| Illegal
Possession |
| Illegal Possession Author: Morlock Title: Illegal Possession Universe: The Hotel Summary: The Prequel to The Hotel Universe Keywords: MF+, FF+, bd, tort, slavery, real Edited 10/08/12 Book 3 --------------- The Inn I lay back on the bed looking at the ceiling and thinking. I had gone to bed very early so I woke up before dawn. After thinking - again - of all the adventures that I had had since leaving America, I began to wonder just what it was that I was into. For instance, the three girls that I had delivered to Sheik Hassan's compound. What became of them? What would become of them? I hadn't noticed any lack of beautiful servants in the house, so what was so important about those three for someone to pay to have them brought across the world? Where did they go? I never laid eyes on them once I left the car that drove us from the landing stip. Any why captured girls? There were enough starving women around the world in the aftermath of the war to fill up any number of beds with willing bedmates. And why was Shahma being taken to Turkey? She was a beautiful woman and a wonderful lay, but I was sure that the country we were going to would also have many like her. Shahma stirred in her sleep. Like me, she was totally naked - this inn wasn't cooled like the Sheik's home. Right now, the room was comfortable, but had been definitely too warm when we went to bed. I reached over and bobbled a tittie. She just murmured, rolled over and scooted back to me, still mostly asleep. I wasn't horny at the moment, but the little body was too delicious to just let lay there, unfondled. After a while, the first ray of the sun began to hit the far wall. I lightly popped my bedmate on the butt and said, in pretty bad Arabic, "Time to get up." She stretched, rolled over to see if I was going to need servicing this morning, then we both rolled out and dressed. --------------- Across town. Man. This town must have been founded by mountain climbers. I would hate to have to have assaulted this berg. On some streets the roofs on the downside were level with the first floor of the uphill structures. My first destination was back to Hanganah headquarters for directions. The place was empty except for the Colonel and a couple of armed men - apparently his irregulars. "Shalome, Mr. Harris," he greeted as I entered the doorway. "Good morning, Colonel Fischer," I replied. "I know with the unrest you have a lot to do, but I was wondering if I could get some directions to the British compound, or headquarters - whatever they have here?" He immediately stood up and gave an order to one of the men. To me he said, "Berezovsky will guide you to the British compound." I waved my hand. "Colonel. I'm sure you have better things for your man to do than babysit a tourist. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." He shook his head. "You have proved that, but as Moses said, 'You are a stranger in a strange land' and I doubt that you know just how strange. I don't want you wandering out of the Jewish section of the city. The last thing I need to have right now is a riot." What the heck. That was probably good advice. We followed the soldier up and down streets until we came to a building with the Union Jack hanging above the doorway. My escort pointed to the door and said, "I wait." To the guard at the door, I showed my passport and requested entrance to talk to the commander. He opened it and allowed me to enter. Inside I was greeted by an enlisted man - a clerk - who asked, "Can I help you, Suh?" "Yes," I replied. "I wanted to inquire about passage to Haifa under British auspices." "Very well, Suh. I'll need some information. "American?" "Yes." "And the lady?" "Turkish." And some more. Typical military rear area BS. Instead of a yes or no, a dozen forms would be needed. None of which would ever be looked at beyond the clerks that filed them away forever. In the middle of it, a voice came out behind me. "What do you have, Hawkins?" The man jumped to attention, saluted at someone and replied, "Refugees, Suh!" I turned around to see a British officer entering the room. In an instant, I knew I was looking at a typical staff officer. I could have shaved by using the creases of his trousers and by looking into the shine of his shoes. A full set of medals and a swagger stick filled out the form. "Good morning. And your name is..." "Tim Rawlins, Sir." I wasn't a sergeant anymore and the honorific wasn't mandatory, but it cost nothing in a place I was looking for favors. "Americans?" The enlisted man spoke up. "Mr. Rawlins is, Suh, but the lady is Turkish." "How did you manage to wind up in Safed, Mr. Rawlins?" Hell, I needed to write a book about my experiences to save the time of explaining. Once again, I went through the short version of our plight. Finally, I said, "Believe me, if I had known about the political situation, we would have given Palestine a wide berth." "Any your consort?" he asked. My what? Oh, Shahma. "Yes. No. I'm escorting her to her home in Turkey. Paid to do so, as a matter of fact." "And why do you feel the need to move around armed to the teeth?" Suddenly I knew I was being played with. Not something that I ever liked to happen. He continued, "You realize that if you use that here, you are committing murder under the eyes of British law." "Really? That's interesting. How about the party of horseman that killed the passengers on my train? Will they be brought up on charges?" His distain for either me or Americans was beginning to be very apparent. Or maybe he just didn't like any one who wasn't British. "If you have witnessed a crime, then the proper procedure is to report it to the nearest Crown authority and allow us to handle it." "Whatever," I replied. I was getting tired of bandying words with a stuffed shirt. "Will you be evacuating neutrals from Safad is the question that I came to find." "Yes, probably. However, your native... associate doesn't qualify. She will need to find alternate transportation." What the fuck?! "She isn't a native. She's Turkish and as much a neutral as I am. Do you expect an eighteen year old girl to travel across this land alone?" "Mr. Rawlins. I don't make the rules, I just follow them. If you wish, then you may leave your name and current abode with the Corporal and you will be contacted if and when we provide an escort back to the port city. I wouldn't count on it happening, however. My unit wasn't put here to provide protection for foreigners who shouldn't be here in the first place." He turned to go then stopped, and twisted the knife a little more. "By the way, no weapons will be allowed for any neutrals under our protection." --------------- The café We were sitting down at a table in the open patio. It was a very pleasant morning and the cool breeze was just enough to be pleasant but not so much as to blow sand and dust. Shahma was drinking some kind of juice and I was enjoying something that looked like coffee but wasn't. Actually, enjoying wasn't the proper word. I was cursing under my breath at all rear echelon pogues and self-important staff officers. And not just at the British. The American army had them in abundance, also. I often wondered why nobody could realize that a war could be won in about half the time and effort if we just shot these useless sandbaggers first. Actually, it apparently wasn't quite under my breath. A man that I had barely noticed, at the next table, said, "Major Eppelston is a piece of work, is he not." I looked at him, then said, "Sir?" He was middle aged, dressed in western clothes, and obviously very familiar with the area. He also had a definite Irish accent. "He would have fit in fifty years ago. The perfect colonial official, from a proper family and with a proper wife who would be ordering the native servants around and scheduling tea with the other wives at three." He smiled at my confusion and continued. "Sorry. I didn't mean to butt into your thoughts, but they were getting somewhat louder by the second. And... I saw the direction you came from - up the hill." I pointed to the chair across from me. "Please..." He stood up, picked up his drink, then sat in the indicated spot. Holding out his hand, he said, "Patrick McLoughlin. Late of Belfast." "Tim Rawlins. New York City. This is Shahma. Of Turkey." He nodded to her, then said, "Well, that brings up more questions than it answers. But, I assume your presence here is for the same reason as mine." "If you mean, we're stuck in a war zone, then yes." I gave the short version - once again - of why we were here, without delving into unnecessary topics like slaves, sea mines and horsemen with swords. Finally, I asked, "You?" He