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Message-ID: <33571asstr$1006258212@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Jean MacHine" <shiamsa@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Sisters of the Sand (Part One) (Fdom, interr)
Date: Tue, 20 Nov 2001 07:10:12 -0500
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   <1st attachment, "sisters_of_the_sand_1.txt" begin>

   (c) Copyright Jean Machine 2001

   Comments are very welcome.  You can reach me by e-mail at
shiamsa@hotmail.com

   This story, a fantasy, contains some elements of an explicit sexual
nature, so you've been warned!

   Reposting or any other use of this story is strictly prohibited without
the express written permission of the author.

   Sisters of the Sand

   Part 1

   The news couldn't have arrived at a more inconvenient time.  Just back
in UN Headquarters after a three-month stint in the South of Iraq, the
desert sand still clinging to my boots, and my mind bent on a little R and
R.  I hadn't had a drink or seen a woman in all that time.  But there it
was: my presence was requested urgently at a United Nations post in the
South of Jordan.  "Once more into the breach, dear friend," I sighed to
myself, "but this will be the last time I do this!"

   The details were sparse--they always were on this kind of mission.  The
clans were gathering--another local brouhaha that had to be cleared up
quickly before it jeopardized the Middle East peace talks.  My bags were
already packed, so all I had to do was to have them forwarded to Amman,
capital of Jordan, and get the next flight there myself.

   Two days later I was walking in the garden of the UN compound on Jebel
Amman, the rocky outcrop dominating the old city, along with the Chef
d'Affaires.

   "It's unfortunate," he was saying, "that we have so few resources. 
Cut-backs, re-deployment, you name it.  I was very lucky that you were
available just now."

   I smiled to myself, thinking how typical this was.  Now, when we need
the resources, the bean-counters start working on the cutbacks.

   "Only just," I replied.  "Another day either way and I wouldn't be
here--aren't you lucky?  Now what about the rest of the team?  When can
they be assembled--we need them now!  If we wait any longer the situation
might drift out of control!"

   He pulled a khaki rag out of his trouser pocket, and wiped the sweat off
his glistening brow.

   "You're right!  I've pulled out all the stops, but those damned
bureaucrats don't see the urgency.  What can I do?"

   "You know the story--we've been through this before.  You keep up the
pressure on the bureacrats, make sure we have a negotiating team.  In the
meantime I'll drive down there to see what I can do."

   "It's...it's probably for the best," he said, stopping to look at me
sharply.

   "You realize that it's not quite comme il faut to drive down there
alone? We won't be able to stay in contact with you until you arrive there,
you know."

   I tensed myself to remain calm.  It was exactly this kind of
bureaucracy, a mindless adherance to protocoll, that kept the UN bogged
down all over the Middle East.  He noticed my unease.

   "I know you want to get this mess sorted out.  All I want to say is,
keep your nose clean and stay out of trouble."

   "Look," I replied, "I've been knocking about these deserts for the past
ten years on missions like this.  It's a straight drive down and there's
nothing to stop me on the way."

   Just how incorrect that statement was to be I would soon find out!

   The following morning I was up with the muezzin's first cry as he called
the faithful to prayer.  He was still chanting as I arrived at the UN
vehicle compound checking the jeep assigned to me.  I bullied the sleepy
local staff into kitting it out with adequate fuel, food and water, and
soon I was ready to go.  The only thing missing was an up-to-date map.  My
tattered old regulation-issue one was showing its age, hand-drawn new roads
and boundaries competed with motor oil stains and coffee residues, but what
the hell, I thought, it had served me well up to now.  Shortly afterwards I
was driving through the hilly roads leading out of the city and heading for
my destination on the Gulf of Aqaba.

   The roads South of Amman are well paved, a gift from some American
president or other, so I made good time on the first day.  This was what I
loved--getting away from the interminable meetings and conferences of the
diplomatic life, feeling the road speed by underneath me, the wind playing
about in the jeep.

