Hidden Passions, Vol 2 Read online

  “This plucked chicken hears and obeys,” I mumbled under my breath, and I looked up just in time to see him bite back a bark of laughter.

  “I must oil this inferior American skin,” he said as he opened yet another jar and reached inside.

  “Baby oil?” I inquired.

  “Lanolin,” he corrected as he dribbled the warm oil onto my stomach. “Now we will test you ability to receive pleasure.”

  “Test my ability to what?” I nearly shrieked. I tried to hop down from the table, but one strong hand stopped me.

  “I shall call in the guards to witness this if you like. Otherwise…” He let his sentence trail off and I knew I was about to be degraded once more.

  “Let me save you the trouble,” I whispered. “I have never had an orgasm, but I still enjoy the act!”

  “Then we will see if the Master, indeed, ‘bought a lemon’. Is that not the correct turn of phrase?” he asked, and he began to rub the oil into my skin.

  I lay on the table stock-still as he began by rubbing the fingers of each hand until a soft moan of contentment escaped me. His hands found muscles in my arms and shoulders I had not known were sore, and massaged them into a state of lassitude.

  Next he picked up a foot and began to deliver a massage I had only enjoyed in fantasies. Each toe was given special treatment and pampered with his expert touch. Soon those hands made their way up my calves to my thighs and the pleasant sleepy feeling I was wallowing in began to fade, replaced by sharp excitement.

  My eyes snapped open and I looked upon Azit, who in turn continued with his task as if arousing women was an everyday thing to him.

  “I, uh…that feels funny,” I finally managed over my embarrassment.

  “Of course you have never felt this way before. I have never tested you before.” His laconic reply didn’t dampen the feelings coursing through me, and I was almost ashamed as I really began to enjoy this massage.

  Finally, his probing oily fingers met with the slick heat of my desire. He said nothing, but arched one eyebrow, then parted my lower lips.

  “Your difficulty to climax comes from you having a small dainty clitoris, which is proper.”

  I looked up at him examining me, and the only thing I could say was, “No shit?”

  He gave me a disapproving look before returning to his task and explanations. “A man must know exactly how to handle such a delicate treat to achieve the desired result. My Master will be thrilled to know this. We can’t have him thinking he is a failure, can we?”

  I didn’t bother to reply, for at that moment, he slid two of his oil-slick fingers deep inside me.

  I let out a small cry as his fingers hit a spot I never knew existed in my limited sex life.

  “That is your pleasure point,” he explained to me as he watched my body slither around on the table. “If I stroke this place,” he started a spine tingling circular motion, “and awaken your clitoris,” he began a smooth counter movement that had me clutching the table, “we should expect this.”

  As if planned, my body arched off the table and electric flashes flooded my feminine places with exploding heat. I felt as though my whole body was being torn apart as my internal muscles clenched at his fingers, making the pleasure sharper. My body heaved one final time before I again settled on the table with a blissful sigh of relief.

  “That…was…amazing!” I managed as, for some strange reason, tears filled my eyes.

  As if understanding my emotions, he gently turned me onto my stomach and began to rub my shoulders.

  He was quiet also, as if he felt the irony that my first orgasm would be given to be me by a servant sent to assess my pleasure-giving capabilities. We both were silent for the remainder of the massage. As soon as he finished, he handed me another silk robe and led me back to the room I had awakened in.

  “Sleep now, little American. He wants you tonight and there is much work yet to be done. When you wake, I will have decided on your new name and you will go to face our Master.”

  Silent tears filled my eyes as the lights extinguished and the door shut. Yes, I would take this new name and I would accept it, but inside, I would still be me and I was now more than ever determined to rule this place. It would be my payment for all the sorrows I now faced. To this end, I pledged myself.

  *

  “Time to rise, little American,” a low voice crooned in my ear.

