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Archive-name: Slaves/worthcam.txt

Archive-author: Brush Strokes

Archive-title: Worth a Camel

Gwen's life was in a turmoil.  This had its good and its bad

points.   Just one short year ago she had met Alex, her fiance.   He was a

graduate student studying history, who specialized in the Byzantine Empire.

They had met when Alex and his advisor had come over to Daddy's

for dinner.  While Alex's advisor romanced her father for enough

money to start an archaeological dig in Turkey, Alex romanced Gwen.

He had been a perfect gentleman.  Unfortunately, the only thing

he was passionate about was his work.  For hours on end she would

listen as he told stories of the noble Byzantines fighting bravely against

the barbarous Turks.  The Turks, who took all they captured into

slavery, reserved the prettiest women for their Sultan's harem.

Gwen wondered if she was pretty enough to be placed in a harem or

if she would have had to work in the fields with the plain looking girls.

The Byzantines were not much better than the Turks.  Their popes and

emperors kept numerous mistresses in their own style of harem.  The

Turks were men enough to admit what they were doing when they

kept a woman solely for sexual purposes.  Gwen felt that 

because of this, the Turks were the nobler of the two races and therefore

deserved to rule the land.  They did not treat their women ambiguously.

A woman who did not know where she fit into society was miserable.

Gwen knew where she fit in society.  She had attended Radcliffe as an 

undergraduate and had completed her graduate studies at the Wharton School.  

Martin's Inc., the multi-million dollar company which her father, Victor 

Martin, had created was her role in society.  The presidency of one of 

the fastest growing firms in the country was in her future, but first she 

was going to marry.  This was in no way going to interfere with her career 


Alex made her laugh, cry and feel like a little girl.  He was the perfect

escape from the corporate chaos which surrounded her from nine to five or

more typically from seven to midnight and beyond.  Still, to her surprise and 

dismay, their relationship, although they were soon to marry, was never 


At first she felt Alex might be a coward.  There was something

that kept him from sleeping with her.  Either he was afraid of her or afraid 

of her father, who had agreed to finance the dig.  This idea was quickly 

dispelled when Alex met Gwen's college sweetheart Mark at a party.  Mark was 

a large athletic man who still carried a torch for Gwen.  He carried the 

torch as persistently as he spoke of the game he played, football, which had 

been the final reason for their separation.  There was only so long that

a woman could stay with a man who watched last years Super Bowl seventeen

times.  At the pary where Mark and Alex met, her former boyfriend had drunk a 

few too many cases of beer and made some off color remark about Gwen and the 

back seat of a car. 

Alex calmly removed his coat and asked Mark to step outside.

She begged Alex not to pursue the matter while Mark was encouraged by two of

his old football buddies to ``kill the wimp''.  Gwen followed

them outside hoping that she could throw her body across Alex's once he

was brought down by Mark's first punch.  This turned out not to be necessary.

Mark threw a lumbering punch.  Alex ducked inside of the blow

and brought his knee up into Mark's groin.  This was followed by three

quick punches to Mark's nose.  The first broke his nose, the second

insured that a plastic surgeon could put his daughter through

four years of college, and the third knocked Mark out.  

Mark's two football cronies did not believe that Alex had fought

fairly.  After all, hitting below the belt was illegal.  Instead of

running in the face of these superior odds, Alex added several years of

graduate study onto the eduction of the plastic surgeon's daughter and

threw in a Porche as a graduation gift.  

The violence had been childish and uncalled for, but it had left Gwen

strangely excited.  That night she had asked Alex up to her room.  He

declined stating that it was only two weeks until their wedding, they

had waited this long, and he wanted it to be special.  Gwen

debated between using the seventy year old butler or the statue of Zeus

in the garden to relieve her tension.  In the end, she settle for an

unsuccessful cold shower followed by a gentle massage of her clitoris.

As she brought herself to climax, she fantasized that Alex had kidnapped

her from her rich father and was adding a little sexual pleasure on to

his ransom demand, doggy style of course.

Daddy had died unexpectedly of a heart attack just before the wedding.

The ceremony had to be cancelled and out of respect a smaller service was 

held several weeks after his funeral.  Despite her sorrow over her father's

passing, this added time apart only increased Gwen's frustration.  Her 

clitoral massages became more frequent, as did her dreams of Alex using her 

body for his pleasure.

Their honeymoon plans were also completely thrown off.  They missed their

Mediterranean cruise, which would have ended with a visit to the 

archaeological dig and Istanbul.  Since they now had less time, she agreed 

that the cruise was both out of the question and inappropriate, and therefore 

they would go straight to Turkey, so that she could see the land of which 

Alex told such fascinating stories.  The money for the dig had already been 

committed and without Alex's presence everything would come to a halt.

