Captives of the Colonel

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Razak’s camp, near the Nargal river.

On trembling legs, Belinda and Arabella stumbled into Razak’s camp and fell to their knees as the remorseless pull on the ropes knotted about their necks finally eased.

“Ranee!” Razak shouted, climbing down from his horse. “Fetch wine, slave.” And as the two captives lifted weary heads to his call, they saw a tall, naked Indian girl jump down from a large wagon with a canvas cover and hurry over, carrying a wineskin.

The instant she reached Razak, she dropped gracefully to her knees and, arching her body to present the firm swells of her breasts, held out the wineskin to him.

“Your wine, Master,” she said softly. “Your slave is pleased you have returned, Master.”

While he took it and drank deeply, she thrust her arms behind her back and crossed her wrists as if for binding. Even without her words, it was crystal clear that the girl was a slave, for she wore a black iron cuff on each wrist and ankle and a matching collar around her neck.

Razak tossed the wineskin to one of his men then reached down and pulled the kneeling slave into the crook of his right arm, his left hand gripping her long, glossy black hair to hold her as his mouth descended on hers. Pinned against him, her lips crushed beneath his, Ranee’s hips and belly undulated sensually as she responded to the rapine of her mouth; and when, at length, Razak pushed her away, her n*****s were visibly hard as she sank to her knees before him.

“Slut,” he chuckled, and she lowered her eyes but was clearly pleased and hollowed her spine even more deeply.

He chuckled a second time. “Shameless harlot,” he told her. “I should have you whipped.”

“If it pleases you to have me whipped, my Master,” the girl replied instantly, lifting her eyes to his, “then your slave asks to be whipped. I wish only to please you, Master.”

The words were bravely said, but the girl could not quite conceal the glint of alarm that flashed into her eyes as she spoke, or the tremors that rippled up her belly as she offered herself for punishment.

Razak grinned cruelly down at her. “One day, slave,” he said, “I shall take up that offer…but not today. Today, I have another use for you. Up.”

Ranee leapt to her feet, relief clear on her face, and followed Razak as he moved to Belinda and Arabella. At his signal, the two were hauled to their feet and held by warriors.

“These two will probably be ransomed,” he said to Ranee, “but that will take a few weeks. So while they are here, you will be responsible for their training and discipline.” He drew a curved knife from his belt. “Take this and cut yourself a good, strong switch then return here.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I will teach them well,” Ranee’s eyes glittered, and she gave a brilliant smile as she turned and hurried away into the trees.

Arabella shivered, her brain whirling as she tried to come to terms with what she had heard. The girl, Ranee, was quite clearly a slave; and, yet, if Arabella understood correctly, she had just been given responsibility for Belinda and Arabella. A responsibility she seemed to relish. It was ridiculous; she was only a native girl, not to mention a slave. How could she possibly imagine that two English women, captives or not, would ever obey some slip of a girl? It was unthinkable, quite unthinkable.

Yes, she and Belinda might be prisoners of Razak and his men and might have to submit to their greater physical strength, but that was a mere matter of muscle and most certainly did not mean that they would submit to another woman. As for Ranee’s disgraceful display of sexuality, well that was surely something that no decent, self-respecting woman would ever allow herself to do.

“Remove their gags and give them water,” Razak ordered his men. “Then fetch chains and collar them.”

When her gag was released, Belinda worked her stiff jaws then sucked greedily at the waterskin held to her lips; her urgent need for the cool liquid temporarily overshadowing every other concern.

Her thirst abated, her anxieties rushed back, and she stared wildly around, seeking help where there was none, as she heard the clinking of chain and saw one of the men approaching her with iron manacles draped over his brawny arm. With her wrists still bound behind her back, she knew there was no hope but fought as best she could, twisting in the grip of the man who held her and kicking out with her bare feet as a hinged circlet of cold, hard, implacable iron was placed about her throat and screwed shut.

“Nooo! Nooo!” her screams faded to sobs and whimpers of dreadful anguish as she felt the weight of her collar; and, as one of the men clipped a long chain to it and pulled her forward, she stumbled over to the wagon and stood frozen as he tethered her to an iron ringbolt with a heavy padlock. Numbed, she made no resistance as her wrists were untied and brought before her body; and, as black iron manacles were screwed shut on her wrists and ankles and the men walked back towards Arabella, Belinda slowly lifted her bound hands to the iron about her throat. Gently, as if she was afraid the metal might break, she explored her collar, feeling the snugness of its fit and the iron rings welded to it, then traced the curve of her tethering chain down to the ringbolt and, finally, staring down at the manacles confining her ankles and wrists.