   I sped along as fast as I dared.  All around me the sun-baked sand
stretched into the distance, broken only by patches of parched scrub and
isolated wizened thorn-trees.  As night came on and that wonderful symphony
of stars appeared, unrivalled anywhere else in the world, I halted and
prepared some food, then spent the night curled up in my sleeping bag next
to the jeep.

   As I approached the Gulf on the second day I realized there was just one
snag.  In order to reach the coast I would have to take a long detour
around a disputed piece of territory, an old Italian protectorate, whose
border was currently closed.  According to my UN handbook, foreigners
needed a visa to enter, and this could not be obtained at the frontier.  I
thought about this as I drove along, and when I came to a fork in the road
I halted and took out my map to study it again.  I was still a few miles
away from the borders of the closed territory.  After checking the
distances it struck me that crossing part of this territory, which didn't
even have a name, would cut two days off my travel time.  The problem was,
how to get in and out again without a visa?  I would have to bypass the
manned frontier post just down the road, drive through the territory, and
then bypass the frontier post at the other side to get out again.  Could it
be done?

   Long afterwards, I often cast my mind back to the fateful moment, when I
sealed my own fate forever.  What drove me, the experienced UN observer, to
break our own code of conduct and make an illegal dash across a closed
territory?  As I gazed across the arid wastes to the shimmering horizon,
weighing up the possibilities in my mind, I didn't consider the idea rash.
When in doubt do, I always said, so I decided to chance it.  My map showed
no towns or settlements along the route I was planning to take, and
travelling by night would reduce the risk of being caught.

   I took the fork leading to the border post of the closed territory, and
drove on a little further until I came to a high sand-dune.  I turned off
the road and parked out of site behind the dune.  I stretched a sheet of
canvas from the side of the car and pegged it into the soft sand, then
crept under it to take a nap.  As soon as darkness fell I set off, without
headlights, and drove the jeep in a wide arc around the frontier post on
the road, cut a gap in the rusted barbed-wire fence that marked the border,
and drove back to where I thought the road would be on the other side.  It
wasn't there!  I had somehow become disoriented in the dark, and had to
wait until first light in order to search out and re-join the road.

   To my surprise, the road now passed through more fertile territories,
with trees and vegetation getting ever more frequent.  Some of the fields
contained irrigation ditches and water tanks while solitary tractors
ploughed the land.  In the distance I could make out olive groves and
banana plantations.  Electricity pylons and telephone masts were of recent
construction, and freshly-painted road-signs bearing the names of nearby
settlements were evidence of recent improvements in the region's fortunes.
I cursed myself for having relied on such an out-of-date map, but it was
too late to turn back now.

   Occasionally I broke out into a sweat when I passed some workers walking
along the side of the roads.  Most were women or girls, with varying skin
colours- this area had long been a melting-pot of different races and
cultures.  In contrast to what I had seen in neighbouring countries these
women all looked tall, broad-shouldered and healthy-looking.  Their biceps
were like those of men, and they swung their heavy tools with ease.  Those
using tools were dressed in white overalls, and were usually accompanied by
a few dressed in short khaki skirts, which seemed to be a uniform of some
kind.  They smiled as I passed, showing strong white teeth.  Sometimes they
called out "Ciao, sorella", obviously taking me for a woman.  It was a
reasonable mistake to make from the distance they saw me, as I have a
youthful-looking hairless face and long fair hair.

   Luck was on my side, traffic on the road was very light and my presence
did not attract any attention.  I had only a few miles to travel before
re-crossing the border into safety when I noticed to the side of the road a
large low-lying dark cloud.  Now there are two things that always seem to
get me into trouble.  One is my short temper, and the other an insatiable
curiosity.  I couldn't take my eyes off this cloud, which at first appeared
to be smoke.  Puzzled, I parked the jeep in some bushes and climbed a ridge
from where with the use of binoculars I could see over the surrounding
countryside.  The sight that met my eyes was amazing.  Dozens of trucks and
earth-moving vehicles were moving across a large tract of open hilly land,
raising a huge cloud of dust that rose high into the air.  Hundreds of
figures were moving across the landscape, carrying tools, bags and
equipment in and out of several large entrances into the earth.