raised his hand to the bartender, or whatever the server was called in this place. Shortly, our drinks were refreshed and he answered, "I run a Holy Land Pilgrim service. I started it when the ships started sailing again after the VE day." I just looked at him and waited for clarification. "I bring Christian groups over for a tour of the Holy Land. Most of them are from North or South America for the simple reason that they are the only ones with money at the moment. We tour the usual sites mentioned in the New Testament. "Really?" I asked. "People travel all this way to see Bible locations? Heck, that was two thousand years ago. What is left to see? He looked at me for a minute then said, "Are either of you Christian?" "No." "Good. Then I can tell you that most of what they come to see is total bullshit." At my raised eyebrows, he continued. "In 326 AD, Queen Helena of Constantinople came to the Holy Land to identify the locations that the Bible speaks about. Unfortunately, since the science of archeology hadn't been invented yet, she substituted visions for actual research. So she proclaimed that she had found the exact locations of Golgotha, the Mount of the Sermon, the Tomb and so forth. She even found the True Cross. Unfortunately, the odds of her accuracy being within ten miles of the real positions are practically nil. But, her visions are enshrined in Christianity today and are very unlikely to be challenged." He sat back and drank from his cup before continuing. "So, I take the innocent pilgrims on their tour, they pray and take pictures in front of the various places, go back home and gush all over their neighbors about the uplifting experience they had, and I pocket their tour money. Of course, I never mention that they are far more likely to be praying to an ancient latrine, than the site of the water-to-wine miracle, so everybody is happy." He took a drink. "Except me. The current political situation dumped my tours in the shitter. My last group hauled ass for home last week like children running in from the dark." Suddenly, a group of men entered - most of them men that we had walked here with, including my new soldier friend, Uziel. He waved and greeted me with a hearty "Shalom!" which was echoed by the other men. I waved back with a "Good Morning" as they settled around a table. I turned back to my new acquaintance. I liked this guy, for some reason. There was nothing phony about him. What he thought, he said. "Why did you hang around?" "Enchanting eyes," he replied. I looked at him in confusion and was about to ask him to amplify, then I said, "Ah." Yep, that would do it. "Where is she?" "Don't know. Disappeared into the Arab quarter and I never saw her again. Probably dragged out of the line of fire by her relatives. Anyway, when I stopped looking for her, it was too late to leave. At least, so I'm told. Not sure if it's all that bad, yet." I shook my head. "Believe me. It's that bad. And that isn't hearsay. We shot ourselves into this place." I looked around. "The question is, how the hell do we get out of here? From what I experienced, only a platoon or stronger is going to get safely down that road back to Haifa. But, you should be able to evacuate with the other foreigners, right?" He gave a wry smile. "Welllll... The Major and I haven't exactly hit it off. I think it's my brogue." Now he had lost me and he knew it. "Sorry. Brits don't exactly have a warm feeling about the Irish." "Why?" I said. Now I know that I must have sounded like an abysmally ignorant citizen of the colonies - which I was. But, at that time in my life, I knew absolutely nothing about the troubled history between Ireland and Britain. "It would take too long to explain, although if we get stuck here, we'll have plenty of time to discuss the histories of both our countries. Suffice it to say that there is no love lost between the two peoples. You were lucky, you won your war to cut loose from the Crown. We lost ours." He sat back with a sigh. "At any rate, the Major thinks I'm a member of the Irish Republican Army one day and an agent of the Germans the next. Sometimes he just gets tired of both and calls me a smuggler." I continued, "So, do we just stay until this war... or partition, or whatever the hell it is, is over?" "No offense, but do you know anything about Palestine." "It's mentioned in the Bible, and somehow I managed to stumble into it, but that's just about all." "Hmmmm. Well, let me put it this way. This part of the city is a Jewish head sticking way out into Arab territory. And they are chomping at the bits to cut it off." He leaned over and said in a low voice, "If the Jewish council votes to create the state of Israel, then the shit is truly in the fan, as you Americans say. The Arabs have a hundred times the numbers, plenty of money and backing and all of the oil. When the local Jews get pushed into the sea on about the second day, nobody is going to look at our passports as we drown along with the rest." "Let me give you another set of numbers. There are about seventeen hundred Jews in Safed, most of whom are Orthodox and won't fight. The rest of the population is Arabs that will fight if their imams stir them up. And there are about twelve thousand of them. So it's about a hundred to one. Against." Well, that was good news. Damned if we go and damned if we stay. --------------- A couple of drinks later The morning was pleasant, I had nowhere to go and since Shahma had emptied my balls twice last night, I had no urge to take her back to bed. I continued to talk to my new Irish acquaintance. He was far more familiar with our environment - not that I had any knowledge of it at all - so his opinions of what we might do would be far more valuable than anything I could come up with. He was saying. "...and since you seem to have a rapport with the local Jewish forces, maybe we can tag along with the next group going out for... supplies or whatever." I nodded. "Maybe. I'll certainly ask Captain Yaccov about it this morning. You and I could almost certainly go, but they're going to be hesitant to let me take a woman along." I nodded my head toward Shahma. "I don't think that's a problem. From what I can hear of their conversation - " He indicated the soldiers across the room. " - you would be welcome to join their company." Interesting. "Do you understand them? You speak Arabic?" "Yes to both. But they are talking in Hebrew. Seems like you..." He broke off as my eyes widened and looked behind him. The flap of the door - just a hanging canvas, actually - had opened and the British major appeared, followed by three soldiers. From the look on his face, he probably wasn't bringing me the welcome news that a special convoy was being arranged for our transportation to safety. Under the table, my hand automatically went to the butt of the .45 in my waist. He stopped at our table. "Mr. Rawlins. Some serious charges have been brought against you that have to be investigated." "Yes?" I said. "And they are?" "Specifically, the murder of some members of a local tribe." "Let me guess. The information came from the couple from my homeland?" He nodded. "Mr. and Mrs. Halmstead have given a full statement, sworn to on oath. You will need to come with me. Please hand over your weapons." Turning, he pointed to one of his men. This was a problem. I certainly didn't want to shoot down four legitimate soldiers, but there was no way that I was going to allow myself to go before this foreigner-hating Major's kangaroo court martial. Or be turned over to the Arabs for judgement. "Sorry, Major. In my country, the action you speak of would be considered self-defense." The approaching soldier stopped, not because he saw the legitimacy of my argument, but more likely because the barrel of the .45 that was now pointing at his midriff probably looked like a cannon. The other two jumped back and began to whip the rifles off their shoulders when a totally different voice joined the conversation. "Lo! Lo!" I looked over to see Uziel and his comrades all standing and holding weapons leveled at the other four. My new Jewish friend spoke rapidly to one of his fellows. That man nodded and said in passable English, "Major. The vote of Partition has passed. The Mandate of the British is ended. You have no authority here." A pause, then, "Adon Rawleens is a comrade who shall not answer to you." The Major was now turning a fairly dark shade of purple at the effrontery of these... these colonials that dared to question a representative of His Majesty - or Her Majesty, whichever was accurate. Fortunately, his more practical side took over and prevented what would have definitely been a nasty