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Lila Ch 2
The mild mannered torturer.
The few steps to the house, where Aisha stood waiting, seemed like miles to Lila. A day that started so auspiciously, they were leaving, going home, even if that meant several hours crated in the hold of the jet, had turned so bad, so suddenly. When Al-Mansur requested Juggy as payment for the Chinese chick, Lila knew she was done for. She held herself up for the sake of her master, as her final tribute to her role model, Sarah. Now, the reality of her situation sinking in, her fear digging at her guts, Lila felt her grasp, her control slipping badly.
A glance at the walls, too far, and all the armed men around, meant that she would not make it. Also it meant that her discipline failed. A voice told her that it would be better to be shot by one of the assault-rifle bearing thugs than the fate that awaited her. It would be much faster, much less painful, even if she was shot in the gut. Something kept her going however. She knew not where those reserves of valor came from. Her father died, years ago, when she was a little girl, in Viet Nam, or was it Cambodia? She was too young to remember him, but was told he was killed while attacking an enemy machine gun position. He would be proud of her, advancing on the chubby girl who waited for her at the wall.
Lila’s mother had a phrase she often repeated when faced with a daunting task: “One step at a time.”
Lila kept repeating this to herself as she approached Aisha:
“One step at a time.”
Over and over again.
Aisha led her through a door into a long dark corridor. The air conditioning on her nude body made her shiver. They entered a large curtained hall carpeted with thick rugs. She led her behind a curtain and knelt in front of Lila. She licked at her sex, trying to complete her orders:
“Give her one orgasm,” the sheik had ordered, and Aisha wanted to comply. Failure at any task was not tolerated at the Al-Mansur household.
Aisha did not understand why the folds offered to her tongue were so dry, like the desert in her native Arabia, but she persevered. Lila gently caressed the slave’s head and slowly, very slowly, felt herself responding to the girl’s diligent ministrations.
“I’d better enjoy this,” she murmured “it will be my last.”
Aisha stood up, embracing the thinner, taller girl from behind, caressing her breasts with one hand and her pussy with the other.
“Why the last?” Aisha said, breathless.
Lila did not answer yet; she turned her head and kissed the Arab girl on the lips, silencing her questions.
Lila turned and embraced Aisha behind the curtain. They both fell on the floor, rolling on the carpet, exciting, exploring and kissing each other. It took time, time and tenderness for Aisha to bring Lila off; by the time Lila’s sex gushed, Aisha had come, three times under Lila’s experienced touch.
They got up and Aisha led the way, holding her hand.
“Why the last?” she asked again.
“I’m to have my clitoris burned off.”
The look of horror in Aisha’s face shocked Lila.
“Aisha, you look like you have seen a ghost,” Lila tried to comfort the girl.
Aisha opened a door and through her tears said, “Manu is down there.”
Lila kissed Aisha, “Thank you for everything.”
Lila descended the stairs; she expected the basement to be stuffy, hot with the flames of braziers, to hear the wailing of the condemned, the screams of the tortured. Instead she entered a plain, air-conditioned room, with an unlit fireplace, a leather armchair and, on the wall, instead of shackles, she saw long bookcases. A figure, a tall, dark man, sat on the armchair, a book in his hands.
“Good evening,” he said, standing up politely; he seemed to be in his thirties.
Stunned at this display of manners, Lila felt self-conscious of her nakedness for the first time since she arrived at the mansion. Her hands started to move to cover herself, before her training took over and she restrained herself.
“You must be Manu, I was ordered to come to see you.”
“I was expecting the Chinese girl; I see that your master traded you for her,” his voice was soft and deep, “I’m sorry for you.”
“He told me to tell you to give me ten cuts of the crop on my breasts and ten on my pussy.”
“Impressive; you have been well trained.”
“He said that after that…” Lila stammered, “After that, you are to burn off my clitoris.”
Manu watched Lila closely, expertly; he made his living by reading other people’s posture, body language, tone of voice. He read Lila, like a book, his reading made all the easier by her nude state.
“You know already what that means, here. He told you.”
Lila looked at him; he saw anxiety, fear, and apprehension in her eyes, but not the panic he expected.
She answered, her voice calmer now, “No; he did not,” she paused “but I do know what my fate is to be; if that’s what you mean.”
His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. Lila could read expressions and body language as well as him; all slave girls could, their very lives depended on predicting their master’s moods and desires from the tiniest clues. She continued:
“I am to be tortured and finally snuffed for his pleasure.”