  At this gentle wake-up call, my eyes opened and I calmly assessed my situation. My muscles felt like limp noodles, but in a good way. Even my fingers and toes tingled with a renewed blood flow I hadn’t felt in years. My hair felt light as air and smelled of vanilla. My skin seemed to glide along the sheets. This time, they were a pale yellow, I noticed, but made of cotton. My stomach was gently griping, but not setting up a loud rumbling that bespoke of its empty state. My bladder was filled to bursting, but I could control that. In short, I was clean, hungry, really had to go, and still apparently a brand-new, never-before-owned harem sex slave. Oh, the joys of experiencing new things in life. Knowing that Azit, the literal slave driver, was growing impatient, I sat up and waited for him to deliver the next set of shocks. They were not long in coming.

  “You were cleaned on the outside, now your insides will be purged,” he said with out preamble.

  “Purged?” I asked, an awful thought forming in my head.

  “Then you will be fed and prepared for the Master’s arrival.”

  “Purged?” He didn’t mean what I thought he did, did he?

  He did!

  After twenty minutes of me screaming, and with the help of no less than four guards, my insides were cleansed in a most embarrassing and uncomfortable way.

  “If you had not raised such a fuss,” a sopping wet Azit admonished me, “you would now not be forced to sit upon pillows and would have retained some dignity.”

  His dark eyes flashed angrily down at me. The guards, all wearing scratches and one with eyes turning a particular shade of purple, gave me stern disapproving looks and they filed out of the room. One even made a sign with his hands to ward off evil, I suppose.

  “I didn’t like that, Azit,” I grumbled, feeling like a chastened little girl.

  “It was necessary to purify you body for the Master, barbarous American child. Where is your pride?”

  “Find your pride after I shove a water hose up your ass, Azit. That was unnecessary and embarrassing.”

  “Bah! You barbarians never will understand our ways. What was done was necessary and now I will feed you before your unfilled belly rumbles loud enough to shake the windows!”

  Angrily he stormed out of the room, leaving me sitting in what I assumed was going to be my bed.

  The pillows were not really necessary, though. I just insisted on them to be difficult. Even though I hated the cleansing, I had to admit my body did feel lighter, but I would never tell them. I’d be giving in too much to these strange customs, and I would be giving more than enough before much longer.

  My musings were interrupted again as Azit entered the room, followed by a female servant who eyed me warily before placing a tray on a low folding table. Backing out of the room, she quickly scurried away and closed the door behind her.

  “Already tales of your exploits have reached the lower servants. Soon the Master will hear of your behavior and then we can only hope he doesn’t toss you aside.”

  “He picked me, Azit. Bought me like a cow at the market. If I’m not what he bargained for, to hell with him. Buyer beware!”

  “What a rude one!” Azit shook his head and looked up at the heavens as if they would give him the answers he needed to deal with me.

  “What is this?” I asked, looking at the steaming bowl that sat on the tray.

  “It is risotto. Rice and wine, and you will find it light and filling.”

  I picked up my fork and began to eat. “This isn’t half bad, Azit.” With gusto, I consumed my dish to the joy of my tummy. “Can I have more?”

  “You wil
l be dining with the Master later, so you may not have more, little piglet!”

  I ignored his insult. My tummy was too full and I was feeling too sleepy to care.

  “So what’s next?” I asked as I laid my fork aside and looked up at my tormentor. “You said something about preparing me to meet the Master.”

  “I think you need to see something first, arrogant one.” He did not look too happy with me. Had I overplayed my hand in dealing with these people?

  Sighing, I tightened the sash to my robe and followed him out of the door. We immediately picked up an honor guard of two, and the four of us traveled through so many twists and turns, I knew I would never be able to find my way back without a guide. When we reached a far room, Azit motioned for the guards to wait outside and ushered me in.

  “I will advise quiet, else you will alert the guards to our presence.”

  He slid back a wall, a secret spying wall, no doubt, and urged me to look in.

