post on the Desert Road, where you people can stop and rest on your long journey between the coast and the Capital."

"And drink free water for a year," Wanatab said, his lips widening in a devilish smile.

Brett laughed, repeating, "Free water for a year ... yes, Sire."

Brett's gaze settled on one particular women for a moment, a fairer skinned female who was likely a Westerner. Per the treaty with the West, it was illegal for Wanatab to have such a woman in his village under any circumstances, whether or not she was here by her own accord. And it was pretty obvious that this woman, now naked before a potential buyer, was not here of her own accord.

Then his gaze shifted to a darker skinned woman who, while not a Reetu, was most likely from this part of the world. She was a bit younger than the first, he thought, though he could certainly be wrong. And while very different from the first, she, too, had a beauty about her that made Brett know he'd found his second pick.

Suddenly, his eyes just barely caught sight of a woman whose presence had been blocked by another women standing several yards before her. Brett stepped to his left, away from the King, and literally sighed at the beautiful woman he'd very nearly missed. She looked, as they would have said back home, barely legal, with a petite yet still womanly figure and a face that was China Doll smooth.

She was dark skinned but not like the Reetu. Brett didn't know whether she was from a different local tribe or was perhaps a half breed, one of the many children who was born to the local Reetu women after sex with Western males.

Sometimes this dabbling amongst the native women was consensually, and other times it was not. And sometimes is was a matter of money changing hands, particularly amongst the Western sailors who went trolling for wine and women when their ships dropped anchor at the coastal cities.

Either way, these half breeds lived a hard live, never truly being accepted by either their white fathers or their darker mothers. Most ended up on the street, sometimes in the very same prostitution field that were often responsible for their conception. Others ended up as this young woman had, a slave to which ever Reetu tribe could pay for her auction block price.

"What would you think about two years of free water, Sire?" Brett asked.

Wanatab followed the Westerner's gaze and grimaced a bit. He hadn't intended for this particular young woman to be offered to Brett. He had had his own designs on the woman, most importantly claiming her virginity for himself before having her trained as a personal servant, both in and out of bed.

But she was here, she was naked, and she was, therefore, available for barter. Wanatab said firmly, "Four years."

Brett laughed in surprise. He'd be lucky to maintain control of the oasis for four years, let alone begin profiting enough from it to make living in the desert worthwhile. Brett didn't trust the Western Powers to stand by their treaty with Wanatab. At any moment, ten thousand troops could land on the coast and surge inland toward the Capital. They only had to reach the oasis, 50 miles from the coast, to be able to set up a relief station that would then allow them to strike across the remaining 50 miles to take the capital.

"Four years," Brett agreed, "if you make one of the boys a strapping young lad who can handle a rifle. And half of my stock animals."

Wanatab hesitated, then turned to Brett and thumped his chest before offering out his hand in Western style. Brett repeated the light pounding to his chest, then took the King's hand.

"We will both prosper from this, Sire," Brett said.

The King looked out upon the women, nodding toward one and calling out a command. She immediately began up the steps, passing by them on her way toward Wanatab's tent. The King watched the nearly naked beauty as she passed, then looked to Brett with a wide smirk.

"Yes, my friend. And we will both stay warm. Very warm."

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

A slave girl named Pritti

At the command Pritti stood with the others, but her natural modesty still held some sway over her. It took two commands before she obeyed and she bit her lip knowing that she would be punished were she not chosen and left with the King. She shrugged out of her simple dress, her hands moving unbidden to cover her breasts, the hot sun burning her soft brown skin.

Pritti had almost grown used to being there. Being part of the harem wasn't hard work at least not at first. She'd not been a virgin when she had been taken slave by the King, but she hadn't been sexually experienced either, she'd only been married a couple of months before her husband, indebted to the King had given her up. The King had happily accepted the attractive young bride in part payment of the debt, three pack animals and her and her being the least value of the chattel. He had taken her that first night, brutal but quick, turning her out of his bed to join the other slaves within minutes of completing his pleasure. Pritti had cried that first night, the other harem slaves either contemptuous of the new girls tears or sympathetic from a distance. Only the white woman had shown any true concern and had laid Pritti's head in her lap, washed her face and stroked her hair until Pritti fell into a troubled sleep.

The white man looked nervous, almost frightened to Pritti, as he chose from amongst them. His excitement was clear

though. Would it be better to be with him than with the King she wondered as she watched him with large deep brown eyes. When he caught her glance she looked down away, eyes stinging and a blush on her cheeks. Pritti felt his eyes move across her body, over her strong thighs and flat stomach over the curve of her breasts. When she glanced up again he was pointing at her. Her legs were weak for a moment, not knowing if her life were now better than before or worse. At another sharp command from the King she slipped her simple dress back on and went to him.

As she had been trained she knelt before him in subjugation. At an unseen command one of the King's guards took her arm and pulled her to her feet before taking her back to the white stranger's tent.

