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Brigit’s Introduction to the Brothel

Categories Fantasy, BDSM, Cum Swallowing, Domination/submission

Authror: JackFD

Published: 02 July 2018

  • Font:

Brigit’s Introduction to the Brothel

By Francis Drake

Chapter 2 (continued)

Posted by JackFD, with Francis Drake’s permission.

For more my Francis Drake and others go to www.nomadauthors.com, have fun.

Brigit twisted into a sitting position. The cot on which she lay was no different from the one she’d left in her previous cell, though the room in which she now found herself was slightly improved. Like her other “home,” this room had a makeshift toilet and sink, but here a cloth screen partially hid them. There was a table bolted to the floor, a small cabinet secured in the same way, and two beds. In the wall above the table, someone had embedded a shiny piece of metal that served as a mirror.

The room smelled fresh, without a hint of mustiness, though from all the rock and stone Brigit saw in the corridors, she thought they might be underground or in a cave. Now she found the source of the freshness. High on the wall over their beds, a vent circulated air through the slatted metal. Next to it was a circle of glass—a window. After her days in dark isolation, Brigit couldn’t get enough of the light.

None of these amenities changed the fact that the door lacked a handle, making the room a prison cell.

At last, Brigit’s gaze lighted on the biggest improvement in the new room, her companion, Fatima. She wore layers of translucent materials that hid little. Her long legs, narrow waist, and full breasts were in view even behind the material. Her high cheekbones, large, dark eyes, and full lips lent her the look of exotic beauty enhanced by the caramel color of her skin. Raven black hair fell in rivers of waves over her shoulders. In America, she could have made a fortune as a model. Her face had an aura of mystery merchants will kill for.

The girl—for she looked younger than Brigit’s nineteen years—stared with unabashed frankness.

“I am sorry you are here,” Fatima said.

“Where the hell is here?”

“Nowhere you want to be.”

No shit. “You speak English.”

“I went to school in New York City.”

“I’m from San Francisco.”

“Nice place.” The girl looked wistful.

“Yeah, it is, but hell would be nice compared to here.” Her words brought a smile to the girl’s face. “We’re prisoners.”

The smile on Fatima’s face disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “Oh, yes. There is no escape from the Claw. It is he who holds us. It is here we will die.”

The words froze Brigit’s blood. The Claw? Just the name conjured images of a slasher jumping from the shadows on a Halloween night, just like in horror films. One thing was for sure, Claw or not, she had no intention of dying in some dungeon, a prisoner of men with values culled from the Middle Ages.

“How did you end up here?” she asked Fatima.

“In New York I had a boyfriend. We loved each other and planned to marry, so I slept with him. When I returned home for a visit and my parents found out, my mother wanted to kill me.”

Brigit tried to be polite, but her mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“I was impure,” the girl explained.

“This impure thing has got to go.”

“My father stopped her, saying if they sold me, they would at least make a little money off my sin.”

Her impassionate expression shocked Brigit as much as the words. Then she detected a deep sadness in Fatima’s eyes. “Your parents sold you to the people here? I can’t believe it.”

“It is not uncommon.” The girl shrugged. “The worst thing is, I never had a chance to say goodbye to my lover. He must think I deserted him. I suppose, in a way, I have.”

“How did your parents find out about the two of you? I can’t imagine you told them, knowing what their reaction would be.”

“My mother found a letter from Tommy.” Staring into space, the girl fell silent.

Brigit left her to her memories. She had enough to think about with her own situation. How in hell would she ever get out of this? She knew her family would try to find her, but everything they knew was a lie. Crap, I need to keep my wits about me.

“Listen, Fatima, have you tried to escape? I mean, has anyone?”

Fatima shook her head. “If you found your way out of the building, where would you go? A large staff of men is employed within the compound. Outside, too. If you get past them, you face the mountains, rough and high. Even in summer, the temperatures drop at night. We have no clothing but this.” The girl indicated what she wore, including flimsy sock-type slippers. They would give as much protection against rocks as the light material would against cold. Which was to say, none at all. And, of course, the trip up had shown her how isolated they were.

“So, what is life like here? What do we do?”

“We are whores. We service whomever we are told. If we are obedient and maintain our beauty, we remain in the elite house, where men pay much money to use our bodies. We do not receive money, of course.” She smiled rather apologetically. “But if we cause trouble or when we age, we are sent below to service the employees. I have heard tales. Women do not live long once they go below.” She shuddered in the telling.

“What if we don’t do what they tell us?”

“We are punished.”