   This was most unusual--what was going on here, I asked myself?  My
curiousity aroused, I decided to climb a nearby tree to get a better view.
I managed to clamber up without problems.  Just as I reached the upper
branches I glanced back at the road and to my dismay spotted a vehicle with
two occupants coming towards me.  They had obviously spotted me because
they were slowing down, and the passenger was gesticulating in my
direction. I had to make a run for it.  I quickly swung down from branch to
branch, tearing the skin of my hands on thorns, until I was about eight
feet off the ground, and then I lost my grip.  I slipped to the ground and
felt a sudden pain in my right knee, which made me lose my balance.  I fell
over, hitting my head against a rock, then all was darkness.

   My next memories are of awaking in a bed in a brightly-lit room.  My
head was throbbing and there was a ringing in my ear.  Under the
bed-clothes I was completely naked.  I lay still for a few minutes and then
tried to raise myself on my arms but saw that both my hands were bandaged.

   Two figures were standing at the end of the bed, watching me.  One of
them approached me and I could see it was a dark-skinned young woman
dressed in white.  She held a beaker of liquid to my lips--only then did I
realize how parched my mouth was, and I gulped the liquid back greedily. 
Over the next few hours my strength returned, but I was still physically
exhausted.

   As I lay in bed I thought I must first find out where I was and how long
I would have to remain here, then organize a passage either to the UN post
or back home to Europe.  The two dark-skinned women attended to my
injuries, but they remained deaf to my questions.  At mid-day and late
evening I received a tray with rice, beans and chicken in a spicy sauce,
and a jug of water, carried by an equally silent elderly man.  The rest of
the time I lay there and reflected upon what I had seen from the ridge.  It
must have been a mine, I thought.  But there was something odd about this
scene, something was not quite right.  What was it?  I remembered seeing
two female truck drivers signalling to each other.  There was a group of
women standing in the shade of a tree, examining plans, their bare legs
covered in dust.  The truck drivers, the crane operators, the workers
directing them on the ground were all female.  The manual workers were
dressed like those I had seen on the road, in white overalls, and were
again accompanied by well-built women with those skirts that came to
mid-thigh, wide belts that sometimes held a holster, and short-sleeved
jackets or tunics.  Where were the men?

   On the third day in hospital, shortly after my meal, a very tanned
caucasian woman with short dark hair and glasses came into my room.  She
wore the familiar short leather skirt with a wide holster belt.  A small
automatic pistol peeped out of the holster.  She didn't introduce herself,
but took a chair next to the bed, crossed her shapely legs and in a
no-nonsense manner started taking down my personal details in a large
folder.  I answered her questions as politely as I could, but I grew
increasing distracted by the view.  I couldn't take my eyes off her smooth
copper-coloured thighs and her legs enclosed in leather sandals with thongs
reaching to mid-calf, only a few feet away from me.  It was so long since I
had seen such a provocative sight!

   I felt a stirring between my legs and a noticeable bulge started pushing
up through the thin bedclothes.  My hands were still bandaged and had to
remain outside the covers, so I was powerless to cover the bulge.  I hoped
she wouldn't notice it, but at one point she glanced up and there it was,
about two feet from her face.  She almost dropped her folder.  Before I
could do anything she suddenly rose and left the room without a word.

   I could hear voices raised in anger outside the door, and a discussion
ensued for a few minutes, but I couldn't make out what was being said. 
Finally another two women, dressed similarly to the first, entered.  They
didn't look happy.  One of them approached me with a look of thunder,
raised her arm and smacked me hard across the face.

   "Stronzo!  Cretino!" she cried.

   "What the hell?" I tried to say.