  What I saw almost made me lose my meager meal. A woman knelt at the feet of a large muscular man, hands tied behind her back, sucking—no, choking—on his penis as he thrust it deep into her throat. The other men in the room, obviously waiting their turns, lounged around in a state of undress. The poor woman had tears running down her cheeks as she struggled to service the man before her. Suddenly, he pulled away and with a mightily groan, expelled his fluids on the floor in front of her. Patting her on the head as if she was a pet, he moved off and another took his place.

  “I won’t watch anymore!” I cried out, feeling pain—so much pain—for that poor woman.

  “Commit this to memory,” Azit hissed in my ear as he closed the window. “Remember this every time you think to rise above your station.”

  “Why?” I cried softly, turning my anguished gaze up to him. “What could she have done to warrant such abuse?”

  “She displeased the Master.” His gaze bore into mine, a warning in their dark depths.

  “He is a monster!” I whispered, and I used my shaky fingers to brush away tears.

  “There are worse punishments in this palace, and she well knows it. Shall I take you to the punishment chambers, arrogant American? Would you like to see how the women are punished in a way that won’t mar their skin and therefore their resale values? Or would you rather see the women the lowest of the palace guards receive? They are not denied the usage of any, and all bodily orifices are used to relieve their base need. You are in a tenacious position, American, and can go tumbling off of your perch at any moment.”

  “But I didn’t choose this!” My mind filled with the horrors he described and my stomach cramped painfully.

  “Yet you are here!” he growled. “Remember where you are and keep to your place. You can easily be replaced with any number of women more beautiful and talented than you. The Master saw a spark in you that held his interest, but just as quickly, he can grow bored with you and toss you to his dogs. Remember that.”

  I was a different woman, a subdued woman who followed the servant back down the winding twisting corridors of the palace. Such would not be my fate. I would die before I let those animals have their way with me. I had a plan. Since escape was nearly impossible, I latched onto my earlier thoughts. I would be the best little whore the Master had ever seen, and in the end, I would rule this place.

  *

  “What does the Master like?”

  My question caused Azit to pause in the application of cosmetics to my face and look closer at me.

  Already, my eyebrows had been arched, my toe and fingernails buffed to a high sheen, and perfumes applied to my major pressure points. Azit was now applying black kohl around my eyes to enhance them, he said, and make my American face more attractive.

  “Like any man,” he began, “the Master requires obedience and intelligence in a woman.”

  “Isn’t that a contradiction of terms?” I asked. “How can you be obedient and use your own mind at the same time? Isn’t the Master supposed to decide for you?”

  “There is a difference between obedience and subservience, American. You will fulfill the Master’s wishes while using your mind to discover the most intriguing way to carry those wishes out.”

  “So I have to put my personal spin on things?” I asked

  “That is so. Sit still so that your face will not cause the mirror to break.”

  I guess that meant to shut up and stop asking so many questions.

  “What will I have to do, Azit?”

  “Whatever the Master wants,” he replied, never missing a beat with his pencil.

  “I’m scared,” I finally admitted to him.

  “I know.” He said nothing else, but calmly went about making my face up with his cosmetics. I saw the deep rose lipstick he used on my lips and the hint of blusher he applied to my high cheeks.

  I blushed as he open the robe and rouged my nipples a deep red.

  “They are a fine set of breasts, American. Are they natural?”

  “Of course they are!” I gasped out, angry again.

  He nodded, then I realized that he was using my anger to erase my fears.

  “They are a fine set of boobs, Azit. I’m quite proud of them. They bounce and everything.”

  His face remained impassive, but I was sure I caught the glimmer of humor in his eyes. Azit didn’t want me cowed; he just wanted me to know what I faced if I angered the Master. In his own way, I guess he liked me. He was kind of growing on me, too.

  “Stand and let me dress you.” he commanded as he reached into a basket that he carried and presented me with several strings of pinkish-white pearls.