“I can stand a beating or two,” Brigit said boldly.

“Perhaps. But when girls first arrive, they are given a mentor. I am yours. If you refuse to obey, they will punish you. And, they will punish me, for not teaching you properly.”

“What?” The thought that anyone would punish this delicate beauty turned Brigit’s blood to ice. “What do I need to do to keep that from happening?”

“Whenever we leave the room, I will tie your hands and fasten the leash around your neck. As you saw when we came here, pulling on the leash causes it to tighten.”

Brigit rubbed her neck and remembered when she didn’t walk fast enough to keep up with the guard who led them through the maze of hallways.

Fatima continued. “Because you are new and I had no time with you, the guards were lenient this morning. But if you lag behind and have to be pulled to your duties, we will both be punished. If you follow my lead and do as you are told, we will be fed better and treated better in the hall. So please, Brigit…?”

“I’ll do my best.”

She fell back on the bed in despair.

“How did you come to be here?” Fatima asked.

Brigit snorted in disgust. “I trusted the wrong person.”

“Does…does anyone know where you are?” Fatima whispered the words tinged with hope.

Brigit shook her head. “No.” Tears trailed down her cheek. “They think I’m visiting my boyfriend’s family in Islamabad. I found out later he’s from Tajikistan. Is that where we are now?”

“Yes. Is it he who betrayed you?”

Brigit didn’t have the heart to answer. “Fatima, how long have you been here?”

“I am not certain.” She seemed to think. Or maybe she fell to dreaming of a better time and place. “One day is like another, but based on the seasons, I have served about one year.” She hesitated again. “And an untold number of men.”

That said it all. Brigit’s morale sank. This would be her life, too. Until she died, at any rate, a fate she would gladly embrace. Except now her actions affected someone else. She’d force herself to live rather than bring more suffering to Fatima.

Footsteps sounded outside the cell. The pass-through in the door slid open. A man gave an order in what Brigit now recognized as Tajiki.

“What did he say?” Brigit asked when the pass-through closed.

“It is time for me to prepare you to eat.” Fatima rose and went to the door where rope and a black robe had been pushed on the shelf.

Fatima came forward. “First your hands.”

Brigit jerked back. “No.” Tears stung her eyes. She would never make it, never last in this…whatever hell this was.

“Stand, please. You must be tied until they are sure you will be cooperative.”

“But, I won’t be able to eat.”

“I will feed you. It is part of my task.”

Reluctantly, Brigit stood and held out her hands. With efficiency, Fatima bound them, then wrapped the rope around Brigit’s waist and secured it. “Is that too tight? The object is to restrict movement, not cause pain.”

“Fine,” Brigit responded bitterly. “I suppose I’ll have to go naked until they’re sure I’ll be cooperative?” With her hands confined to her stomach, she was unable to wipe away the tear trickling down her cheek. Fatima stared at it, but didn’t wipe it away either.

Silently, she draped the black material over Brigit, leaving only her head visible. Fatima tied the sack under Brigit’s chin. “Sit, so that I can cover your feet.”

Brigit fell back onto the bed. Fatima slid warm socks over her feet and then assisted Brigit in standing.

Hands bound and covered from neck to ankles in a black, formless bag, Brigit was as far from the life she’d known last week as it was possible to be. She wanted to cry, to scream, to pound her fists against the wall. She wanted her mother.

“I can’t believe this,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I am sorry. Soon, this is all you will believe.” The words rang like a death knell in Brigit’s mind.

The door squeaked open, and Fatima started forward. Brigit followed, knowing she had no choice.

A popular phrase from the 1980s filled her mind. “This is the first day of the rest of your life.” Suddenly, whether in hysteria or the sheer contrast between the old affirmation and what she now faced, Brigit wanted to laugh.



Chapter 3

The trip to the dining hall, the meal, and the walk back were not much more than a blur to Brigit. Fatima held the leash as loosely as possible, but the shame of being treated like a pet burned. Humiliation was high on Brigit’s mind, right along with betrayal, fear, and the knowledge of her foolishness.

One of her friends had warned her about Middle Eastern men and their view of womanhood, which differed greatly from those of the West. She’d heard the news reports and seen the features on the lack of women’s rights in places like Afghanistan, but she’d ignored all that. Omar hadn’t fit any of the stereotypes. He’d been good to her and fun. They’d gone drinking together for Pete’s sake—wasn’t alcohol against their culture?—proving her friend’s fears were unwarranted. He’d seemed different from what everyone described. But he hadn’t been. Now she knew he’d seen her only as a piece of meat, a means to an end.