   "Lui parla inglese," said the other, and turned to me.

   "How dare you insult one of our sisters!" she said slowly.  "I won't
have you in this hospital any longer.  It's time you got your just deserts.
Get dressed--we will wait outside the door."

   Finally, I thought to myself, there might be a few explanations of what
is going on here and I'll get the chance to move on, maybe get a lift to
the nearest large town or airstrip.  I rose gingerly and, retrieving my
clothes from the table, got dressed.  There was no underwear, which was a
nuisance, but I didn't think that this was the right time to be demanding
underpants.

   My pockets had been emptied, which meant that my wallet and personal
papers, including my passport, were missing, as were the keys to the jeep.
I didn't feel unduly worried--it crossed my mind that they had probably
been locked up somewhere for safe keeping.  I joined the two women in the
corridor and with one at each side we walked out into the blazing mid-day
sun.

   After my eyes became accustomed to the light, I looked around.  We were
on a wide street of hard-packed earth, reddish-brown, with a number of
side-streets leading off it.  The older buildings had traditional baked mud
walls, of the type found everywhere in these parts, but more stable-looking
than most I had seen so far.  They were interspersed with more modern brick
and cement structures.  One of my escorts led the way through a number of
streets.  The street was deserted, not surprising for what was the hottest
part of the day.  Many of the buildings were being renovated or re-built.
Piles of locally-made bricks lay outside the more run-down buildings. 
Through the windows I could see workers stripping down walls or preparing
plaster.

   Almost all were women.

   After about twenty minutes we arrived at a large square, dominated by a
large single-story glass-and-cement structure of the type popularized by
Eastern-bloc countries in the sixties.  The sign on the entrance identified
it as a communal meeting-place, serving also as a court-room.  My escorts
led the way through the entrance and into a small room off the main
corridor.  Here I was left alone for a few minutes.

   Two women entered, dressed similarly to the two who had taken me here.
The first one in, striding with an air of authority, was of medium height,
slim build and around thirty years of age.  She had attractive Arab
features, lightskinned with long thick hair lightened with henna.  Her
round intelligent eyes had the piercing look of a bird of prey.

   The other was younger, darker and very tall, her bush of hair pulled
back from her forehead and held in place with a band.  Just below the
hairline were three tiny cirles cut into the skin, which I recognized.  It
meant she was a desert nomad from Northern Somalia.  These are lean, tough
warriors who spend their lives crossing the burning wastes of the Horn of
Africa.  Their womenfolk, the Nakka, tradionally fight alongside their men
in the tribal wars that regularly punctuate the region, and have a
reputation for fierceness and cruelty exceeding that of their men.  This
young woman had the powerful physique and noble bearing of her race and
might have been in her late teens.  I had the impression that she had
outgrown her skirt for it reached only to the tops of her thighs.  The
sight of her long bare legs captivated me, and I was still taking in their
full magnificence when the older woman spoke to me, in a strong voluptuous
voice.

   "Come here to me, boy," she said.  "I'm the Commandant Eastern Sector,
where you were found.  Looks like you're my responsibility.  You understand
English?"

   "Yes," I replied.  "And I want to get out of here, you've no right to
keep me locked up!"

   She looked at me more closely.  "What's wrong with you, boy?  You don't
like it here?  Then why did you come snooping in our country in the first
place?  We have got security precautions--this is normal."

   "Normal my ass!  I have a right to know where I am and what's going on!"

   She turned quickly to her companion and asked in Italian "Elsa, da dov'e
lui?"

   "And it doesn't matter a damn what country I'm from!"

   "Ah, you understand Italian too!  Do you speak any other languages?"

   "Arabic and German.  I work with the United Nations.  Now what I want
is..."

   "You be quiet, boy!" She cried, before turning again to her taller
companion.  "Elsa, take note of this.  Check whether we need any
translators for these languages in our offices--I heard they were very
short of staff."