incident. Without a word, he spun on his heels and left. I walked over to the men and said, "Thank you, Uziel. I hope this doesn't get you in trouble." He laughed and said, "Is no problem. You should look for your back while you in Safad." "Is it true? Did the UN create your country?" Now McLoughlin spoke up, the first time he had spoken since the soldiers came in. "Not exactly," he said from our table. "The vote was for the carving out of two states from what is roughly called Palestine. The citizens of this section still have to create a country, if they plan to." He looked at Uziel. "And you were stretching the facts there a little, my friend. The British mandate doesn't end until spring." He wasn't quite understood, so he apparently repeated the same thing in Israeli - or Hebrew, whichever it's called. Uziel just laughed and slapped me on the back before sitting down. "No matter. Friendship is more better than politics." --------------- Time passes The days rolled by. I got reports from Yaccov - or the Colonel if he was gone. Reports came in of sporadic violence around the country. And not so sporadic threats from every other country in the Middle East as to what was going to happen if the Jews had the effrontery to declare a state. The British were still sitting on their backsides in their compound. Actually, I couldn't blame the Major for not trying to take an active part in governing. With about six men total, he wasn't much of a military force. In fact, his only protection was the aspect of the British Lion on the horizon and the fear of arousing it. That kept hotheads from both factions from bothering them. The Halmsteads were living with a family a few houses from ours. They were not at all pleased to see that I was still loose, and in fact, avoided me totally. I helped foster that attitude by scowling at them, with my hand on the butt of the automatic, anytime our paths crossed. It passed the time - a little. Then, the three of us were sitting in the café one evening when a young man came running in with news. I had no idea what he was jabbering, but it immediately caused him to be surrounded by the other patrons, all of whom shouted questions at him nonstop. I leaned to ask McLoughlin what the deal was, but he held up a hand as he listened. Then, "A bus was ambushed on the way here." More listening. "Lots of casualties." Finally, he turned around and said, "The rest is just talk-talk. That's all they know. Sounds like the road to Haifa isn't getting any safer." Maybe not, but we couldn't stay her indefinitely. I had no beef with anybody in this land - well, except for the Halmsteads, but that was nothing. Heck, the Arabs that owned shops around the area were as friendly to me as to anyone. In fact, a whole lot more sociable than most shopkeepers back home. Practically all of them had a relative in New York - or Chicago, or Philly - that they had to tell me the life story of. They certainly seemed to have no animosity toward Americans, however the delegate voted in the UN. Then things changed. --------------- Time passes I had talked to Yaccov in the morning. He was hoping to send out a unit to get supplies from the Haganah unit at Karmiel. We discussed the possibility of us traveling along. Once again, he was happy to have me go, but was very hesitant about dragging along Shahma and the Irishman. Karmiel would be about halfway to Haifa and further away from the border. Not perfect, but halfway is better than no progress at all. That evening, I was in the café discussing the situation with McLoughlin when I heard the low 'whoosh' and then the 'Bam.' Since the roof was made of mostly woven reeds, I immediately dragged Shahma over to the brick wall for a little more cover. As McLoughlin squatted down beside us, he asked, "What is it." "Mortars," I answered. "Sounds about eighty millimeter or so." I knew that before I even heard the first round hit. After the impact, I knew exactly what it was. That weapon is not one that an infantryman will ever forget the warning sound of. Then "Bam, Bam, Bam" with long pauses between each. None close, but not more than a hundred yards away. They seemed to be just dropping at random. After seven or eight, they stopped. We waited for a few minutes, then left the café to see what had happened. Like I had thought, they just dropped at random around the Jewish quarter, but hadn't hurt anyone, or even caused much damage. Amateurs on the other end, obviously. Artillery has to come all at once. Staggering rounds out just lets everybody duck after the first one. I took Shahma back to our inn and told her to stay there - it had a hard wooden roof. Then I headed for Hanagah headquarters. The Colonel saw me enter the little compound and waved me over. "Ah, Mr. Rawlins." I stopped in front of him. "I would appreciate your impressions of the munitions that we just encountered. Mortars, I assume?" I nodded. "I can tell you exactly what it was - an eight centimeter schwere Granatwerfer 34. A German infantry mortar. Did you hear that little wobbling sound it made as it dropped? Dead giveaway." I thought for a moment. "And there was only one tube, probably. They came too slow to be any more. Untrained loaders almost certainly. A good crew would have had all eight rounds in the air before the first one landed." "Thank you, Mr. Rawlins. That is valuable information." "One other thing, Colonel. I would tell your men to be very afraid of them. On the hard ground you have around here, if someone gets caught in the open within thirty meters or so, they're going to get cut to pieces. I speak from the experience of loading the bodies of many of my fellows onto the meat wagon." "Noted, Sir. Your input and is most valuable." He lowered his voice. "My men are accomplished fighters and have always fought on the wrong end of the odds but, except for Captain Yaccov, they have no experience with any weapons than pistols and long guns." He looked around. "If you should have any other... insights, please don't hesitate to tell me of them." I just nodded. "Where is the Captain, if I may ask." "You may. He is inspecting the outposts on the..." He stopped as we heard shooting from across the rooftops. In the middle of the buildings it was difficult to determine which way it was coming from. I headed back to the inn - the Colonel would now have other things to do that were more important than talking to a tourist. As I turned the corner, I suddenly realized that the firefight was from our area. By that I mean the section of the quarter with the inn and the café. When I turned the corner that let me see the café, the noise had turned into a major gun battle, including various 'booms' that weren't incoming, but must have been charges. I saw a squad of Haganah moving up a parallel street, if you call call a six foot wide passage, a street. So far, no bullets were coming my way, but I still fell into full combat mode, moving from cover to cover. I sprinted for the entrance and suddenly, I was the target. Dirt whipped up around me as I ran. As I got to the building, I dove through the reed covered front window, rolled over once and was on my feet looking around down the sights of my rifle. Two bodies were on the floor, but the first thing I noticed were three people standing in a corner. As my rifle came around I recognized McLoughlin and the café owner and his wife. The Irishman was holding a revolver. I assumed that it was he who was responsible for the two stiffs on the dirt floor. I scuttled over to the window facing up hill and peeked over. Nobody. And the firing was dying down rapidly. I turned as the Irishman stooped down beside me. "What the fuck?" I said. He shook his head. "A raid. They just swarmed through the gate up there and started shooting. And dynamiting houses." I could see that. Several piles of bricks and wood had cascaded into the street just in the area that I could see. I nodded at the two stiffs. "That your doing?" "Yes." He looked over at them. "I watched them come down the street and straight for here. They came though the door shooting - not at anybody, just shooting. I figured it was them or me." "Good work." Now I could see Haganah moving up the street, so I said, "I need to find Shahma. I hope she stayed inside." I stood up and he did also. "I'll go with you." Sure, why not. He reacted properly in a sticky situation. Most men would have panicked and ran - and probably have been shot down in the back. --------------- Up the street With a sinking feeling, I looked in the gathering darkness at what looked like a pile of rubble where our inn used to be. Actually, it was just a four or five room house, and not very large, but still.. Then my