Granted, she wouldn’t have wished this joint on his sister or any other woman. But that did not give him the right to imprison her.

All Brigit noticed of the halls and rooms she’d been through showed a starkness that contrasted with the material in Fatima’s attire. There had been a dozen or so women in the dining hall, which resembled nothing more than a gray-walled institutional room with two lines of tables. They sat on benches and were served by a number of other women who scurried between the tables under the watchful gaze of a few guards. The serving women wore muslin shifts, while the women seated at the tables had all been dressed similarly to Fatima, in filmy gowns that hid nothing of their bodies. The exception was another woman who, like her, wore a black sack. No one had spoken, certainly not to her. She’d never seen a room of women so silent.

The food proved simple but ample, though it tasted like ashes in Brigit’s mouth. All she could think about was her stupidity. She’d been not only dumb, but arrogant. Against good advice, she’d trusted Omar. She’d put him and her desire for adventure above her parents, and she’d ignored the cautionary statements of her own government when she agreed to travel to this godforsaken part of the world. Now she might spend the rest of her life here, unable to make amends.

When Fatima led her back to their sparse room, a woman stopped them and spoke in a low voice.

The door closed and locked behind them. “We will be leaving again soon,” Fatima said apologetically. “So I won’t be untying you.”

Brigit tugged against the restraints. “Where are we going?”

“One of the others is being punished. We all witness.”

A niggling of fear ran down Brigit’s spine. “Wh…why? What did she do?”

“I don’t know. They might announce the reason or they might not.” Fatima leaned toward the mirror and adjusted her earrings. Her movements were casual, but Brigit spied how her fingers trembled.

“Who is it?”

“Not us,” Fatima replied. “That is all that matters. Do not mistake a friendly word as finding a friend, Brigit. No one here cares for you. It is easiest on your heart to be the same.”

“But, how can you live without friends? This place would be unbearable to face alone.”

Fatima placed her hands on Brigit’s shoulders. “It is unbearable no matter what. If I were friends with the woman who is being punished today, how could I handle watching her humiliation and pain and know doing anything would bring the same to myself? We must each take care of ourselves.”

A feeling of despair enveloped Brigit. Every time she thought she’d reached her lowest point, something happened to prove her wrong. She’d thought if she were miserable, she’d at least have female companions who would understand. “So when you’re no longer my mentor, we won’t talk again or share our experiences?”

“It would be best.” Sadness crossed Fatima’s face, but the expression passed quickly and she put Brigit from her. She turned and paced in the small space, looking uncomfortable. “It is simply the way of this place,” she said harshly. “Learn, or you’ll be sorry.”

Brigit didn’t know what to say. Words would have caught in her throat anyway. The spartan living conditions, the regimented lifestyle, and the nutritious but bland food—she could adjust to that. She could even deal with servicing the men because she had to, but to live without friends? To have no one she could trust?

She took a deep breath. “What will they do to this woman you don’t know or care about?” She didn’t bother hiding the bitterness from her voice.

Fatima cast her a troubled glance and then turned away. “She most likely upset a guest, so it is his decision. We won’t know what he chose until we arrive.”

Horror filled Brigit. “But, what’s to stop a man from saying we did something wrong? Suppose something happens that isn’t our fault? He still gets to punish us? That’s not fair!” Too late she realized what a ridiculous statement that was.

“This is not America, Brigit. We have no rights. If we are blamed wrongfully, we must beg the guest’s pardon and hope he will look upon us kindly.”

“Bullshit.” Brigit sat on the bed, crossed her legs, and swung the one on top. “This is all bullshit.”

Fatima shrugged. “I once saw a girl strapped to a wooden wheel. The guards turned the wheel so that she was dunked in a pond, and they left her there for a long time. I understood that some girls could be revived after such punishment, but she could not be. She died before our eyes, and all because she took too long to respond to a guest’s wishes. There is no authority here. Any of us can meet Allah on the whim of a guest, a guard, or the Claw.”

“Barbaric damn people.”

“As you say.”

The door swung open. Brigit stood and Fatima took the end of her leash. They hurried to the dining hall where Fatima secured Brigit’s leash to the table leg tightly enough to restrict her movement.

Two guards dragged a naked woman to the center of the room. They attached her wrists to a bar, then raised it over her head where they attached it to chains hanging from the ceiling. They separated her feet and attached each ankle to the ends of another bar.