 

[OregonWriter14]

Brett had travelled with Wanatab's caravan many times, and upon leaving the Capital for the coast or vise versa, the King had always said the same prayer as his people knelt on the ground in a large circle surrounding him: "May God be merciful and delivery each and every one of us to our destination."

It was ironic, then, that halfway through the 100 mile journey, Brett's trek would be coming to a joyful ending. He shook hands with Wanatab, then watched the fifty camel caravan slowly plod off into the vast desert. Brett was afraid to take his eyes off the train of animals and, trailing along side or behind it, the files of walking Reetu and slaves. He wasn't sure why at first, but then it came to him: he feared that at any moment he would conclude that this was a mistake, that he would want to rejoin the caravan, and that they would already be over the dune and gone ... forever.

He finally turned and looked to the five people who had also been left behind by their former Master. The expressions on their faces varied only slightly, for Brett was sure that each and every one of them had only one thought in their head: we've been left in the desert with this mad foreigner ... and we're all going to die.

"Well, first things first, I would imagine," Brett said.

He pulled from his side the ceremonial dagger that King Wanatab had given to him upon the signing of the Treaty with the West years earlier. He moved to each of the five slaves and, one by one, cut the ropes that not only tied their wrists together but then connected each of them to one another.

"You are free to run away if you wish," Brett said, taking a step back, sheathing the knife, and gesturing a waving hand toward the desert. "I will not stop you. You will die out there, of course, but ... flee if you want."

He looked off to the north, toward the oasis the Reetu called "The Devil's Hole". From this distance -- about five miles -- the only features Brett could make out was the slight rise of the caldera's edge and the peaks, if you could call them that, that rose just a bit right of dead center.

Having a bit more education than most people from the West -- let alone the Reetu and other primitive people of the Peninsula -- Brett was fully aware of what had created the Devil's Hole. The geologic feature was the remains of a volcano that had collapses long before humans came to populate this part of the world. Beyond that, he knew very little about the caldera's creation: that kind of knowledge was still a century off from this time.

The natural events that had created the Devil's Hole had also led to the evilness that kept the Reetu away. Generations earlier, when the collapsed volcano had still be active, the shaking of the Earth had frightened the Reetu and convinced them that the Devil was at work here.

Bad for the Reetu ... good for me, Brett thought. All this water ... the most valuable commodity in all of the Peninsula ... and no one wants to use it.

He looked back to his five slaves and said, "Run if you wish ... in which case you will either die in the desert or be caught, punished, and returned here to start all over ... or ... work for me as indentured servants -- not slaves -- for five years ... after which I will release you. King Wanatab has promised to take you to the coast, to take a boat back to your home land. Or ... if you wish to stay ... I will grant you land ... help you start a business ... what ever you wish to do with the rest of your life."

He gave the three women, the young man, and the teenage boy a moment to consider the offer, then went to the lead camel and grasped its harness rope. He jerked at the line, and first one, then a second, then all five heavily laden camels fell in behind him, likely already able to smell the fresh water in the distance.

Brett half glanced over his shoulder to see what the human part of the smaller train was doing and smiled as he saw at least some of the others fall in behind him as well.

 

[OregonWriter14]

The moment the white man cut his wrists free, Phee went to the camel upon which his meager possessions were being carried. He whispered softly, to let his only friend know he was there; then pulled out and donned a leather gauntlet. He untied his friend's anklets, dropped to the sand, and removed the hood.

"Hello, my friend," Phee said to King. "I am here. I am still here, no fear."

It was unusual for anyone outside the desert royalty to possess a raptor, and unheard of for an indentured servant to have one. Phee had been a favorite servant of Wanatab, and as such had been allowed to train and care for King. The young man, approaching his 16th birthday, had been so dedicated to the bird that he'd even come to sleeping in the aviaries at the homes that Wanatab kept in the capital and coastal city.

His first reaction to learning that this white man needed him was, "Will King be coming with me?"

Upon learning that the bird would not, he pitched a fit -- a respectful one, as he was, of course, speaking to his master and king -- and fell to Wanatab's feet, crying and begging for mercy.

In the end, Phee performed a special favor for his human king to be able to keep his avian King. And every night since then, Phee had awoken in a thick sweat, panicked, panting, and looking to his hands to see if the blood was still upon them. He doubted he would ever forget that horrific act, but he had his bird at least.

He looked over his shoulder at his new master, now leading away the camels. Freedom...? he thought. After just five years of labor? Phee didn't have to consider doing what this white man was offering: Phee knew he would serve the Westerner to gain his freedom. He simply didn't know what he would do with his freedom after that.

Phee had always been in the service of another man. He'd been sold to Wanatab even before he'd been able to walk. He hadn't spent a great deal of time with the King except during the week long falconry hunts to the desert retreat; but he'd always understood that he was a servant, there to do as he was bid.

Once he'd understood that King would be coming with him, Phee hadn't hesitated to join Brett Lee. He did so because his king -- his human king -- ordered it. It was simple.

But in five years, after he'd served this man and -- presumably -- was cut loose, what then? Did he return to King Wanatab? Did he stay here as a Free Man, to work for pay and continue to hunt with the desert falcon?