sinking feeling, sunk. The structure was demolished. As were several all up and down the street. Bodies were all over, but I couldn't tell if they died in the explosions or were shot. I stood there cursing up a blue streak. This was one mission that I had definitely failed on. I didn't bother to beat myself up about what I should have done - I learned a long time and a lot of battles ago that it accomplished nothing. The house that the Halmsteads had rented was also flattened. "Mr. Rawlins!" I turned to see Captain Yaccov hurrying up. He looked around in the semi dark. "How many infiltrators did you notice?" "Sorry, Captain. I got here after it was over. I heard enough shots for maybe... ten, twenty rifles." "Were you in there?" He pointed to the pile of rubble that had been our little house/inn. I shook my head. "No, as a matter of fact, I was speaking to your Colonel when it started." I looked back at the rubble then continued, "Shahma was in there, along with the nice family couple." "I'm sorry," he returned. "It had to be the irregulars that have been filing into Safed in the last couple of days." "It was Khuzaymah, Captain," said McLoughlin. Yaccov looked at him, then said, "Are you sure?" The Irishman nodded. "I saw him at the gate, giving orders. Besides, he was wearing that green band around his keffiyeh that's his signature." "Who the fuck is Khuzaymah?" I demanded. McLoughlin pointed toward the northwest. "He's the leader of a small village that way. His people make phony relics to sell to tourists. Thinks he's the reincarnation of Saladin." One of Yaccov's men came up and gave a report. The question and answering went back and forth, then Yaccov turned to me. "Some people are missing. Old men, wives, young girls. I leave it to you as to what their fate will be." He walked away still giving orders. I pointed, then said to McLoughlin. "Would you ask that soldier if I could borrow his flashligh... torch for a few minutes. I want to look around the inn." Or what's left of it, I thought. He turned away, and said something to the young man, who immediately came over to me. "Tell him I would just like to look around a few minutes for my wom... for Shahma." More talk, and the soldier put his hand on my shoulder and said something. I looked at my friend. "He has heard of the American soldier and is proud to help you in your search." I nodded and took the mans grip in the Roman way, wrists to forearms. "Thank you." He nodded and handed me the flashlight. It only took a few seconds before we found the bodies of our hosts. He shouted something and several men came up with more lights. As they dug the couple out I searched around what had been our room. The rubble wasn't high, and I immediately found our two bags, but no dead woman. Suddenly, I remembered what he said about the missing girls. --------------- An hour later "You are sure it was Khuzaymah?" The Colonel was questioning McLoughlin. Along with Captain Yaccov, we were huddled around a kerosene lamp in the café. "Yes, no doubt of it. I've dealt with him for the last two years. His village is a stop on my Pilgrims tour." Yaccov spoke up. "If we cut straight down the west wadi, we can be there before he is. They went out the east gate. That means they have to move around the hills in a wide circle. The Colonel shook his head. "I have a quarter with over a thousand people to protect, and less than a hundred men to do it. This is just the beginning. I can't strip this garrison for a raid." I spoke up. Now that I had no woman to protect, my life was my own. "If someone can lead me there, I can probably stir it up. Just a squad would do it, Colonel." McLoughlin said, "Khuzamyah isn't a military man. He's just an old horse thief taking advantage of the political situation. He wants to parade around the locals as a big warlord." The Colonel sat for a few minutes, weighing the situation. I couldn't blame him for not reacting to the raid. He had a hundred men and a quarter full of civies to think about. Revenge has no place in military planning, as much as his men and I might want it. Finally, he said, "Four men. And I want them back." --------------- Shortly McLoughlin was a civie, but he had guts. He only had a revolver with four shots left, so he wasn't going to add any firepower to the party, but he had walked the trail between the city and the village many times. He knew it even better than the men. A quartering moon helped also. The six of us were almost jogging along the trail - the Irishman in the lead with Yaccov and his men following and me bringing up the rear. At least these men had real weapons. There weren't two of them alike, but they were bolt action rifles, not squirrel guns. It didn't take long before we moved off the trail and up a slight rise. At the top, we could look into the village, about a hundred feet away. Three fires were burning in the village square, or whatever it was called. I had no idea just where in this land they got wood to burn - I couldn't remember seeing any thing but fruit trees since we left Haifa. Yaccov was wrong. They were already here. They must have really hauled ass once the raid was over. I counted about twenty men roaming around, jabbering - probably telling each other over and over about their bravery and experiences as the reaction to what they had just done began to set in. I could see robed women coming and going with drink and food. But my eyes were on the group sitting by the fire. Eight captives. No! Nine. One old man was being pulled around the fire by his long beard. The young man was jabbering and laughing as he went around and around the central fire, towing the stumbling oldster. I looked over at my comrades. The unfortunates were their fellow compatriots, and these men were just calming looking at the spectacle and the obscene action. I now knew that these were real soldiers, even with their irregular look. My blood was boiling but they were just waiting for orders. "Unless they start killing, we will wait till they get settled." Yaccov said something to a couple of men who disappeared into the night. From our vantage point, we had a view of three sides of the village, and in the disappearing moonlight, our dark adapted eyes could see very well. I shook my head and said quietly to the Captain, "They're having a celebration a mile from a city that they attacked, and they don't put out any guards? What kind of idiots...?" Two women had entered the ring of captives, and, laughing, pulled one to her feet. From the granny dress, I knew that it was Mrs. Halmstead. She started screaming until one of the village women laid a hand across her face with a slap that we could plainly hear. They towed her over to a pair of vertical poles about five feet apart and topped with a beam. Probably what they used to gut animals on. That stirred up a thought that was unpleasant. I cared nothing for the bitch, but still didn't want to see her insides cut out for fun. Two ropes were tied to her wrists, one to each, and then each woman took an end. A laughing man came up behind the unfortunate captive, grabbed her around the waist and lifted. The ropes went over the top beam, but not though a pulley system or the like - just thrown over the wood cross member. Now the girls quickly tied the ropes to the main poles and stepped back, leaving the screaming woman dangling about two feet off the ground. But they weren't through. Now, both ankles were looped with short pieces of rope, pulled and again, tied to the vertical poles. The woman was strung up in a spread eagled position, vertically. By now, most of the men had settled down with their food and drink, just watching their women have fun. Yaccov looked at his watch again, obviously waiting for something. I noticed that we were still two men short - obviously he had sent them somewhere else. Finally, he said, "Now," and stood up. "No shooting until they see us. We need to get as close as possible." Crouching, we slowly moved down the slope. Now, a big village woman had stepped up to the dangling Pilgrim. It took a second for me to register what she was holding, but it resolved itself into a monster knife - almost a short sword. I assumed that if they just intended to kill the dangling, they wouldn't have bothered to play truss-up games. Sure enough, the woman reached up to the baggy dress neckline, pulled it out, then, with the knife inside of the dress, made a clean cut all the way to the hem. Two more cuts took care of the sleeves, leaving the woman buck naked in front of the audience - probably the only time in her adult life that anyone had seen her all at once, including her husband. From her moaning, it wasn't an erotic