“Then you do know.”
“My fate?” Lila felt more and more at ease with this polite, soft spoken man, “I knew that, as soon as my former master sold me.”
“Ahh. I meant the meaning of having your clitoris removed,” Manu continued, “slaves are only de-clitted when they are going to be snuffed; if there is a chance that the sheik might sell them, we don’t do that; it might lessen their value.”
“That’s why Aisha had such a horrified look in her face when I told her,” Lila concluded.
Manu could not believe how calm and collected this stunningly beautiful woman appeared. He expected to see a girl, dragged or beaten into his presence, screaming and pleading for mercy; instead, here was a submissive, docile young woman. He could tell the effort it cost Lila to maintain her calm demeanor and, for once, he genuinely regretted what he had to do to her. He approached her; he noticed her trembling.
“I cannot decrease your pain; you know that,” his tone of voice reassuring her, “but I can try to make it as comfortable as possible.”
Lila nodded, “Yes sir; thank you sir.”
“Would it be better for you if I explained things?” he mused. “Maybe it would make it worse.”
“It would help me,” Lila paused, “prepare myself… if I know.”
Manu nodded. Encouraged by this, Lila continued:
“If I may, sir, if you let me help you, perhaps it would help me,” She tried to swallow through the desert in her mouth. “It would be better than just sitting and watching… and waiting.”
The torturer could not hide his amazement.
“All right then. I need to know some things about you. Did your master beat you often? When was the last time you were flogged?”
Lila hesitated; her loyalty to Paul posed her with a dilemma. Manu noticed this immediately.
“Whatever you tell me, remains between us.”
Lila exhaled, “Very rarely, until a few months ago; even then, not that often. The last time, about three weeks ago.”
“Good, good,” Manu continued “We shall start with your caning, of course; then we’ll take it from there.”
Lila followed Manu into one of the rooms. This one did look like a dungeon, with shackles on the walls, and all the trappings. There was a pillar on one corner, a suspension beam in the center and a table on the other corner. Manu gestured at the pillar; Lila walked to it, turned and stood with her back to the pillar. Manu fastened her wrists behind and above her head.
She tried to thank him, but her parched throat issued no sound.
“I’m sorry,” said Manu. “I should have noticed.” He gave her water to drink.
“Thank you.”
He picked up the cane. He wondered if he should ask her if she was ready, but decided not to. To his surprise, he heard her:
“I’m ready sir.”
Then he hit her breasts, hard. For once, he did not enjoy the screams; for once he wished he had another job.
When she thanked him through her tears, he kissed her lips passionately. When he released her hands she embraced him and kissed him again, of her own volition. For a moment he wondered if he could buy this girl from the sheik; however he knew the Mei Ling story, it was legendary in this establishment, and knew too that Al-Mansur would not agree; he would be more likely to fire him.
He let her sit on a stool and gave her a glass of lemonade. Lila drank some of it and used the cold glass to soothe her lacerated breasts. She gave him a questioning look.
“Go ahead dear,” he answered. “It is not forbidden.”
She continued cooling her breasts with the cool glass, encouraged, she asked:
“What will happen after I’m de-clitted?”
Lila found she could face her impending mutilation better using the term de-clitted, rather than saying “Having my clitoris burned off” It seemed much milder, much more clinical; she once had a cat that had been de-clawed, that wasn’t too bad was it?
“I shall keep you here for a week, to let you heal,” Manu answered. “After that, it’s up to the sheik.”
Lila finished the lemonade and stood up, “Shall we continue?”
She went to the table and stood by it.
The table, much like an operating room table, had attachment points, so a victim could be positioned any way necessary to expose the needed area of the body.
“We will cane your pussy now; after we are done, you can help me get things ready for the… de-clitoring”
Manu had Lila lie back on the table, with her buttocks hanging over the end. He let her arms lie along her body and secured her wrists with straps by her buttocks. He placed two poles by her shoulders and brought her ankles back almost all the way to her head to strap them to the poles. Lila remained silent throughout this process, her deep, even breathing, the only noise that came out of her. There was too much motion on her knees, so he strapped them to the poles too. He picked up the cane.
He stood facing her pussy, the cane in his hand. She said:
“I’m ready sir.”
He hit her pussy, hard; it was his job. She screamed, loudly, it was hers.
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