He stood and shrugged in his mind, thinking, Five years is more than one day, and one day can change everything. He fell in behind those who had already decided to follow the white man and began the long slow walk toward the odd geologic feature on the northern horizon.

 

[OregonWriter14]

"William" watched Brett lead the camels away as well, but his hesitation has nothing to do with deciding between five years of servitude or risking death in the desert.

No, his decision was between trying to kill this Westerner now when he was more likely to be on his guard or later when he would be more at ease. The prior was, of course, more dangerous: William -- who had taken a Western name to fit in with and get closer to the Colonists he served -- had seen the small pistol that his new master carried on his waist below his tunic, as well as the dagger that the man had used to cut free the five servants.

But the latter meant days, weeks, or months of servitude that could be avoided if he could simply find the time to strike.

William had nothing against this particular white man. He hated them all. They'd come into his country when his own father was but a boy and -- in his eyes -- enslaved all they put their hands on, from the people to the camels to the goats to the land itself. If William could kill each and everyone of the Satans, he would.

William was determined, but he wasn't suicidal. He wasn't going to kill just one of these Western mongrels, only to be hunted down in the desert and killed. What good would come of that? No, he would strike when the time was right, when he knew he could succeed, and when he knew he could escape.

His gaze turned to the female passing by him, and he looked her over long and hard. And when I escape, my pretty, he thought, feeling his cock beginning to swell, you will come with me as well.

(OOC: You'll notice I didn't point out which of the three females caught his attention. If you are writing one of these women and want to get caught up in a secret, passionate, and potentially dangerous liaison, let me know.)

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti barefooted and dressed in a long travelling dress of rough white fabric followed along the trail. To her right the white woman tried to keep pace, but it was clear that the sun was too much for her. On several occasions she stumbled and Pritti had to throw one arm around her to hold her up. The situation had been reversed she realised with grim smile, they both had their own strengths.

The road was dusty and soon she was coated in a thin film of dry brown dust. She longed to be back in her tent with the white woman dressed in their silks rather than this rough homespun and clean.

 

[OregonWriter14]

Compared to the 50 miles that the caravan had travelled to get from the coast to the oasis, the five miles from the caravan road to the raised edge of the caldera should have seemed like a walk in the park. But it hadn't. It had simply seemed to take forever to Brett, and -- of course -- he knew why: the excitement of something new and unknown.

Although he hadn't told this to the servants -- all of whom had eventually fallen in behind him and the camel train -- this was Brett's first visit into the oasis. On his last trip between the Capital and the coast with King Wanatab -- when the caravan settled for the night within sight of the location -- Brett had ridden the five miles to and from with a slave guide, coming to the edge of the caldera and looking down into it.

But out of respect for the Reetu's superstitious belief of the place, he hadn't ventured down into the oasis while part of their caravan. And now, standing on the caldera's lip and looking down at the wonder of the oasis laying out before him, his entire body was simply trembling with excitement.

Phee, who had returned King to the camel's pack, stepped up beside Brett and stared out across the landscape. He asked with obvious awe in his voice, "Can we drink all of that?"

"Most of it, Phee," Brett said, patting him gently before starting down the edge, tugging at the lead camel's rope. "More than you'll need."

He chuckled a bit at the boy's amazement, but he understood what Phee had meant in his question. There were a great number of pools of water scattered across the desert that had high salt concentrations, so much so that using the sun to create solar distillers -- to create fresh drinking water -- wasn't worth the effort, time, and expense. Those glistening pools of water were of no value, except to produce salt, which was, of course, a valued resource, too.

But while a person could live without mined salt, they couldn't live without drinking water. And that was what made the Devil's Hole so valuable to Brett. This water -- this fresh water -- was going to make Brett Lee a wealthy and powerful man. A wealthy and powerful white man ... outside of the confines of the coastal city. That was simply unheard of on the Peninsula.

He continued his descent into the caldera, glancing back to see the expressions on the faces of the servants who each were seeing this amazing place for the first time. Another ten minutes later -- with the desert a memory -- they were surrounded by green plants and wet soil and bogs and buzzing insects and birds and slithering creatures. It was a different world down here.

They continued all the way through the wet land, with Brett weaving through on the higher ground. They were able to get through with just slightly wet and muddied feet, and once they were at the base of the peaks -- again on dry ground -- he said, "Let's get the tents set up and the camels unloaded ... then ... you can all have the day to look around and relax. There'll be plenty of work tomorrow, but for today..."

He let the thought fade away. To be honest, he wasn't giving them the day off from working for him: he was giving himself the day off from having to command them. He wanted this time to simply walk about and explore.

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

It took Pritti almost an hour to erect her tent as she was not accustomed to such practical tasks. The other two slaves from the harem were of little help being less practical than she was and without her tenacity. Finally however it was done, the stout canvas stretched over long wooden polls and tied in place with leather thongs. Inside the hide mats and woollen blankets were laid out in preparation for the cold desert night.