experience. It was obviously entertaining - the whole village audience roared with laughter. Encouraged, the big woman reached up and grabbed both nipples and apparently pinched hard. Again, the shriek from the dangling captive indicated that it wasn't a pair of love nips. More laughter and more screams that I didn't have time to watch now. We were getting closed and any time someone was going to notice. Again I wondered at the stupidity of a group of men who had just come from combat and assuming that nothing could happen until they decided to act again. As we moved, the closer I got, the higher I held the rifle, until I was walking and looking down the sights. Suddenly there was a shriek from one of the laughing women. She had turned around to go somewhere, and suddenly saw four armed men walking toward the group. Our rifles went off in unison, but only mine kept going. The other men had bolt actions, not semi automatics. As fast as I pulled the trigger, I dropped one man after another, most before they even got to their feet. I had no qualms doing it - these weren't honorable enemy soldiers, just bandit scumbags that preferred to kill innocents rather than risk going up against somebody who might fight back. Suddenly, I saw the big girl stoop and pick up the knife at her feet. It had taken her a few seconds, like the men, to register just what was happening. She stood up, planted her feet and drew her arm over her head for a down thrust into the belly of the suspended woman. The knife arm had just began its decent when my .30 calibre round caught her in the side and knocked her about ten feet into a rag doll heap. A few of the men ran in the opposite direction trying to disappear into the darkness. A series of hollow booms told us that the shotgun wielding men that Yaccov had sent around to the other side had stopped that escape route. Then it was over. Nothing was left but wailing women who were herded into a hut. And our captives. Immediately, Yaccov stepped up to them and started giving instructions. Two of the men fanned out as a perimeter guard. I had noticed with relief that Shahma was among them. She saw me and shouted something but I had other worries at the moment besides comforting a woman. I also noticed that McLoughlin had traded his revolver for the rifle of a bandit. The Irishman stepped behind the suspended woman and held her up as I cut the ropes on her limbs. As he let her down, she just kept going and collapsed in a heap - not unconscious, but definitely in pain. I walked to the hut with the women, then yanked the robe off of one. Back at the posts, I threw it to the moaning woman on the ground. If she wanted to put it on, she could. I had other things to do. The other men were rapidly going from hut to hut with flashlights, apparently looking for something. Then I realized what - the weapons and ammunition of the bandits were priceless for the woefully undersupplied Haganah men. Soon there was a pile on the ground of guns, bandoliers and boxes of ammo. They had each of the rescued captives carry as much as they could, then the men hoisted the rest. Soon we were back on the trail heading for the city. At a much slower pace than before. --------------- Two days later The Colonel had called me to his headquarters. Both the Irishman and I headed down the hill. We had become friends in the last few days - and the last several incidents. Inside, the commander had good news. "Mr. Rawlins..." "Tim," I corrected. "...Tim. We're going to send a detail out tonight for either Tamra or Araba - hopefully one or the other will have a supply of ammunition. There are Haganah or Palmach units there. Or at least, there were." He was pointing at a map as he spoke. "You have been a friend, and a potent one. In return, we want to try to get you and your consort out of here if possible." I just nodded. "I won't say that the journey will be safe, but neither will remaining here. This city is going to be a battleground, eventually. We would be honored to have you stay and fight on our side, but I know that this isn't your war and you have done more than enough as a friend. If you agree, be back here at sundown." I turned to my Irish friend and said, "Well. What do you think?" He smiled. "I suspect that it's going to be the best offer we're going to get." --------------- Night Yaccov had told off the patrol, and was waiting for us. We had prepared by packing our few items in one bag that Shahma carried. For myself, all I had, besides my weapons, was a water bag and my bandoleers around my neck. I didn't want to be encumbered if we suddenly ran into unfriendlies in the dark. Both officers came up to me and took my hand. "Sheh-Elohim Yivarech Otcha." I assumed that the phrase from Yaccov meant good luck or the like and said, "I want to see all of you the next time I come through. So, keep your heads down, you hear?" Suddenly, we heard a female voice trying to get inside past the soldiers. I knew exactly who the voice belonged to. The widowed Mrs Halmstead - now clothed again in some cast off robes. We walked to the door and she called to me. "Mr. Rawlins. Mr. Rawlins. I know you're planning to leave here. I want to go with you." I called back. "You're about the last person on earth that I want to associate with, let alone take along as a travel companion. Or did you forget that you tried to get me hung?" I assumed that she got the notion that we were leaving from Shahma. The two had been huddling in the inn for the last two days. We had been sleeping on the floor in it since our old inn was now rubble. She hung her head and lowered her voice. "Please, Sir. I have no money, no passport and no husband - I don't even know where his body is." I just waited. "I'm asking for mercy. Please." "Why don't you just pray for rescue? Aren't we just an armed band of sinners?" That did it. She just fell to her knees and tried to speak, but nothing intelligible came out. I looked at Yaccov. He just shrugged and said, "It's up to you." I walked up the the woman and said, and not gently. "You do what I say and how I say. Piss me off one time and we leave you out in the desert to find your own way. Understand?" She just looked up and nodded rapidly. Yaccov called to the squad leader - it was Uziel, no less - and we slipped through the gate into the open. Since we were in the hills, I could see lights far off to the west. Towns no doubt. Nothing like the streetlights back in the States, but still somebody had electricity. I knew we had about fifteen miles to go, depending on which town we headed for. We could probably do that in one night, even staying off the roads. It was easy, other than stumbling over the occasional rock. The night was cool, and not a sound did we hear clear up to dawn. --------------- Daylight The little town of Tamra had a small Haganah unit, but no ammunition to spare. They suggested that we head for Haifa - they had a supply truck going that way, and with a dozen soldier onboard, it shouldn't have any problems that couldn't be handled. Great idea - we got in the back and down the road we went. By now the girls were just about done in, and were asleep on the bed of the truck before we got into high gear. I guess it was because we were much farther from the border, or from the out lands, but we had no problems. It was a straight drive down a road with ordinary traffic. That is, people and donkey carts, but very few vehicles. It was only about fifteen miles and we were there inside of an hour. During the drive, we got news of the land. There were sporadic outbreaks of violence around the country, but not too many yet. It seemed that the powers-that-be were waiting for whatever happened next politically. --------------- Haifa From the looks of the harbor, I knew that we would have little trouble finding a boat - to somewhere. And sure enough, it only took an hour or so to snag a trio of tickets to the port city of Mercin, in Turkey, for the morrow. As it turned out, the voyage was only going to be about a hundred and fifty miles. I still wasn't used to the miniature size of distances in this part of the world. Even though I thought of Palestine as a normal country, I couldn't get used to the fact that it was only about thirty five miles across at the widest. Hell, the whole place would fit in most US counties. And, to me an ocean voyage was a matter of weeks. Here was one going between countries that would only take a few hours. Uziel had disappeared with his men, no doubt looking for supplies. He told me to meet him at a particular hotel cafe at sundown. I didn't want to miss telling him goodbye, so McLoughlin and I were there plenty early. Both girls were sacked