With a wild glint in her eyes, the woman’s gaze raked the crowd of women and then shot to a man sitting at the high table reserved for the guards. She cried out to him in a language Brigit didn’t understand. Her tone begged. To no avail.

The man flicked his hand, and the woman dissolved into tears. A different guard, the largest man Brigit had ever seen, spoke. A gasp escaped the woman, and then she started crying harder.

In a low voice, Fatima translated. “For taking too long to drop to her knees and take our guest into her mouth, the customer has requested the Violet Wand.” Fatima took Brigit’s hand through the robe and squeezed.

The guard held out a wand-like stick with a clear glass bulb at the tip. When he flipped a switch on the wand, purple sparks shot around inside the bulb. He held it near the woman’s side and an arc of purple electricity shot from the bulb to her skin.

The woman shrieked and tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. He touched her breast, and her scream rang through the hall.

Male laughter came from the high table where the pig who’d condemned the woman to the Violet Wand pointed and laughed. Another man joined him. He wore a white robe and turban. Black gloves covered his hands, and he fiddled with a string of beads. He sat with the guest but didn’t laugh, just watched without emotion. Brigit would kill them without a second thought, given the chance. As it was, Fatima tugged on the leash, making her face forward again.

Except for the man, silence filled the room. The woman’s torture seemed to be without end. Finally, she passed out. Still, they weren’t finished. They revived her and continued with the wand. They shocked her on both breasts, her legs, neck, face, and butt before she fainted again. After reviving her, they moved to her sex. Brigit knew she’d never erase the sounds of the woman’s screams from her mind. When she again fainted, she was abandoned, left hanging for all to see as they filed past.

Quietly, Fatima led Brigit back to their cell. They undressed and climbed into their beds.

“What will happen tomorrow?” Brigit couldn’t imagine how the women could face the next day.

“Our days are all alike. We have breakfast and then a walk and exercise. Later, we can once more enjoy a walk in the courtyard, soak in the scented pool, and prepare to meet our guests.”

“Every day?” Boredom would kill her if fucking fat pigs who enjoyed the torture of young women didn’t do it first.

“Most days, yes.”

“Did you know her, Fatima?”

Fatima didn’t speak for several minutes. “Go to sleep, Brigit. Whatever happens tomorrow, it is in our interests to be ready.”

Despite the upheaval of all she’d experienced that day and the thoughts and fears of what awaited her tomorrow, exhaustion overtook her. Brigit was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.

* * * *

The next day passed more quickly than Brigit could have guessed. They woke to a bell, dressed, and walked to the dining room for breakfast. She was restrained, as before. Afterwards, they walked outdoors in a courtyard filled with flowers. The contrast between the outdoors environment and what they faced in their room was so great, Brigit’s heart almost broke when they had to go in. But instead of being led back to the gray walls and closeness of their cell-like space, they were sent to an exercise room.

Fatima explained that their pleasing shapes were important to maintain. Especially vital were Kegel exercises. “Men enjoy the strong feeling of a woman’s pussy clutching their manhood,” explained Fatima.

I’d like to clutch someone’s manhood, and his balls, too.

An hour or more later, women bathed them in a large, fragrant pool and then provided a relaxing massage. Outside the walls of their room, Brigit could almost believe she was being pampered in an exclusive mountain spa—except for the ever-present guards, and the silence of the women. Fatima met her gaze, but no one else did and few spoke to Fatima. When Brigit moved toward another woman, Fatima tugged on the leash, pulling her up short and chafing her neck. The woman to whom she’d intended to say hello met her eyes for a brief moment—enough for Brigit to see them filled with fear—then she glanced at a nearby guard, dropped her gaze, and hurried away.

“The gifts you experienced this morning are provided for those of us at the highest level of service. Do not be fooled into thinking that all the women here live as grandly as we do,” Fatima confided when they returned to their room after dinner.

Grand? This?

Fatima unfastened Brigit’s bonds, saying, “I must prepare myself. Rest for a few moments.” She moved to her bed and bent to pull a basket from below it. Sitting, she opened the basket and removed several items.

“What are you preparing for?” Brigit stretched out on her side and propped up on her elbow. Fatima applied a dark brown eye shadow, which enhanced her dusky skin tones.

“There is a party for a group of men. They have requested me to serve as the entertainment.” With a light hand, she added glitter to the lids of her eyes and a powder that gave her cheeks a golden glow. “Because you are new, no one will expect you to participate, but you must accompany me so you get an idea of what will be expected.”