She had thought little of the caldera as they had approached, only a vague underlying dread of the place that tightened her stomach betrayed her nervousness and she attributed it to being sold to this strange white man. Who knew, she thought, what such a one would require from her. For a moment she thought to ask the white woman but she flushed as she considered it. Instead the three harem slaves walked through the oasis, marvelling at the free lying pools of water and the tenacious plants that surrounded them adding a green to the landscape she'd rarely ever seen before. After perhaps an hour, as the sun had begun to sink towards the horizon she sat with the two women beside one of the salinated pools washing her bare feet in the water and scrubbing the salt from her skin with fresh sand.

"Pritti, I would speak to you." a voice said from behind them.

 

[OregonWriter14]

(OOC: This pic of Brett Lee is what he would have looked like performing his duties as Liaison between the Reetu and the West. Imagine him in something a little more appropriate for the desert, such as what Phee is wearing in this picture, less the tribal head dress.)

(OOC: I named the other two female servants below because they don't yet have writers. If someone decides to take them soon, we will change the names if you wish. But not if those names have been used a great deal by the time the characters are claimed.


Before he began his walk about the oasis, Brett asked one last thing of the two male servants, which was to set up his tent for him. "There's no need to unpack my bags ... or even lay out the carpet. Just get the tent up and secure against the wind."

As the two men set about the task, their Master headed away from what would be they group's short term camp on a clockwise trek around the base of what he decided to call The Buttes. The full oasis was almost perfectly round with a diameter of about two miles.

Brett had first thought he could circle the buttes in about an hour. But without an established trail and with the number of times that he stopped to investigate plants, animals, and other interesting objects, it was almost dark -- four hours later -- before he came around the bend and over a slight rise to again see the camp.

He smiled at the sight, pleased with what had been accomplished. His tent -- the largest of the group, of course -- was fully erected, on a plot of ground that was just a bit higher than the rest of the camp.

And there were six other tents, too. One Brett would learn belonged to Pritti. Another would be shared by the two male servants. A third belonged to Helen, the British citizen turned captive turned slave.

Brett hadn't realized it, but the youngest of the servants, Luhani, had been residing with the eldest since she'd come into Wanatab's possession. Helen had been delaying the teen's deflowering by servicing King Wanatab any time his hunger had him eying the naïve, unspoiled thing.

What Helen hadn't known -- and what Wanatab had had no intention of telling her -- was that he hadn't planned on claiming Luhani's virginity for quite a while. He'd been haggling with other Tribal Chiefs to sell the untouched girl, but he just hadn't been offered the right price.

Now, of course, turning Luhani into a woman had become Brett's pleasure.

The other three were filled with the cargo and bags from the camels, which were now down at the water's edge. Brett walked into the camp and chatted with Phee for a moment before going into his tent to inspect the work. The two men had done a spectacular job staking it tight and -- despite being told not to bother -- they had staked down the rug that covered the majority of the sand inside the tent.

Brett had only to set up his bed and small desk and his temporary home would be all set up. But as he was considering what he wanted to do first, he heard a woman's laugh waft through the air, and -- like any man who'd gone without for a while and had females nearby who couldn't say no to him -- he made his way outside to find the servants and begin his new life as Master.

He found the three women sitting on the bank of the more saline of the ponds, scrubbing their bodies of days of filth. They seemed to be bonding already, although the differences in their personalities were obvious, even to Brett after just a couple of minutes of watching them interact.

Helen looked up and caught sight of him, and Brett could see in her expression -- and her quick, protective glance Luhani's direction -- that she knew why he was here. Without alerting the other two women to their master's presence, Helen stood, still holding the lower hem of her gown: the result was that her legs from just above her knees down were revealed to Brett.

He knew that, without speaking, she was telling him Take me, not the girl.

Brett shook his head lightly at the only other white at the Devil's Hole, then gestured her to sit again. After she did, he looked to the slave that he knew was broken in and would likely give him the least trouble when he tried to crawl between her thighs and said, "Pritti, I would speak to you."

When the Peninsula native looked up to Brett, he gave her a curling finger gesture and added, "Please come to my tent. I need some help setting up."

He didn't wait for her to respond: he didn't have to, as he was the master. Instead, he turned his back to her and ascended the slight incline until he was in his tent. He shed his desert gown and his boots, leaving him in a loose fitting, long sleeved shirt and a pair of comfortable leggings that were meant only for the indoors.

When Pritti entered, he immediate set to having her help unpack his things, setting them. Brett's possessions equaled in quantity the possessions of the five servants put together, and yet he still had far fewer things that someone such as King Wanatab.

But he had what he needed: a bed with a dozen large pillows, a small desk and field chair that he'd bought from a Legionnaire, and a few other possessions that would help him in his future endeavors.

 

[OregonWriter14]

(OOC: For the moderators, the "girl" below is, of course, 18. She is referred to and thought of by the older woman as a "girl" because there is nearly a decade between them and because she is a virgin. But she is, in fact, of legal age.)

(OOC: This is my second post in a row. Be sure not to miss reading the one above, too.)