   "Yes, Ines," replied the warrior.

   She turned to me again.

   "Listen, boy, you were found illegally crossing our land.  This an
offence punishable by a long prison sentence."

   "Now look here, lady," I said, beginning to feel distinctly hot under
the collar.  "I'm getting a bit fed up of being pushed around, I..."

   The Commandant's eyes flashed and her brow furrowed.

   "Don't interrupt me, boy!  You were committing a punishable offence! 
You will be held until our Council decides what should be done with you."

   "And I'm saying that I want to get out of here." I interjected, before I
could stop myself.

   She raised her right arm quickly and smacked me hard across the face. 
The force of the slap knocked me backwards.

   "You keep your mouth closed, boy!" She cried, her eyes flashing.  "I'd
teach you a lesson, but I don't have time to waste.  Elsa, stick this piece
of trash in a cell until tomorrow, and then he'll appear before a court of
the Executive Council."

   "Shall I order food, Ines?" asked Elsa.

   Ines was already on her way out the door.

   "See what left-overs you can get from the canteen--no need to waste good
food.  He might be of some use to us in the future.  Otherwise he can rot
in jail.  Although it's up to the Council to decide that," she added as an
afterthought.

   Elsa took me in a strong grip and half led, half dragged me to a spartan
room containing a wooden bench and toilet, and locked me in.  Shortly
afterwards an attendant, an elderly man, arrived with some assorted scraps
of food, which I ate ravenously.  Later, feeling refreshed, I lay back on
the hard bench that served as a bed and thought about my situation.  Now I
was really puzzled.  Had I stumbled into one of the women's communities? 
One of the several all-female communities that had existed for centuries in
this region?  Women of the desert tribes, having lost their menfolk through
clan warfare, formed their own communities for self-protection, which had
then become self-sufficient.  The women's communities were supposed to be
small nomadic groups, whereas what I had seen so far gave the impression of
a more highly developed society.  Brooding, I slowly fell into a troubled
sleep.

   Next morning I was impatiently pacing my cell when Elsa arrived.  I felt
weary after the long night and I wanted this so-called "court" to clear
things up so that I could get back to normal life.  Elsa wordlessly opened
the door and indicated that I should follow her.  Through corridor after
corridor we went, until I lost all sense of direction.  On all sides women
moved purposefully from office to office, carrying files and sheafs of
papers.  Some older men were cleaning or shuffling along pushing trolleys
of documents.  I had to occasionally break into a trot to keep up with
Elsa's long-legged stride.  I fixed my eyes on the pert buttocks that
emerged under her slim waist, and watched them jiggle rhythmically under
the impossibly short skirt.  I was in quite a state of arousal when we
reached out destination, but managed to keep it hidden in my pants.

   We finally entered a large assembly room lit by sunlight streaming in
from high windows that reached to the ceiling.  About forty women of
varying ages and races sat around the large tables that were spread
throughout the room, or lounged back in easy chairs with their legs
stretched out in front of them.  Like a goddamn hookers' convention, I
thought as I looked around, concealing with my hands the bulge in the front
of my pants.  The talking stopped as I entered the room, and all eyes were
turned on me as Elsa took me to a small podium at the front of the room and
seated me on a chair there.  She turned her back to me but remained
standing just a little in front of me, to the side.  Her firm young ass was
less than a foot from my face, and I had only to move my hands a few inches
to caress her gorgeous thighs.  By now I had a raging hardon.

   I looked around at the women, feeling suddenly vulnerable.  They met my
glance with looks of indifference, boredom or amusement.  They wore a
variety of costumes.  The older women wore longer garments, more in tune
with the traditional tribal dress, and many had small tattoos on their
faces or arms.  Most of the younger ones wore the short leather or suede
skirt of what I took by now to be the warrior caste.

   After a few moments of awkward silence the door opened and Ines appeared
and made her way to a table in the corner of the room.

   Elsa bent down and whispered into my ear: "Now stand up straight, boy,
hands by your sides!"