She removed the top of her outfit and spread a cream around her nipples that sharpened the ruddy color of her areola. “This is something Middle Eastern men find exciting,” she explained, “along with eyes which are outlined and deep. Sometimes I also redden the lower lips, so that like flower petals, my folds draw the bee.” She looked up.

Brigit’s stunned disbelief must have shown on her face because Fatima burst into peals of soft, musical laughter. “You will learn. I will teach you. As your mentor, it is my task. But for tonight, just observe.” She adjusted a mirror before dipping a sharpened wooden stick into a small pot. Rubbing the tip against the side of the pot to remove excess, she expertly outlined her eyes with a black liquid.

What I couldn’t do with my makeup case. “So I’ll just sit on the sidelines?” Brigit wondered what kind of evening this would be. She’d never been in any kind of brothel, much less lived in one. The idea of attending a function tonight, when all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep, filled her with dread.

“Not exactly. You will be placed in a cage so you can watch, but still be controlled.”

“I’ll what?”

Fatima took a breath and returned her items to the basket, which she stored back in its place. “In this case, it will serve as your protection. When the men see you locked away, they will not ask you to do something you are not prepared to do. However, as always, we will be watched. It is vital you do not say anything, no matter what you see or what I do. No harm will come to either of us if you do as I say. If you do not…”

“They will punish both of us.” That threat had never been far from Brigit’s mind.

Fatima nodded. “And the guests would choose, since the negative activity took place during their party.” She shuddered. “Remember what you saw yesterday, and please do as I say.” She finished dressing in soft, violet film that wasn’t constructed enough to be called even a robe or gown and then turned to Brigit. “Are you ready?

“No. Why can’t I stay here?”

“The only way you will learn how to please our guests is to see for yourself what is expected.”

“Then…I guess I’m ready.” Brigit heard the bitterness in her voice and tried to swallow past the sting of tears lodged in her throat.

Gathering the sack around Brigit’s shoulders, Fatima retied her hands and then looped the rope through a separate rope she wrapped around Brigit’s waist. When she covered the restraints with the bag-dress, she said, “Tonight you will also wear a hood.” Brigit started to protest, but Fatima kept on, her voice even, but firm. “You are white. There are few white women here, and they are much in demand of late. There is no need tempting tonight’s guests with what they should not have. There will be drinking. The drink does more than satisfy thirst. It stirs the blood. If they see your skin, they will want you, and you are not ready.”

Brigit’s insides flipped. She felt sick, but Fatima gave her no time for it. She tugged a hood over Brigit’s head.

She fought to breathe normally. Blinking, she tried to focus through the rectangle of mesh at eye level.

“All right?” Fatima pulled at the edge of the hood, smoothing it over Brigit’s shoulders.

Brigit nodded, unable to speak.

“Then we shall be off.” Fatima picked up the end of the leash at the sound of the door being opened. Brigit trailed behind, holding back until the rope tightened.

They rounded a corner and Fatima gave a tug, shooting Brigit a frown. Not knowing who watched, Brigit made more of an effort to keep up.

The hallways twisted and wound until Brigit had no idea where she was in relation to her room. Finally, they turned into a room decorated with opulent fabric draping one wall. Mosaic designs in tiles of the brightest colors decorated the other walls. A large Oriental-style rug covered a major part of the concrete floor. Mirrors covered the ceiling. Bright pillows littered one side of the rug, and four brass trays were set among the pillows.

In one corner, a man strummed an exotic instrument. The sound—something between a guitar and steel drum—served as background. The musician was blindfolded, making Brigit wonder what kind of mayhem would take place.

In the opposite corner, a large cage sat in shadow. Fatima led Brigit to the cage and urged her inside. “Try to get comfortable. You will be here for quite a while and will not be allowed out for any reason.” She lowered her voice. “Unless it is for punishment, and you will not want that.”

“No.” Brigit murmured her agreement. The cage that had looked sufficient on the outside suddenly seemed much smaller when it became her temporary home. She couldn’t stand. A chair placed near the center meant she wouldn’t have to sit on the floor, but she had no freedom of movement. When she was seated, Fatima secured the leash to the top of the cage leaving her head a few inches from the top bars. The allowance of rope stretched only from Brigit’s neck to the top bar. Not only bars and metal imprisoned her, the chair did now also.

“Do not forget. Stay silent no matter what you see. No matter what I do or what is done to me. If you are tempted to cry out, remember that your punishment is also mine.”

“I’ll remember.”

With a swift nod, Fatima withdrew and locked the cage.

“As if I could get out if it wasn’t locked,” Brigit muttered, and though she thought she’d spoken so low no one would hear her, Fatima swung around and glared, and another woman, who had slipped in unseen, gasped and stared, eyes wide.