(OOC: The other two female servants are called, for now, Helen and Luhani. Helen is the older British woman and Luhani is the barely legal "half breed". For now, I am writing Helen; and we have a new writer coming in who will begin writing Luhani soon.)

Helen exchanged glances with Pritti as she followed their new master up toward the camp. She knew what Brett wanted with the beautiful slave girl, and it wasn't to organize his sock drawer.

Which, of course, led Helen to give Luhani a long look of concern. Since the young woman had come into King Wanatab's possession, Helen had taken on the role of protective older sister. She'd known from the beginning that the girl's purpose here was to surrender her blossom to her master, and while the man who would now make that claim had changed, Helen knew that Luhani's fate hadn't.

She rose and waded through the salty water to stand before the teen, reaching out to comb her fingers through Luhani's hair. She smiled that big sis smile that had been such a part of their lives, then lifted the girl's chin with her long fingers to look directly into the young slave's eyes.

"I will go to him first, my sister," Helen said, knowing that Luhani would understand what she meant. They had discussed the girl's eventual deflowering often, with Helen offering her own version of the old birds and the bees talk that her own mother had given her so many years earlier. "I will make him understand that you are but a girl and should be treated with kindness ... yes?"

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti busied herself arranging the tent neatly, unpacking some items and storing others. Soon the tent was neat, almost homely. When she finally turned her Master was sat on the edge of the bed roll on the floor, leaning forward and watching her eagerly. There was something about him that suggested that he was nervous and for a moment Pritti almost felt sorry for him. Still she was unsure what exactly would be expected of her.

"Would Master have me change my dress and dance for him?" She asked, remembering how much the King had enjoyed watching her.

 

[OregonWriter14]

Brett had been watching Pritti off and on as she worked, ogling her curves as she moved about, organizing his possessions. She did far more than he'd expected, but after he remembered that she had once been one of King Wanatab's favorites, he realized that she likely had a lot of experience at knowing how to take care of a man.

That take care of a man thought had been causing Brett's cock to swell and abate, swell and abate, too, and finally -- when he himself was done helping her with the heavier or more complicated tasks -- he sat on the bed and simply watched the beauty work.

When she finished and turned to face him, Brett was hard as a rock and confused as hell: he'd never been Master to a female slave with whom he could satisfy his urges simply by demanding she serve him. Wanatab had sent women to his tent at night to keep him warm, but this was the first time Brett had ever looked at one of these women and known that she was his to do with -- or do to -- as he pleased.

And yet, he didn't know how to start things off. When the harem girls Wanatab shared with other men came to Brett's tent, they had simply gotten to work on him, wordlessly.

Do I just tell her to take her clothes off? Brett was wondering as he ogled her curves. He couldn't believe that he was as such a loss.

Pritti would save him, though, when she asked him, "Would Master have me change my dress and dance for him?"

"Yes," Brett said quickly, relieved that the servant had saved him. "I would like that ... Pritti."

As he cleared his throat and rose to cross to the old phonograph he'd brought with him all the way from Europe, Brett suddenly realized this was the first time he'd been with either of the female servants alone. It only seemed to cause his cock to harden more completely as he searched through his collection of two dozen 78 records for the only one he had of Peninsular music.

It wasn't Reetu music, but then Pritti wasn't either, so... Brett wound up the old player and carefully set the needle down. The sound was scratchy, as the album -- the only one he'd ever found of Local music -- was old and well used. But it only had one skip in its three and a half minutes of music on this side and two on the other, so Brett felt very fortunate to have it.

He returned to the edge of the bed, a little more conscious of the tent pole pressing his crotch forward, and took his place there again, looking to Pritti with excitement...

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

The stranger leans forward his arm perhaps subconsciously falling to his lap to cover his excitement. When he answers it is with a breathy "Yes." Pritti bows her head a fraction and leaves the tent. She returns to her own tent and quickly she takes of her clothes and begins to dress in her dancing clothes. Her hands are shaking and the dress is difficult to fasten. It is only a few moments however before the white woman quietly enters. Without a word, just with a look of understanding she takes Pritti's hands and holds them, squeezing them gently before helping her to dress. Pritti feels her heart beating rapidly as the woman's hands move over her dress straightening it and then taking a brush to Pritti's long black hair

"Fear?" she asks herself silently. After several minutes of tending the white woman looks her up and down and smiles. Leaning close she kisses Pritti's cheek and whispers, "You're beautiful" Pritti smiles an embarrassed smiles and feels her heart lurch again. She tears her eyes away from the kind westerner and lifting her skirts from the ground returns to her new Master.

She is gone only fifteen minutes but her Master is restless when she returns. She enters almost silently and notes his hand pressed against his leggings, the bulge of his excitement clearly defined. When he sees her he jumps and conceals himself again.