“No,” she moaned softly, shaking her blonde head. “No. This cannot be happening to ” But when she moved, her chains clinked softly, and her blue eyes grew round with shock as she was forced to accept the stark reality of her bondage.

The sights and sounds of her friend’s vain struggle to avoid being collared knocked all of the stuffing out of Arabella. Suddenly, the enormity of the disaster which had overtaken them both and the full helplessness of their situation struck home. When the men brought her collar and chains towards her, the brunette fell to her knees, eyes wide with fear, as she begged for mercy.

“Please, no,” she squealed. “Don’t chain me. Let me go, please, let me go.” But her words had no effect on the grinning warriors; and, in desperation, she turned to where Razak stood silently watching.

“Razak,” she cried, “stop them. Please, I’ll pay you anything you want. You don’t need to chain me; I give you my word I won’t try to escape.”

Razak frowned and gestured to his men to wait then spoke coldly. “Why should I not chain you, woman?” he asked. “I have searched your baggage, and I know you cannot pay the ransom I have decided upon. You have nothing to offer me, and I do not choose to take your word.”

Arabella racked her brains to think of a way to persuade him to change his mind then licked her dry lips, unable to put into words the shocking thought had come into her brain.

Razak’s frown deepened and he began to raise his hand to signal his men to continue.

“No. Wait, please,” the blonde gasped hurriedly. “I…I…will..will….”

“You will what?” he demanded harshly. “Speak, woman, I grow tired of your tricks.”

Arabella took a deep breath and blurted out her offer before she lost her nerve. “I will s..s..serve you,” she gasped, and her face reddened to a vivid scarlet as she dropped her eyes from his.

“No. Arabella, you can’t. You mustn’t.” Belinda’s cries of protest ended abruptly as a warrior’s hard hand clamped over her mouth and silenced her.

“So,” Razak replied softly, “you will serve me, will you? How will you serve me, woman? And what do you want in return for your service?”

“I don’t w-want to be ch-chained,” Arabella stuttered. “And..And I w..will do whatever..whatever you w-want me to d-do.”

“Lift your head,” he ordered; and, when Arabella complied, he stared deep into her brown eyes.

“I agree,” he told her. “On two conditions. One, until you are ransomed, you will serve me as my personal slave; and two, you will submit and declare yourself to be my slave immediately. Do you agree?”

Arabella stared at his hard, cruel face and gave an involuntary shudder as his eyes blazed into her brain.

“Well?” he snapped. “Answer me!” Arabella trembled wildly, knowing she had only seconds to make her decision. With much effort, she tore her eyes away from his and stared at the heavy iron manacles in the hands of the waiting warriors then shuddered again and looked back at Razak.

“I a..agree,” she whispered fearfully. “I will sub..submit to you and..and be your personal sl..slave.”

Razak gave a chilling smile. “Then, as of this moment, woman,” he told her, “you are my slave and I am your Master. Is this not so, slave?

Arabella hesitated, anxiously wondering whether she had made a terrible mistake.

“I said, is this not so, slave?” Razak chuckled as he repeated his question, but his eyes glittered with steely determination, and Arabella understood that she must answer him or risk his anger.

“Yes,” she replied nervously, “I am your…your slave, and you are my M..Master but only until I am ransomed.”

He smiled. “If you are ransomed, slave…,” his smile grew broader. “If the ransom is ever demanded…”

Arabella gaped, her brain filled with horror; but, before she could gather her racing thoughts, Razak turned to his men. “Chain and collar my newest slave,” he ordered calmly. “Then tether her on her knees beside her friend.”

For several seconds, the brunette was stunned by his cruel betrayal of her; and, in those seconds, his men acted.

Seized by muscular warriors, Arabella was thrown to her belly, her thrashing legs and tightly bound arms pinned by strong hands to receive the manacles of her slavery, her screams of protest and terror met with harsh laughter as iron bands replaced the ropes securing her wrists behind her back and clamped her ankles together. Hauled to her knees, she stared wildly at Razak, her new and merciless Master, as he took her slave collar from one of his men and strolled over to where she struggled vainly against her bonds.

“Why?” she protested bitterly as he gazed down at her. “We had an agreement.”