   Oh, no, I thought to myself.  I couldn't move, and remained frozen in my
chair.

   "I said stand up!" she hissed, and grasping my ear hauled me to my feet.
My hands went up involuntarily to my stinging ear, exposing the horizontal
tent now jutting from my pants.  The women in the front were the first to
notice this, and started pointing towards us, and soon the whole room broke
into laughter.  Hearing the turmoil, Ines turned back and came towards us,
where the source of the laughter was apparent.  Her lips tightened and her
hands clenched.

   "Elsa, take him outside!" she cried.

   Elsa grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the floor to the door,
the laughter and cat-calls of the women ringing in my ears.  Ines followed
us outside.  She stood in front of me and slapped me hard across the face.

   "What kind of an animal are you, boy?  This is unheard of!  Elsa, you
know how to deal with this, don't you?"

   Without a word Elsa grabbed my shoulders and slammed me up against the
wall.

   I struggled to free myself, and she slapped my face hard with her open
palm.  The sting of the blow quieted me for an instant, and I allowed
myself to be held, gazing up into her dark eyes.  I could feel the heat of
her body against mine and her taut thigh press against my erection.  The
smell of sweat from her raised armpit, almost on a level with my nose,
mixed with the smell of leather from her tunic.

   Ines approached us, a look of thunder on her face.  She glanced quickly
downwards at my bulge, then looked into my eyes.

   "First the disgraceful behaviour yesterday, now this outrage here today.
What do you mean by this carry-on, boy?"

   I tried to twist myself out of Elsa's grasp.

   "Look, I'm sorry!" I said.  "I just couldn't help myself.  If you would
just call off Elsa for a minute..."

   I felt Elsa's thigh move slightly, opening my legs, then the pressure
eased.  She seemed to back off for an instant, then wham!  her knee went
into my groin.

   My world erupted into a paroxysm of pain.  I saw stars for a few
seconds, then collapsed at her feet.  As I lay on the ground gasping she
bent down and pulled my hand away from between my legs, leaving me again
exposed.  Ines stepped up and taking careful aim landed the sole of her
foot directly on my rapidlywilting member.

   "That'll teach you, boy!" she cried, as she stepped back to survey their
handiwork.

   "Goddamn piece of shit, insulting our court!  Take him back, Elsa."

   While Ines strode back to her place in the assembly room, Elsa picked me
up by the arm and twisting it behind me pushed me ahead of her back into
the room and placed me on the chair, much to the amusement of the other
women present.  Ines called the meeting to order, but the rest of the
proceedings remained a blur to me, as the pain in my groin blotted out
every other sense in my body.

   As I lolled with drooping head on the chair, eyes pressed closed against
the pain, I could hear the women discussing what to do with me.  They were
of different nationalities and spoke a variety of languages, Italian being
the lingua franca.  There were calls for my immediate imprisonment as a
spy, as I was caught red-handed spying on their mining operations.  Others
wanted me to be sent to the mines as slave-labour.  At one point Ines asked
Elsa whether she had checked on the translation requirements in the
offices. She replied that she had, and found that there were no German
translators, and these were badly needed for the equipment they were
importing from Germany.

   "This solves the problem of what to do with this man for the immediate
future," summed up Ines.  "He can use his translation skills in our import
offices, while remaining under house-arrest.  Mona will be in charge of
him. The alternative is a long term in prison.  Can we have a show of hands
on this proposal?"

   Most of the women present followed Ines's lead in supporting this
proposal.  When asked, I also agreed to this bargain--anything was better
than prison.  I was then led back to the cells.  An hour or so afterwards
Elsa re-appeared and led me out of the building to a small collection of
offices nearby.  She led me into one of the offices, then stopped and spoke
with a strong African accent.