Her training takes over, she moves to the centre of the spacious tent, her bare feet caressed by the beautiful rug beneath her and in the soft light of the oil lamps the shadows caress her body. For the first time he sees her dressed as the harem girl rather than the slave. Her dress is deep orange red, the colour of clean dry sand under the dying light of a beautiful sunset. Silk and embroidered with silver and gold thread it moves against her bare limbs with an audible susurration. She wears a shawl covering her head made of the same fabric, hiding her face. Lifting long lithe biscuit tan arms she pushes the shawl back to fall around her feet. Her top is cut high on the stomach, low at the cleavage, soft curve of breasts and belly both exposed to the rapidly cooling air. Her skirts reach the floor.

As she begins to dance he notes the jewellery around her neck and wrists, silver and gold glittering and ringing out with each movement, part of her price was to pay for what the King had called with a certain irony, "The tools of her trade". Stood up straight for perhaps the first time since he first saw her he looks her up and down. She is petite, only a shade over five feet he would judge, but proportioned perfectly. Her legs are long and as she spins suddenly to the music he sees that they are firm and beautifully tanned.

Her hair is pulled through a silver band in to a long pony tail that reaches the small of her back and whips around her as she moves. Turning away from him she moves her hands down her sides, over the bare skin of her stomach and hips and through the folds of fabric at her sides. She raises her arms high and folds them across her chest. Spinning gracefully on one foot her hands cover her clothed breasts holding them. She is busty he sees, firm and girlish in figure though she must be in her twenties.

As the music ends she steps forward, closer to him and slips to her knees before him. She is breathing a little heavier now, her warm breath on his hands and a rosy touch to her dusky skin. She looks up at him with deep liquid eyes that might be black in the dimness of the room. The lamp light glitters on her gown and jewellery.

"How may I pleasure you Sir?"

 

[OregonWriter14]

Brett was ready to explode, and neither he nor the beautiful dancer had shed even a single piece of clothing. The dance -- and the erotic beauty of the dancer -- had been enough to cause any man to find great excitement.

It was fortunate, then, that this woman belonged to Brett, for he had a yearning that he couldn't have held off for the hours, days, or weeks it would have taken him to court a regular woman back in the capital.

"How may I pleasure you Sir?" Pritti asked, now on her knees just before Brett.

Without thinking, he murmured, "Oh, there are so many ways..."

Brett reached a hand out to gently caress the smooth skin of her face. As his fingers gently trailed their way down his jaw line, to her neck, to her clavicle, and finally to the cleavage of her youthful, firm breasts, he again murmured, "So beautiful."

He pulled his hand back, reaching it and the other to his groin where he began unbuckling and unbuttoning. He asked her in the way Western Johns often asked the Peninsular whores or harem girls, "Do you know how to use your mouth...?"

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

The young woman takes another deep breath as she settles back on her knees, her eyes on his flecks of reflected light making them seem deeper than before, slowly she nods. She pushes his hands away from his unbuckled bed and begins to slowly undo each button in turn. Long sharp nails working carefully down. When the final button is undone she waits until he stands and pulls his leggings down. His length is impressive and she reveals her surprise with a sharp intake of breath. Berating herself silently she motions the Master to sit back down.

She hesitates for a moment, not moving, her eyes fixed on his thick twitching cock and then moves. She moves her hands up along his thighs, gently but firmly pushing the apart, the nails moving across his skin lightly. Bending low she opens her mouth a tiny amount and kisses the head of his cock. As he sits back he sees her bending low for him, her bottom higher than her head now, her skirt bundled around her in swathes of fabric, her jewellery tinkling gaily with each movement.

As she kisses him, the first small drops of moisture on her lips she opens her mouth a little wider and caresses the head of his cock with her tongue. Her eyes are closed now, the small sharp tongue moving along the cleft on the bottom of his glans. His precum builds a little as she ministrates to him, for a minute and then two, the slightest caress and movement of tongue and lips.

After several minutes of this almost teasing torture, Pritti moves on as she has been taught. With one hand she cups his heavy testicles and the other she moves up his inner thigh. She wraps the index finger and thumb of her right hand around the base of his cock squeezing gently as she opens her mouth wider and presses down. She takes a full three inches inside her mouth, holding there, her tongue caressing his shaft before backing off. Squeezing again she slide her lips along the shaft, tongue bathing him, lips moving around him, deeper this time, another inch disappearing inside her.

She would normally have taken all of the King inside her by now but this white man is proving to be a greater challenge. With one final squeeze she releases his cock from her grip and slides forward closer to him. With her arms slipping around his waist she press down again taking him deeper, hugging him to her. Again she backs away, now repeating, bobbing her head, the tiniest bit further each time. Her pony tail whipping at her shoulders as she swallows a little more almost sliding free of him with each stroke but then returning and pressing down firmly. Her eyes are watering by now, the head of his cock pressed painfully against the back of her throat with each stroke.

She feels him tensing, the orgasm building inside him, his thighs tight around her chest and waist pressing her breasts together roughly. She releases his cock from her mouth and says breathlessly.

"Where will my Master spill his seed?"

 

[OregonWriter14]

The warmth and wetness of Pritti's mouth upon Brett's cock was incredible. He, like any man who'd partaken of such activity, loved being blown by a woman who knew what she was doing.