His lips curved into a predatory smile. “Agreements are for free men. Not women and, certainly, not for slaves such as you.”

Arabella gaped at him, “But…But…You told me…You said I wouldn’t be ch..chained if I submitted to you.”

“I lied,” he responded flatly and grinned an evil grin as the brunette’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“I am not one of your British gentlemen,” he sneered harshly. “I am Razak the slaver, and you wear one of my collars on your throat.”

Suiting his actions to his words, he closed the heavy iron about Arabella’s slender neck and screwed closed the lock. “You are my slave,” he told her, “and you will serve me well.”

Arabella sucked in a deep breath; but, before she could give vent to the terrified anguish rising up in her throat, he seized her jaw in a vice like grip, cutting off her scream, and making her wince with pain.

“You have not been given permission to speak, slave,” he snapped. “If you make a sound, I shall whip you.”

The brunette stared up at her Master, her eyes wide as she searched his cruel face for any trace of pity. She found none; and, as she realised that he meant every word, she fought down her desire to scream a protest, her shoulders slumping and great hot tears welling from her brown eyes as she understood that she was truly his slave and subject to any punishment he cared to impose upon her.

“It is good that you begin to understand what you have become, slave,” he said as he released her jaw. “Now, you will display your body and your submission to your Master.”

For a moment, Arabella froze, but as Razak’s forehead creased in a frown and he reached for the whip proffered by one of his men, she whimpered in terror and forced her spine erect, thrusting out her breasts in the way she had seen the Indian slave, Ranee, offer herself.

Razak grunted then reached out and used the coiled whip to tilt her chin upwards so that she stared up at the cloudless sky and her breasts tautened still further.

“Do not break the pose, slave,” he commanded, “or you will be whipped.”

Arabella shuddered in her pose as commanded by her Master and clenched her teeth, fighting not to move as the whip trailed slowly down her stretched throat to the twin firm globes of her presented breasts. Once again, as braided leather caressed her flesh and slid over her n*****s, Arabella was unable to prevent the instinctive reaction of her body; and, as her twin buds stiffened and grew hard, she moaned in shame as unwanted heat spread downwards, setting her belly flesh quivering helplessly as the remorseless arousal sent moist warmth seeping into her groin.

To a Master of slaves as skilled and experienced as Razak, the signals of her growing passion were unmistakable; and, as the tremors of her need grew more powerful, he sent his right hand to the joint of her trembling thighs, forcing her legs apart, and sending his extended fingers spearing into the slippery channel of her s*x.

Arabella’s scream of surrender coincided with the frantic jerking of her pelvis as she orgasmed instantly and her torso doubled forward and down over his deeply buried hand as she climaxed to his ruthless mastery of her, her love juices soaking his fingers and her bowed head and back juddering to the explosive spasms of her submission.

“Position, slave,” he snapped sharply, but Arabella could not obey, too far gone in her climax to heed the command. It was a mistake instantly punished; for, at a nod from him, one of his men jumped forward and sent his whip hissing down across her unprotected buttocks, etching a thin burning stripe of red into her tender flesh. The stinging heat of the blow and the knowledge that her Master would accept nothing less than her complete and immediate obedience to his every order sent an intense thrill of submissive excitement racing through Arabella’s body and brain, and she squealed in pain and jerked her spine erect, hardly able to believe that such brutality was possible.

Never before had anybody ever treated her with such total arrogance, such callous authority, and her belly convulsed with frightening power around his hand as she was taught the absolute dominance of a strong and totally determined Master.

Wide with fright, her eyes stared up at the sky; and, as she heard his low chuckle of pleasure and the cruel laughter of the warriors who had witnessed her ruthless subjugation to his will, she trembled to the knowledge that she was, indeed, a slave.

Casually, Razak pulled his hand from her spasming belly, and she flushed as he displayed the glistening juices of her surrender to his men.

Then, helpless in her bonds, she dared not even protest as she was dragged to the wagon and the chain at her collar padlocked to a low ringbolt, the length of the chain such that she could not rise from her knees but had to remain uncomfortably crouched at the feet of Belinda.

Kneeling in the dust, her body stained with the sweat and juices of her humiliation, Arabella wept despairingly for her lost freedom, understanding from the way she had been secured, that her status as a slave in the camp was far lower than that of her friend, even though Belinda herself was also a captive. Far too late, she realised that she should never have made her offer to serve Razak, but the deed was done, and she trembled with horror, fearing the consequences of her rash action…