out in the hotel. By now, I was going on thirty six hours without sleep, so I wasn't going to stay up too late. I left off the drinking. I knew that one shot of anything and I would go out like a light, sitting in the chair. I stuck with coffee. Finally, I saw Uziel enter the room, look around and see my waving hand, and came over to my table. "How about a drink, my friend?" He shook his head and replied, "No can. Have to go for Yagar tonight." He looked around and lowered his voice and spoke in Hebrew to the Irishman. McLoughlin translated for me. "The British are embargoing arms being brought into the country. Of course, the Arabs can get all they want from the border states so it only affects the Jewish soldiers. Some planes are smuggling stuff in at night to various abandoned airfields." More talk. "He's going down to one of them tonight to see if he can get a share." I nodded. I had already made a decision before I came to the cafe. Unslinging my Garand, I handed it to Uziel, then began to remove the bandoleers from my neck. These I also handed to the dumbfounded soldier. "You'll need it. I don't from now on. Besides, I can get another when I get to France - that country is awash in left over weapons." I put out my hand and said "B'HATZlacha." Earlier, I had asked the Irishman for the phase to say Good Luck. He was still staring at the weapon, then at me. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and, ignoring my hand, grappled me in a bear hug. It was like having a boa constrictor wrapped around my body, but he finally let go just before my ribs caved in. Then he grabbed my hand and tried to crush the bones in it. I slapped him on the shoulder and said. "Go on. You don't need to be late. And keep your head down, you hear?" He nodded at McLoughlin, then turned and left. --------------- Turkey Finally, after months and months, I had arrived at a civilized country. At least, I couldn't go walking around with a .45 stuck in my belt, and neither did anyone else, except for the soldiers and police. I had just seen my Irish friend off on the train. He was heading for Brest in France and would get a boat to his homeland from there. Of course, that would require train travel through at least eight countries, and in the aftermath of WWII might be a long and fairly complicated experience. I promised to visit when I got up that way. For myself, I was scheduled to head for the middle of Turkey, a moderately size city where I would drop off my charge and hopefully get new orders. At least now I had Richard's address - obtained from the Shiek in Saudi. If orders weren't waiting, I would telegraph and wait. The religious fanatic female was still with me, having no other way to move around in the third world. She wanted me to buy her a boat ticket home, but I had better things to do with my money. Eventually, I would dump her at an American embassy and let them deal with her problems. In a day or so we pulled into the city of Aykurtus, about mid-country or so. By now my Arabic was so-so, but of course Shahma spoke Turkish so we had no problem as we maneuvered through the streets to the address I was given. It didn't look like much from the street - just another door in a narrow street of shops, apartments and crowds. The door opened to my knock and a flunky looked out. "I have a package for Aklabar." He opened the door fully and we entered and were escorted down a long hall to bare room and asked to wait. It wasn't long. The door opened and a fat and jovial Turk entered. He was dressed like something out of... well, I don't know. A low budget desert raider movie maybe. Half Hollywood sheik and the other half shopkeeper. The bright orange sash by itself was almost blinding. He held out his arms and said, "Rawleens bay," he boomed out. "We have expected of you coming for long." His English wasn't bad. It was far better than my Arabic. "We kind of got caught up in Palestine. The trains aren't moving there now." "Ah, yes. I have heard of the troubles there." He looked at Shahma, who was now just wearing a normal outfit for a woman. Modest robes and a hijab over her hair. "So this is Shahma Demirkan hanfendi? Excellent." He turned and yelled something and shortly an older woman entered. More talk to her and Shahma was escorted out the door. I didn't know it at the time, but I would only see her once more. Now he looked over Mrs. Halmstead. I have to say that she looked like something out of a slapstick comedy clip. She still had on the robe that I had stripped off the village woman, but it was disheveled and tied around her waist with a rope. Her hair was frizzled out to nothing but knots and... Well, I had seen her strung up naked and knew that she was a good looking woman with a nice pair of hangers, but at the moment, she could pass for a tramp, easily. "What is this?" he asked. I just shrugged and he boomed, "Let us have drinks and viands. Come." I nodded, then pointed to the woman. "You. Sit and relax till I get back." Down the hall to his office, we relaxed in some very comfortable overblown chairs. By office, I mean a room that looks kind of like a pawnshop crossed with a bordello. He obviously lived in here, but just as obviously, did his business in here also. Stacks of papers and books were everywhere around his huge desk. He yelled for refreshments - his normal tone of voice for giving orders was apparently always at the sergeant level - and rummaged around his desk for a minute. "I have two missives for you... ah..." He handed me a telegram and a letter. The 'gram just said, "INSTRUCTIONS COMING STOP CABLE IF LETTER NOT ARRIVE IN TWO WEEKS STOP." I opened the letter that was apparently the object of the telegram, and read. Hmmmmm. Interesting. I folded it and put it in my pocket for later insertion into my money belt. He handed me a large mug and pointed to a plate of pastries that a flunky had just put on his desk. I thanked him and said, "Looks like I need to get to Switzerland. I wonder how one gets there from here." It was juice, not beer. But good. He took a swig and said, "No problem. I get my... my... avukat... a person who does work with papers..." Ah. "Lawyer," I said. He nodded. "...lawyer to find most best route. Meanwhile, you are my guest." He waved the mug vaguely toward the way we had come. "What is the other woman? From the Shiek?" I laughed. "No. Just a leach." He didn't understand that, but for the next hour I gave him a short account of our adventures in Palestine - leaving off the killings of persons that he might have identified with - and how I came to have her in my company. Finally, it was my turn. "Mr. Aklabar. If I may ask, what is your business here." I waved my hand to encompass the building. He boomed out a laugh. "Kadın." I didn't understand the Turkish word and he could tell from my expression. He laughed again and said, "Women." Well, considering the business that I had been involved in for the last many months, I wasn't surprised at that, but... "How? What do you do with them?" He kicked his footstool away and heaved his bulk to his feet. "Come. I show you." --------------- ??????????? An hour later, I was sitting in the same chair, stunned. Literally almost dumbfounded. We left his office and moved down the long hall to a locked door. Inside of it the building opened up into multiple corridors. This building was vastly larger than the narrow front indicated at the street. We stopped at a door and he slid a panel sideway to allow us to see inside. What I saw was a half dozen women. Brown skin, so all were of middle eastern decent, I assumed. It could have been a group of girls having a coffee clutch back in the states, except for all of them being nude, and most sitting cross legged on the floor, rather than in chairs. And the fact that there was a huge padlock on the door. Prisoners? Captives. The American in me didn't want to use the "S" word. I looked at my host for more information. He said, "These are almost ready. All are good for bedmates, but none have the... the looks for concubine training." "Ready for what?