  “Those are beautiful,” I said, eyeing the long lengths. “But I think I need to put on the shirt first.”

  “These are the shirt, American.” He appeared to take great delight in telling me.

  “You have got to be joking,“ I groaned. This was worse than going naked!

  “I never joke, American.”

  I was dressed in the pearl top. My bottoms consisted of—you guessed it—a milky white thong and a sheer sarong that covered nothing. My hair was pulled back into an elaborate twist with little pearl hairpins studded through it. A single pearl on a thin gold chain circled my forehead and rested between my eyes. Desperate to see what I looked like, I eagerly made my way to the mirror Azit held up for my inspection.

  I looked like a fairytale princess, or a Bangkok whore, whichever way you wanted to look at it. The pearl shirt did nothing to hide my rouged nipples. In fact, if anything, they stood out more against the pinkish-white of the pearls. The low sarong bared my navel, but the high-cut thongs made hips, which I always felt were a bit on the bony side, seem lush and inviting. I turned and almost grinned at what the thong did to my bottom. I never realized how round my butt was before, but now it looked like an interesting handful.

  “I look like a stripper!” I said to Azit, all the while fascinated nevertheless by the stunning transformation that had come over me. I looked like sex on the hoof! And I kind of liked it.

  “No, Exotica, you look like a high-priced call-girl.”

  “Where would you find out about call girls, Azit? And why did you call me that?”

  “Easy, Exotica. I learned about call girls in Harvard Law School. And I called you Exotica, because that is your new name.”

  “Exotica?” I asked, looking again at the sex goddess in the mirror.

  “It fits, does it not?”

  I had to agree with him there. I did look stunning, a little bit wild and a whole lot exotic.

  “Exotica.” I tried out my new name. I liked it.

  “It is time.” Azit turned and pulled a voluminous black cloak from a closet. I was soon covered from head to foot in the dark cloying material.

  “I’m scared,” I again whispered as I was led to the door.

  “Fear is for those who expect to fail, Exotica,” he admonished.

  “But I am scared,” I replied.

  “No, you are Exotica, and you will leave
your fear and uncertainly with your old name. There is no place for them here. You are Exotica. You will succeed!”

  “I will succeed!” I repeated, and this time I felt that it was the truth. When I stepped out of that door, I left my old personality behind, and in its place was Exotica–sensual, beautiful, sinful and the future top bitch in this kennel.

  *

  I was urged to my knees and I felt Azit’s sardonic yet comforting presence leave as he quit the room. With my head lowered, I could see nothing of the Master, yet I knew he was there. I could feel him.

  “By what name are you now called?”

  His voice was as low and gravelly as I remembered.

  “Exotica,” I answered. I was never told how to address him, so I thought to say as little as possible.

  “Raise your head so that I may look upon your beauty once more.”

  Slowly I raised my head, knowing my cloak still hid my face in shadows.

  He stepped closer to me. I looked in shocked amazement at his face. This man was a god! His long curly hair swung free around his shoulders and his bronze skin made him glow in the dim light of the room. He was as tall as I remembered and his face was chiseled out of stone! He had a stubborn jaw with a little cleft in his chin that matched the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled at my kneeling form.

  “Oh, you are a gift for me to unwrap, is that it, Exotica?” He stepped even closer on his bare feet and all I could do was stare up at him with horrified delight. Horrified because this man held the power of life and death over me, but delighted that he was so pleasing to look upon.

  Not knowing how to answer his question, I dropped my head, and he chuckled. I peeked up at him from beneath my lashes and eyed the length of his body draped in gauzy drawstring pants and a short tunic.

  “I must unwrap this treasure and see what I have gifted myself with. On your feet ,precious one. I grow impatient with this game. I find myself resenting the anticipation that has built up for the want of seeing you naked and writhing beneath me.”

  With a grace born of fear, I rose to my feet to stand before him, trembling and waiting for him to unveil me, the barbarian he was curious about.