Heart pounding, Brigit gave a small shake of her head. I won’t do it again, promise.

Fatima’s gaze bored into her a moment longer and then she slowly, almost majestically moved off.

Brigit was wrong about the number of women in the room. Instead of one, three had silently entered. Volumes of shimmering silk covered their legs from ankle to hips, though their pubic areas remained uncovered. Veils of silk draped their breasts, though as they moved, Brigit observed the material was untied at the bottom, leaving both pubis and breasts available and open for any to see. And to use? Then why bring Fatima?

The women gathered around Fatima. In seconds, they’d stripped her and then tied her to a chain attached to a pulley in the ceiling. The chain made barely a sound as one of the women pulled Fatima’s hands high over her head. They secreted her under a cloak of red velvet from her fingertips to the floor. Finished with Fatima, the women went to the brass trays and sat, sinking back on their heels and placing their hands on their laps. They didn’t look at her or even around the room.

Brigit took the opportunity to investigate the room further. There were no windows, two doors—one through which they’d come and another, larger one on the opposite mosaic wall. Brigit stared at the wall. The tiles formed small representations of sexual positions—hundreds of them—in all possible combinations and genders. Indeed, the pattern in the ornate carpet and fabric wallcovering had the same theme. Someone lit a stick of incense, and a light musk scent filled the room. The environment was charged with sexuality.

The larger door opened, and three men entered, laughing and talking in what sounded like Tajiki. One slapped another on the back, and the third took a moment to bend and stroke the breasts of the first woman. He said something, and she answered in a low voice. He sat beside her. The other two men took places beside the other trays. The women bowed to them and poured their drink.

The three were well-dressed, and not in the common linen and cotton she’d seen on the men in the dining hall. One wore the robes of a sheik with traditional headgear—traditional based on what she’d seen on TV, anyway. The other two wore Western-style suits, though their coloring, their beards, and language led her to believe they were Middle Eastern.

So, the games are about to begin.

A final man came through the back door and closed it. Dressed more simply than the other men, he bowed to them. Then he took charge, moving to the center of the room near Fatima and speaking quickly.

The three paid rapt attention. The man took what looked like a game board, some dice, and cards from a bag he carried and distributed the items on the central tray. Then he moved back to Fatima and, with great fanfare, ripped away her covering. She hung there naked, but head high, a prize for the men.

They stood and came forward to examine her, turning her this way and that, spreading her butt cheeks as well as her legs, and having her open her mouth. They seemed particularly pleased with her mouth. Brigit’s stomach churned, imagining how they would use her. Why am I concerned? Fatima certainly wasn’t a friend.

But she was as close as Brigit had in this hell-hole.

The men sat again and began to play. The game was nothing Brigit had ever seen, though she might have thought they played cribbage except for the dice. In turn, they moved pegs up the wooden board and down, discarded and picked up cards, and tossed the dice. After several minutes, one of the suits shouted in victory. The sheik threw his cards across the floor, and his girl scrambled after them.

The winner stood and approached Fatima. After squeezing her breasts, he turned her and spanked her until her butt blazed. Fatima didn’t cry out, though the slaps must have hurt like hell. Brigit clenched her fists and silently repeated Fatima’s command that she stay silent, no matter what.

The man’s female attendant must have seen a signal. She jumped up and rushed to catch his suit jacket when he sloughed it off his shoulders. Strutting before his companions, he unzipped his trousers and released a cock that would have made Brigit gasp if she hadn’t been making an effort to stay quiet.

Once more, the girl hurried to help him remove his shoes and the rest of his clothing. When he stood naked, he turned and showed himself to Fatima. She said something in his language, her tone filled with awe, and the man’s expression turned arrogant. The girl moved around to stroke his erection, but he knocked her hand away, preferring to caress himself, showing off his length and thickness. In the overhead mirror, Brigit saw Fatima’s reaction—she licked her lips and waggled her tongue, as though to lick him instead.

The other men watched with interest. Suit Two pulled his girl close enough to finger her pussy. Sheik drank wine while his girl stroked his cock.

The winner finally decided what he wanted. He flung out his hand, sending his girl to the serving man who stood to the side. He handed her a jar, which she carried back. She smeared some of the contents on Fatima’s butthole. Brigit cringed, knowing what was about to happen. The man had the biggest cock she’d ever seen, and he was going to take Fatima from the back.