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be. "For their sale, of course. If you are my guest on next pazartesi... Monday, you can observe the selling." I looked in again. The girls were nice looking, and ages from - who knows - maybe eighteen to thirty. For sale? Further down, we looked in another room. This one had many more - about a dozen and again, all nude. The difference was that most were considerably older than the last I looked at. And almost all were from chubby to fat. And much noisier. An intelligible babble came through the opening. From the expressions of the ones I could see, none seemed to be all that concerned about being captive... Ok, Ok. ...slaves that were locked in a room waiting to be sold. "These are chore workers... servants for the household." In a daze, I followed him further on. This time we were in the low rent section. A very large irregular room with no amenities. From what I could tell, it was concrete walls and floor. And was packed with fifteen or twenty women. But what a selection! These were, were... concentration camp inmates, maybe? Ribs and bones almost poked out through skin that looked like a rubber over a skeleton framework. And the smell would knock down a pig farmer. I looked at Aklabar. If he was doing this to the women, then our potential friendship would stop at this moment. He was obviously waiting for the reaction. He shook his head with a sad smile. "These are the unfortunates of the world, arkadaşım - my friend." He pointed at the room. "Abandoned satbei... widows, chastened daughters, refugees from the war, many tales are theirs." "But where do you get them?" "The köle toplayıcılar..." he thought for a moment. "Women gatherers?... Yes, collectors of females take them from refugee camps, the street, the jails - anywhere. I get them for a few lira each, but if they can be recovered, they will be worth muchly more as servants." I was still looking at the living skeletons. "But... don't you feed them anything at all? They're starving." "No. No. Rawleens bay." He vigorously waved his hands. "These females HAVE been feeding for weeks. Before - when they came here - they were muchly worse hungry." I couldn't believe that. God almighty damned! I had seen actual Nazi concentration camp victims in better shape. "But, they must be fed slowly or they will kill themselves on gorging." He waved. "Please, come. I show you." Down another corridor was a like room with another couple dozen females, and while none looked like they were living on the fat of the land, they were in vastly better shape than the stick figures I had just seen. He waved and said, "These were like the others two ay... months back. They are almost better enough to feed normally." Holy shit. I had been bragging to myself over the last few months that I was really becoming a man of the world. Hell, I was a drooling infant insulated by American ideas and history. The real world was a whole lot different than I had learned in the few history books that I was made to read. I walked behind him back toward the front of the building - I guess, the place was maze like. We came to the high class section, apparently. The hallway floor was polished wood and curtains hung from the walls. The door we stopped at was just as secure, but didn't look like a planked dungeon entrance. This one had a doorknob. No wooden shutter over a hole in this one - it was covered with a piece of dark gauze that acted as a primitive one way mirror. Inside was a woman, again nude - apparently no captives in this place ever wore clothes. The girl was sitting on a stool with a cushion and was being groomed by a much older female. Shahma! No doubt about it. I well knew that set of knockers that I had played with for weeks. She and her groomer were the only ones in the room. I could see a set of really fancy robes hung from a hook on the wall. "Your delivery. She is being readied this moment for movement to her Efendi." "You sold her?" "No. No, arkadaşım. I am merely the conduit through which she passes. The Sheik is the principle for this... transaction?... yes, transaction. The Sheik only imparts with very high value females." I assumed that he meant, "deals," but I didn't worry about the differentiation. I was still stunned by the new and unknown world that I had apparently entered. As we walked back to his office, he asked, "Your white woman that came with you. If you would consent for my inspection, I could offer you a fair price for her. " Still in a bemused state, I replied, "Price? For wha... You mean, BUY her!?" "Evet - yes, of course. Western white women with education bring muchly at sale." "But I..." I stopped at that point. I had no feelings for the religious bitch that turned me in for saving her life, but a dislike of someone is a long way from selling them into slavery. "What would happen to her?" "She would be taught to learn nice... to act ok around men. She is muchly too old to be trained as a concubine, but she is of a goodly attractiveness, and would make a good bed warmer for a man." "Do you train them here?" "Evet. Not suchly as the Sheik does, but good bed warmers are made. You will try a female tonight." I realized that I was asking questions to delay the requirement to make a decision about Mrs. Halmstead. "How do you train a concubine? Or is that what the Sheik does?" "Ah. No. No. Even the Sheik's schooling doesn't make females of that value. His are of great beauty and of skills and bring muchly value at sale. But a concubine is another level. There is a special school near Ankara. Very old. They train young girls from the time their women's moon begins to flow. The girls are very rare and bring vastly great values. Some that wear the green silk of upper rank may sell for twenty five thousand lira. None have ever come through my house." I looked at him in disbelief as I converted the Turkish currency to dollars. Thirty thousand dollars for a woman?! That was ten years salary in a good job. It would buy a very nice house with a two car garage, a Cadillac, a Packard, twenty suits and still have over half the money left over to enjoy the stuff. For a woman?! Son of a bitch! Just what could a thirty thousand dollar broad do that a five dollar whore couldn't? At that moment he excused himself to attend to something, which I was glad of. I needed to think. --------------- Night I had put Aklabar off as to the decision. He had put out a good spread for dinner and I finally retired to my room. It wasn't anything special - and was about a million miles from being like the guest room of the Sheik, but it was comfortable. I had showered - alone - and was just laying back in my shorts and thinking about the day. About the last few months. This was like living a... There was a knock on the door. Outside was one of Aklabar's flunkies and three girls. Surprise, they were all dressed in light robes. The first clothed females that I had seen in the establishment besides Shahma's groomer. The man bowed, and said, "Aklabarm bey gives greeting. Any are yours this nightly." He waved at the three girls. "Or all if wanted." I liked this part of the world. Instead of a nightcap, a visitor was offered tail. Deciding not to be greedy, I pointed at one of them for no other reason than her bumps stuck out further than the others. He said something and the other two evaporated. Then he bowed and walked back down the hall. Closing the door, I looked at my "bedwarmer" for the night. Obviously Middle Eastern, long black hair and she only came up to my chin. I waved my hand at her and instantly, she dropped her robe on the floor. Wow, trained was an understatement. Nice body, a little chubby, but by now I knew that men in this part of the world preferred meat on the bones, rather than the skinny beanpoles that were the sought after norm of American dames. High breasts, a small bush, a beautiful face and she lightly smelled of... honeysuckle, maybe. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. "Speak English?" No reaction. I tried French, then my halting Arabic. Nope. What the heck, I would get by with sign language. In fact, I was very anxious to begin using my hands. I pointed to the bed and she was on it instantly, laying on her side, waiting to see what I wanted done. I dropped my shorts, having to pull the band out quite a way to get it over my already ready dong. No rubbers in here. Whatever happened wasn't up to me. I turned out the light and lay down. She still just lay there while I began to feel. Her legs automatically spread as my fingers got down to the bush then began to explore the crack. I knew that for this first time tonight, I wasn't going to last long, so I might as well get it over and start recharging. I put both hands on her head and began to pull it down. Instantly, she got the message and scooted down to get her mouth over my rod. I just lay back and let the sensations flow. She was really good. Not up to the skills of Shahma, but still all woman and my dick didn't worry about the difference. Eventually, I blew off and she swallowed the entire load. Now I just lay back to rest and get ready for some real sex. To pass the time, I felt around in the dark. --------------- Morning I wondered if the women in this part of the world were naturally gifted in pleasing