And it didn't take long for Pritti to show that she knew very well what she was doing. She toyed with him for quite some time, and each time Brett was about to encourage her to get to it, she would do something new with her tongue or lips or fingers that only made him want to continue this playing.

Eventually, though, Pritti grasped the base of his cock and took it into her mouth: some, then more, then all. As her head moved up and down over his groin, her pony tail swung to and fro over her shoulders while the jewelry on her wrists, body, neck, and even forehead swayed or bobbed or sometimes jingled, only adding to the action.

Brett's climax was coming, and as he began to worry about whether he should cum in Pritti's mouth. She was his slave, his sexual servant; and she'd been so for King Wanatab for some time, too. But Brett knew that many if not most females very much disliked having a man shoot his wad into their mouth, and harem consort or not, Brett was hesitant to do so without having discussed it with her before hand.

As if knowing what was going on in his head, Pritti withdrew his quivering cock from her mouth and asked, "Where will my Master spill his seed?"

He was there: he could feel the pleasure on an explosive path, and his orgasm was imminent. What was he to do? His brain was working fast: turn away, block the missile shots, cum on her beautiful dress, cum in her mouth, or...

There simply wasn't time to decide. Brett laid back onto the mat again and murmured as the orgasm arrived, "Oh ... gawwwwd...!"

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti felt the Master's indecision and waited. It took only a moment, she was covered in shame as she realised she had misjudged and pushed him too far. His hips shook and twisted as his orgasm over came him, his hot thick seed arcing up from his swollen cock and splashing down across her face and hair. She sat still feeling the warmth touching her cheeks and dripping down from her brow over her nose to her lips, the taste of him already in her mouth intensifying.

As she had been taught she used her hand to scoop the precious moisture up and drank it down, swallowing every final drop before leaning forward and beginning to clean her Master with lips and tongue.

 

[OregonWriter14]

As the euphoria of orgasm exploded within him, Brett fell back onto the low lying bed mat, his back muscled tensing to cause it to arch. He groaned with delight as the pulsing continued, firing his load out to...

To where...?

His mind was awhirl for a long, long moment of joy. But when he was finally able to open his eyes to view the damage, he found Pritti using her fingers to wipe one trail of cum after another off her face, neck and clavicle, then sucking it off her long fingers through tightly encircling lips.

It was ... oh god, it was ... such a sight. In all his years of sex with accommodating females, he'd never seen one do this. He'd often cum in their mouths, and they'd simply swallowed his discharge; or if they'd redirected him, he'd often cum all over his own belly and chest, only to have them wipe away his seed with a wet towel that they'd had handy just for this action.

But to see Pritti cleaning his ejaculate -- and so much of it, it seemed -- off her face and devouring it, like some pie eating participant at a County fair cleaning up after the 60 second bell had rung was ... oh, it was simply too much.

He just stared at her as she worked, then -- when she began to clean up the white stuff that had dripped down his shaft -- he fell back onto the bed again. His head was still spinning, his heart was still pounding, and his entire body was quivering in delight.

And somewhere during this happiness with the choice of woman he'd made back there on the river bank several days earlier ... Brett Lee drifted off to sleep, exhausted from work and spent by Pritti's amazing treatment...

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti watches as her Master goes to sleep, his chest rising and falling slowing from the rapid breathing of his orgasm. After a long moment she pulls one of the rugs over him, shielding him from the already chill desert night.

When she steps out of the tent the moon is already climbing over the edge of the Oasis, large and red tinted with the ever present dust in the air. She sighs a little sadly as she walks back to her own tent. As she passed another of the tents she heard a voice.

"Pritti?"

She looked down and saw the white woman, Helen, leaning out a little from her tent. Pritti bent and replied "Hello." Before long Helen had invited her inside and Pritti was telling her what had happened with the Master. Helen sat on the other side of a small fire, the flickering light illuminating her thin white night dress and giving her the appearance of a beautiful ethereal ghost. Helen was not surprised at what Pritti told her, but was gratified that at least the Master had been gentle. They could only hope that he would continue to be.

 

[Elegant_Emotion]

(OOC: Hi! Glad to be on board. I did my best to smooth out a name change for Luhani, I hope it isn't too abrupt.)

""I will go to him first, my sister..."

Helen always called her sister. It was a kind platitude and though it was preferable to 'Luhani', which the people of her old village had forced upon her, it still felt like a dress that didn't quite fit.

"Saria" she whispered, her small voice swallowed by the shifting water. She stared at her own reflection, only half-listening to the other girls talk. Only when the man who had bought them, the one Wanatab had called Brett of Lee, approached did Saria look up. She stared stone faced at the man, her body tense as she awaited to hear his commands.