The man strode behind the hanging girl. He grasped her hips with one hand and guided his cock to her rosebud with the other. Easing in, he changed his expression from one of smug anticipation to ecstasy. Fatima threw back her head, displaying alternating looks of pain, relief, and—when he began moving in and out, a slow, measured action—excitement. Her cheeks flushed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the hair on his chest and back turned dark with moisture.

When he stepped up the pace of his thrusts, his girl knelt in front of Fatima. She draped one of Fatima’s legs over her shoulder and applied a vibrator to her pussy, moving it in tandem with her master’s cock.

Fatima cried out, not in pain, but in orgasmic release. The man reared back and roared his release. Only a few inches of his cock was not embedded in Fatima’s ass. Brigit imagined his cum shooting deep into the captive woman.

One of the other men stared at his companion while the girl sucked him. The other had buried his face in his girl’s bosom and finger-fucked her. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, and Brigit had a feeling the night hadn’t even started.

Less than five minutes later, the man was back at his tray, a pair of loose cotton pants protecting his privates from view. The game went on while his girl cleaned Fatima and gave her a sip of something from a tall glass.

The sheik kept casting calculated glances Fatima’s way. Once more he lost the game, and again he showed temper in his reaction, by raising his hand to strike his girl.

Suit One again claimed victory. He ripped his lightweight pants from his legs before approaching Fatima. He strode around her, stroking and rubbing his cock until it reached the same size and girth it had before.

He caught the backs of Fatima’s knees in the crooks of his arms and spread her legs while his attendant bolstered her from behind. Then he thrust hard and to the hilt. Fatima, as small as she was, couldn’t have taken all of him without feeling every hard inch as he speared her, but she didn’t cry out. In his exuberance, he turned her on the chain until she faced Brigit, a captive audience in her cage. Fatima’s eyes appeared glazed, unfocused. Her lids drooped and her mouth twisted into a grimace. The man threw back his head and let loose with a wild, trilling scream of conquest.

Brigit looked to the other couples. The second suit had removed his jacket and tie. His shirt hung open, and his girl enthusiastically sucked his cock through the opening in his trousers. The sheik had his robes pulled up far enough for his attendant to ride him. He routinely reached behind and slapped her butt to increase her pace.

Fatima moaned, bringing back Brigit’s attention. The attendant held her steady against the man’s steady pounding. She also stroked Fatima’s bum hole. Fatima lowered her head to look down her small body. Brigit raised her gaze to the mirror to watch.

His black pubic hair glistened with sweat and their commingled juices. His brown cock, engorged and thickly veined, pulled out of her slick channel, wet with cream, then disappeared into her slim body. Brigit was reminded of the last porn flick she’d seen, except this was real.

And she didn’t have anyone to bring her off.

She squirmed on her narrow little chair, but couldn’t move far in any direction. Where Fatima was right now, Brigit could well find herself tomorrow. The scent of sex filled her nostrils, musk from the incense layered over real, human musk. Three couples writhed and moved, separately, but toward the same end, grunting, moaning, bodies slapping. Brigit’s breath grew shallow, her pulse raced. She couldn’t get a finger to her pussy, and she wanted to scream.

At that moment, someone did scream. Fatima. Her hips thrashed wildly, the suit pumped furiously, and then he let out his own yell of triumph.

Before Brigit knew it, the men were back playing and drinking and laughing. The two who hadn’t had their chance with the prize tossed the dice and threw down cards with the frenzy of men in rut. Fatima was cleaned and given a sip of the mysterious liquid.

The sheik won next. Without hesitation, he ordered the rope lowered so Fatima could kneel before him. Brigit thought he would pull up his robes and take Fatima’s mouth. Instead, without warning, he hauled back his arm and slapped her across the face. Fatima fell to the side. The sheik’s girl rushed to help her back to her knees. The sheik grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Fatima’s head back.

Her mouth bled, and her cheek was reddened. Fatima swayed, but did not make a sound. The girl wiped the blood away and then helped hold up the sheik’s robes. Involuntarily, Brigit started to rise. No one noticed or cared what that bastard had done. The others were involved in a foursome, as though pleasure was their only concern during the intermission of a game. Helpless, she sank back onto her chair.

That’s what the room was about, feeling good, even if a man’s pleasure included a woman’s pain. Brigit wanted to go to Fatima and protect her, a small woman, against the likes of a brutish bastard. More, she wanted her knee in the sheik’s groin. However, neither of those things was going to happen.

The sheik used Fatima’s hair to hold her head erect. He pulled her forward. Her mouth opened, and he filled it.