men in the bedroom, or if they got training as they grew up. Most American dames just lay there and assumed that their part in the act was finished once their legs were spread. In fact, none of any stateside cunt that I had had, ever came up to the level of any that I had tapped since leaving the states. These girls were, well, active. They moved in coordination with the man, no matter if they were on top, underneath or sideways. Their hands were never still - always stroking or pinching or squeezing. Kissing was not as popular here, but their mouth and tongue found plenty of other places to work on. I wondered if Aklabar's training could have an effect on someone like Mrs. Halmstead. Of course, I knew nothing about her sexual skills, but I would have bet big money that it was along the lines of about once a week, in the dark, fully clothed, and only in the missionary position. In other words, sexually speaking, an ice cold bitch. I would find out. --------------- Time passes I was ready to leave for the train - for the first time in months, by myself. His legal adviser had told me that I would have a far faster trip if I went back to Mercin, then took a boat for Triest in Italy. Apparently, the railroad structure in the Balkins hadn't yet totally recovered from bombs, tank tracks and partisans. So, I took that as my plan. I had made a deal with Aklabar. He would keep the Halmstead woman and train her, whatever that would entail. Then, she could be put up for sale and we would split the profit. My concern that she would run for an embassy the instant her new owner took his eyes off her, caused a hearty laugh in my host. He assured me that any of the countries that would be her final destination had well learned over thousands of years how to keep slaves. According to him, she would spend her nights on her back, with her legs spread, looking at the ceiling. And, when her looks had faded, would be just another servant in the kitchen. I watched through the dark gauze as the woman went through her inspection. An older woman was in the room - obviously a matron - along with a man, in addition to Aklabar. As the men walked up to her and each grabbed an arm, she futilely tried to shake loose. "What do you want?" she cried in English. "Let me go." Her speech got more frantic and more shrill as her single robe was removed. Then she began shrieking as both the woman and Aklabar began to inspect. And by inspect, I mean everything. Hair, hands, legs, feet, mouth, ears and teeth. But as her two lower holes were probed with fingers, her volume went to maximum. At least until she got the open hand of the woman across her cheek. And it wasn't a casual tap. She spun around and fell to her hands and knees on the board floor, then began to retch and hack. Nothing came up since she hadn't been fed this morning, but as she was dragged to her feet, her protests became minimal. For some reason, even though I had unloaded earlier into one of his bed women before I got up, I was hard as a rock. The sight - no, the idea of a helpless woman, a woman who was at the total mercy of a male, was overpowering. I had always assumed that females were second class citizens put on the planet for screwing - hell, what man like me didn't? But this was different... somehow. This was a... well, a woman who no longer had the rights to her own body. Soon, the men moved toward the door, and I stepped back to allow the woman to drag the now quiet female down the hall and out of sight. Aklabar smiled at me. "She will be good. Some fat on her ribs and some learning of vassal things and she will bring much." --------------- La Rochelle, France The trip to Zurich was enjoyable and only took a couple of weeks - it could have been faster, but I was in no hurry. I didn't think my employer would hold a vacation against me. After all, I had signed on as a delivery man and a two month voyage. It had taken five months and I had had to fight my way across a good part of the world. So I relaxed, sat in the boat lounge, ate and drank and watched the women. I even enjoyed a couple of them while their husbands spent the entire trip in the casino. Unfortunately, I found that I was back in the civilized world, where women considered it a favor to open their legs and let the man do all the work. The tail wasn't bad, but I had been spoiled by the women of the third world. In Switzerland I met the banker who introduced me to my secret numbered bank account. And to the quite considerable sum already in it. Quite considerable. In fact, far more than I would ever have hoped to make in the next ten years, stateside, given my education. And with Aklabar estimating that my share of the white girl being around thirty five hundred, I was becoming well off. Finally, the train was pulling in to the French port city that I had left months before. And in that short time I had had a lifetime of new experiences. More than most men would have in their entire lifetimes. "Monsieur Rawleens?" A black suited man had stepped up to me as I exited the coach. "That's me." "I have a car for your convenience. Please..." He waved me toward the exit. A short trip across town and I recognized the mansion of Richard ahead. "Monsieur Tim!" Inside the foyer, Richard was hurrying up to me with his hands out and a smile on his face. He grabbed me and I braced for the usual French welcome - a hug and a mock kiss on either side of the face. For an American man, that took some getting use to. But, when in Rome... "Howdy," I replied. He pulled me into the lounge and started shouting for drinks and food. I plopped into an overstuffed chair and accepted a glass of wine from a young female. I didn't recognize this one - apparently he had made some changes in the stocking of the mansion while I was gone. He sat down across from me, took a glass and said, "Ok. Start at the beginning. I want to hear it all." Hours later, it was long after dark and we broke it off. After traveling for a couple of days straight, and an evening of rich food and drink, I was cratered. Me for a bath, then bed. Of course, I had a bath companion and a bed mate, but other than just using her for a quick bang-bang, I rolled over and was instantly asleep. --------------- Days pass The next morning, Richard had left word that he had gone to... well, out of the country for a week. So that left me with nothing to do but relax, tour the town, and spend a considerable amount of time in bed with one or the other of Richard's "employees." Or, with two or three if the fancy hit me. By now, I had decided that I liked the woman business, and planned to make it my career, if that was an option - hopefully without gunplay in the future. Having all the women I wanted - willing or unwilling - was a young man's dream. Hell, it was probably an old man's dream also. Since my gonads could give only so much per day, despite the parade of nut-squeezing girl flesh, a lot of the time in bed was just spent in talk. I learned some more about the so called school in Turkey that I had only heard references to. Supposedly it was very ancient, having been established over a hundred years ago. Anyway, it turned out girls trained in sexual practices and their rank, or level of education, was indicated by their color of neckwear. The two girls that had been in Richard's employ the longest could remember a graduate of that school residing at Richard's home for a few weeks. Her rank was "yellow silk." That meant nothing to me - either the color or the material - but the girls assured me that she knew techniques that drove Richard wild. I asked just what she had done, but all the girls could say was, "The fille used her hands and tongue more than her chatte." Hmmmm... I now well knew that an experienced woman could definitely use her hands and mouth in a way that could empty a man in a nut twisting orgasm, but that technique never came close to using good pussy. They couldn't tell me the details other than while she was here, Richard ignored the rest of his girls. Maybe I would come across one someday and make my own judgement. --------------- Time passes A month later, I was on a steamer for the US, with another packet of pickup orders. Actually, packet wasn't exactly accurate - nothing was written down on paper. As Richard had pointed out, hauling girls around the lesser developed parts of the world was considered commerce, and the authorities would probably help find an escaped woman rather than listen to her tale of woe. In the western nations it was called kidnapping and the powers-that-be would take an entirely different view of the situation. At least I wouldn't have to shoot my way across the country. End of Book 3 |