   "This is where you will work, boy.  The import and customs procedures
are handled here, along with our translation activities.  You may have
noticed that the sisters come from many different countries, so we always
need translation.  Mona is in charge of this department, but she's away on
business right now.  A new assistant, Fiona, has just arrived from England.
She will be in charge of you in the meantime.  You will sleep in the lodge
behind this building.  You are confined to this lodge for the time you are
not occupied in the office, and you may not communicate with anyone who is
not directly involved with your work.  Understood, boy?"

   "Yes, I understand," I replied.  Best to go along with their little game
for the moment, I thought, and maybe figure out a way of escape later.

   As if she could read my mind, Elsa continued.  "You better adhere
strictly to these conditions, boy, otherwise you'll find yourself again
before the Executive Council, and you won't get off so lightly next time."

   She led me into a small office occupied by a single woman working at a
computer, who turned to gaze at us as we entered.  She was a hard-faced,
thin-lipped white woman in her mid-thirties.  Her fair hair was tied back
in a tight bun.  I was surprised to see that she was dressed in western
clothes, in a black skirt that reached to just above her knee, tights, and
high-heeled shoes.  Her European appearance put me at ease--I thought to
myself that a western woman would show more compassion than the rest of the
women here.  Boy, was I mistaken!

   "Hello, sister, and welcome to our country," said Elsa, as the other
woman rose.  "I'm Elsa, and I've brought you the interloper that we caught
spying.  He's all yours now."

   She pushed me forward.

   "Have you heard about the trouble he has been causing?"

   "Yes, I heard he made a show of himself in the hospital and then again
before the council.  But don't worry, I think I can handle his sort."

   "I'm so glad.  We'll get you more comfortable clothes later, and then
Mona will be back soon to show you the ropes." She turned to me.  "Until
Mona returns you will afford Fiona unremitting obedience at all times.  Any
infringements will be reported to Ines or myself.  And you'll address Fiona
and all women here from now on as "ma'am".  That will be all." She then
left the room.

   "Look here, boy, I've prepared a workspace for you in this alcove next
to my office," said Fiona as she walked across the room.  She spoke with a
London accent.  "Here is a set of documents specifying the hours you should
be here and the duties you will be carrying out."

   She handed me a folder containing sheets of printed paper.

   "Now remove your shirt and kneel down here." She pointed to a spot in
the centre of the office.

   Surprised, I did as I was told, feeling like I was being examined by a
doctor.

   "I was told you were a trouble-maker, and I want to ensure that there
will be no nonsense during your time in this office," she said.

   She opened a desk drawer and removed a coiled whip.  I recognized the
fearsome kurbash, the African whip of rhino-hide.  She walked around the
desk until she stood behind me.

   "I may be new here, boy, and have a slight build, but you can be assured
that I can wield a whip as well as any woman.  Just one step out of line,
and I will whip you within an inch of your life.  Now bend forward."

   Confused, and seeing no alternative, I did as I was told.  I began to
break out into a sweat.  I could hear her moving behind me and steeled
myself for the blow.  There was a swish of air and then whap!  the whip
burned across my back like a red-hot poker.  The force of the blow knocked
me forward, and I pushed out my hands to stop myself falling.  Quick as a
flash she came from behind and kicked both of my hands aside, so that I
fell flat on my face.  She stood above my head, her shoes just inches from
my face.

   "That's just a taste of what you can expect from me, if you don't tow
the line.  Come along now and I'll show you your living quarters."

   The toe of her high-heeled shoe prodded my face.

   "Now get up, boy," she said.  "I don't have all day!"

   I raised myself slowly, every movement of my back sending a jolt of pain
through my body.  Fiona put away the kurbash and stood waiting at the door.
Painfully, I followed her outside the building.  She took me to a small
lodge behind the main building and showed me to my room, where I took the
opportunity of taking a shower, despite my aching back.  Then I again got
to thinking about what to do.  There was no immediate chance of getting out
of here, but if I could bide my time...

   To be continued...

   shiamsa@hotmail.com

   <1st attachment end>

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