From what Brigit could see, his cock didn’t reach the size of the first man, but he could easily fill a woman’s mouth and more. And he did, thrusting over and over, grinding Fatima’s nose into his coarse hair.

With a few words, his attendant tied his robes up in some way, leaving her free. She knelt behind Fatima and reached through her legs to rub her sex.

“Hmmm.” Fatima made her loudest noise yet, humming while fully covering his cock and moving her hips wildly over the girl’s fingers.

Did she come? Brigit couldn’t tell. The sheik certainly did. He filled Fatima’s mouth until his cum spilled down her chin. He grunted, released her hair, and pulled out of her mouth all at the same time. He stood, hands on hips, looking down at her. Breathing hard, she leaned forward and licked him clean. Only then did he speak a word that sounded to Brigit’s ears as praise. Fatima nodded and let the girl help her stand while her hands once more extended over her head.

How long can this go on? Long past the point Brigit would have begged them to stop, Fatima stood tall. She sucked the men twice more, took them in the pussy, in the ass, and in the final act of the night, took them all, one in each orifice. They’d released her hands. The girls held her steady until she gained her breath, and then they’d helped her straddle the sheik. Kneeling between the sheik’s legs, Suit One inserted his monster cock into her bum. They struck up a slow, strong rhythm. Suit Two knelt at the sheik’s head and guided her mouth to his shaft.

The men had stamina, but after the night’s activities, they didn’t last long. Untangling themselves, they’d picked up their clothes and dressed, then swaggered out, giving neither word nor glance to any of the women. Obviously, they thought Fatima undeserving, and the women who’d served didn’t warrant even a nod of thanks. Bastards.

Fatima lay on the floor for long minutes. When she finally made an effort to stand, the women cleaned and dressed her. At some point, the musician had left. The man who’d stood guard throughout the proceedings strode forward to give Fatima his arm. Slowly, he led her to the cage where she released Brigit. The man supported Fatima on the walk back to the room. Weak as she was, she held the leash firmly.

The first thing Brigit wanted when they gained their room was to pee. She’d sat for hours, unable to do anything but watch the activity in the opulent room. With impatience, she waited while Fatima lifted the sack-dress and untied her hands. Then, after she’d relieved herself, she remembered Fatima had not only been captive the same length of time, she’d been used over and over. Shame flowed through her.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked when Fatima removed the leash and collar and pulled the black sack over her head.

“I am fine, but thank you for offering.” She smiled. “I do think I can sleep.” With a shyness that surprised Brigit considering the way she’d just opened her body to be taken in every possible way, she took care of her toilet.

“Fatima, how can you stand doing this? Those men didn’t care about you—they exploited you. They treated you like a whore.”

Fatima’s gaze fastened on Brigit’s without embarrassment. “That is what I am. You have whorehouses in your country. I heard of them when I lived there.”

“Yes, but—”

“Here we are better. Our clothes are lavish. Our food is good and nourishing.” Smiling and raising her brows she added, “You see it must be, because we need energy to be good at our work. But best of all, our guests are special. They all ensure we gain our pleasure while they take theirs. This is highly unusual, as I understand the business. Can you tell me different?”

“No. But I don’t have experience in this field.” Brigit thought back to what she’d seen, heard, and read about prostitutes in the States. Her impression was that a hooker provided what the customer wanted and didn’t worry about herself. She’d always thought the sexual goal was quantity, not quality, for her or the man.

“I am safe here. Do you see? I am alive and cared for.” Fatima’s eyes softened. “I can think of better ways to live, but I can think of worse also.”

Brigit couldn’t keep her eyes open, and she didn’t know what to say to contradict Fatima. Her family didn’t want her, and so maybe this seemed like a viable alternative. Brigit did have a family, however, and friends, and she knew they would walk through fire to find her. If she wasn’t too far up the earth’s asshole, they would find her. Her job was to stay alive and well so their efforts wouldn’t be in vain. She’d fall apart and give in to despair when weeks passed with no word of rescue. Then she’d know Omar and his employers had hidden her even from God’s eyes.

“You’re right. There are worse places to be and lots worse things to do than what you—we—do. I’ll try my best to keep you from being punished. I’ll try not to get either of us punished.”

“Good. And now let us sleep.”

“Good night,” Brigit said. Hurry, Daddy, Mama, whoever. Please hurry and get me out of here.

Posted by JackFD, with Francis Drake’s permission.

For more my Francis Drake and others go to www.nomadauthors.com, have fun.

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Brigit’s Introduction to the Brothel

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