Saria let out a deep breath when he beckoned Pritti to join him. Saria was no fool, she knew it wasn't his baggage he needed help with. Helen had explained to Saria what it was men and women did in bedrooms, and she had overheard the other women of Wanatab's discussing their pillow art as well. Yet even before that, during the years spent living in the streets and fighting other orphans over scraps of food, Saria had learned to fear the word rape. Even before she knew what it was she had understood that it was something terrible, and had spent her childhood pretending to be a boy as protection. Life was more secure since Wanatab had bought her, but Saria still had the deep gnawing fear in the back of her mind.

She realized her eyes had been closed only when she opened them, startled as Helen took her hands from Saria's hair and left to assist Pritti.

Saria watched her go but did not protest. Helen was very kind, but at times Saria wondered of she wasn't a little mad. Foreigners could not live under the sun of her people, Saria had been told, and whatever had happened to Helen she had never spoken to Saria about it.

She stayed in the water until her skin pruned and exhaustion started to weigh her limbs down. Saria was no stranger to walking, but a journey like the one to this oasis was new to her, and the others were all older and stronger than her. She stepped from the water, dress hangingsoaked from her body, and found a smooth patch of rock, still warm from the sun, and lay down to watch the last glimmers of the sunset in the distance and the encroaching night stars.

 

[OregonWriter14]

(OOC: Going to put a word or two in Pritti's mouth. My apologies up front.)

Helen stood, crossed the tent to one of the support ropes upon which she had hung some simple desert clothes, and stripped to her bare skin. "I will go to the Master's tent for the night. You seem to have served him very well, Pritti, and I doubt that he will be looking for more satisfaction this evening..."

She turned back to the darker skinned slave, adjusting her gown over her full, voluptuous figure as she stepped into a pair of simple sandals. "...but it will be cold tonight ... and I don't want this Brett Lee even thinking about warming his bed with Saria this early in--"

"Saria...?" Pritti asked.

Helen smiled. "Luhani. I always suspected that the name had been given to her by Wanatab, or perhaps the slavers. There was ... something ... something in her eyes every time she was called that name. I think that perhaps it has a meaning in her native language that is ... let's call it derogatory ... but I will not do her the disservice of asking."

Helen found her shawl -- a remnant of her Western attire that she refused to give up -- and slung it around her body. She bid Pritti a good night, telling her that if she wished, she could stay here with Saria, who shared a tent with the older mother hen of a slave.

But before leaving, she hesitated. She looked to Pritti, who had been a sexual servant since coming of age, and said with a serious tone, "One of us will have to ... train Saria for her evening with our Master. I ... I am no stranger to sex. But ... I am no harem girl, either."

She spoke that description -- harem girl -- with a tone of utmost respect, not derogatory criticism. Helen did not look down upon the harem girls. They served a very specialized purpose in this culture, and -- despite only being wet holes in which to park a throbbing dick, in the eyes of their male masters -- they each deserved the greatest respect for what they did for those masters.

"We should talk about this soon," Helen said before exiting and heading for Brett's tent.

 

[Elegant_Emotion]

Saria opened her eyes, having dozed off for a moment. The stone beneath her had lost its' warmth, and the cool night air cut through her thin dress like chill fingers on her skin. Pushing herself up she glanced back at the camp, seeing movement in the tent she shared with Helen.

Padding softly on bare feet Saria made her way over to the tent. Just as she entered the circle of firelight around the camp she paused. For just a moment she swore she had heard footsteps. Turning back she saw only a wall of darkness behind her, the night swallowing the rest of the oasis. Saria shuddered, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, then turned away from the night and lifted the tent flap to slip inside.

" Helen, will..." her voice trailed off in surprise at finding Pritti in the tent instead. Though they had both been property of Wanatab, Saria did not know the woman well. She only knew Pritti was very beautiful and very skilled if the gossip could be believed. "I am sorry, I... I thought you would still be with the master.". Just as with Wanatab, Saria could not bring herself to call Brett our master.

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti looked up sharply and smiled when she saw the young woman.

"Saria?" and smiled again at the sound of the name, "Yes much better than that other name." She patted the cushions beside her. "Helen has gone to the Master to warm his bed for the evening. He is asleep and will sleep to dawn I think."

Pritti looked at the young woman with a penetrating glance.

"Do you know what the Master will expect of you, sooner or later?"

 

[Elegant_Emotion]

Saria approached somewhat warily and took a seat on the cushions next to Pritti. She hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the ground, candlelight causing the shadows on her brooding face to dance. "Helen told me a little." Her voice was sullen and she shifted her feet uncomfortably. "She told me what sex is." Colour bloomed across the fair skin of her face. "Some of the other women told me it would hurt, but that I had to smile and pretend it doesn't." Saria had fought with other orphans on the street, she could deal with pain, but she was resolved not to smile and thank anyone for hurting her.

 

[Karen_SubBiFem]

Pritti looked across at the young woman with sympathy.

"It may hurt a little, the first time, but it doesn't have to necessarily. It can even be pleasant some times. If you had been part of the harem then you would have been a little more prepared."

Pritti shivered as a gust of icy desert night wind blew through the insubstantial shelter and the lamps flickered and guttered.

"Come here child, you will freeze sitting by the door." Pritti pushed the bed clothes back and beckoned.