Saving Brigit (6 page)

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 wall covering 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.