They caught a plane to Rome and from there transferred to a flight which took

them nonstop to Istanbul.  On this last leg of their journey, the newlyweds 

met an English gentleman, Lord Preston, who lived in Turkey.  To him the Turks 

were a godless race since they didn't eat kidny pie.  They were thieves, 

cutthroats, bigamists, and, worst of all, slavers.  Turks loved European 

women and would go to great lengths to procure them.  Once a woman was in 

captivity, she would be carted off to some harem in the mountains, never to 

be seen again.

Alex and Gwen laughed this off.  Lord Preston was a relic of the

old English empire and had entertained them thoroughly with his observations

on Turkey and its people.  As they were disembarking the plane, Lord Preston

pulled Alex aside.  Gwen could overhear the old gent saying, ``Listen

chap, I advise you to keep close to Gwen at all times.  Never let her travel

without at least two male escorts.  They will grab her off the street

in a second and you will never see her again.  Remember, to a Turk she is 

worth a camel.''

Upon hearing this Gwen struggled not to tell the sexist old bastard what

he could do with his Victorian view of women.  She could take care of herself,

yet she wondered why Alex wouldn't take her forcedly from the street and 

enslave her.  Gwen longed to be held in his strong arms, having no choice but 

to yield to his savage passion again and again.

As they left the airport Alex and Gwen passed a gypsie girl dancing on the

street.  She was dressed in what Gwen would call slave silks.  The only

jewelry she wore was a chain decorated with silver bells,which rested

snugly around one ankle.  One by one she removed her long silk veils as the 

onlookers threw her money.  Gwen had never seen a more depraved exhibition in 

her life.   Maybe Lord Preston was right, these were a godless people.

They caught a cab to their motel.  Along the way Alex pointed out interesting 

architectural features of the city.  As they got closer to their destination,

Gwen's loins longed for attention.  She snuggled up close to Alex and 

whispered in his ear, ``You wouldn't make me wear an outfit like that dancing 

girl, would you?  You wouldn't want me to have bells on my ankle?''  

Alex seemed immune to her request.  He continued to stare out the window and 

said, ``No, I wouldn't dear.  You are to much of an independent woman.''

She wanted to scratch his eyes out.  Alex sat there impassively holding her

hand.  On their honeymoon, he was paying more attention to the passing

architecture than to his bride.  Tears started flowing from her eyes.  He

kissed her gently and said, ``I am sorry if I am in a daze dear.  While

you were using the ladies room at the airport, I received an urgent phone 


``Trouble?'' she asked.

``It seems as if there was a minor earth quake in the area of the dig.  Several

workmen were killed and my advisor is among the missing.''

``Oh god honey, I'm sorry.'' Gwen said, forgiving her husbands indifference

to their honeymoon.

``Once we get to the hotel, I have to take a helicopter out to the dig.

Why don't you get settled in?  If all goes well I will be with you

tomorrow night.''

At the hotel they held each other for what seemed an eternity.  The

Fates seemed to be against their happiness and against Gwen's desire

to be filled by the man she loved.  Alex had to rush to the roof to catch his 

flight, while Gwen set up the honeymoon suit for his arrival the next night.  

Tired from a days travel and the disappointment of spending her first 

married night apart from her husband, Gwen went to bed early, without the 

benefit of her nightly self-massage.  In the morning, she would go shopping 

for a slave outfit like the one she had seen on the dancing girl and maybe 

she would even pick up some bells.  When Alex returned, he would be in for a 

surprise.   Maybe he would treat her with the disrespect she longed for.

The next day Gwen walked into the open market of Istanbul.  All the goods

being sold in the main market were designed for tourists.  Next to vendors 

selling dates and figs there were vendors selling American flags and 

tee-shirts with the Statue of Liberty on them.  In disgust Gwen walked out of 

the main market and down a side street.  Here there were vendors which sold 

goods to the locals.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a large man wearing 

a red fidora, whom she remembered seeing at the stand which sold the American 

tourist goods.

She walked on down the street until she saw what she wanted.  There at a 

little shop which sold veils, scarves and lengths of silk was the outfit she 

wanted.  The man in the red turban approached her.  ``Very pretty'', he said 

holding up a thin veil, yet looking at her.  Gwen turned and began to walk 

away.  To her dismay she realized that she was forced to walk away from the

central market, towards the back streets of Istanbul.  

After walking several blocks, Gwen looked behind her but did not see the

man.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to walk back towards the central

market.  A lumbering truck forced her to step off the road.  As it passed,

two men jumped out of the back and grabbed her.  She tried to scream; a

heavy sack, which muffled her cries, was thrown over her head, and she was 

hoisted into the truck.  Struggling to regain her freedom, she felt the truck 

pull away and ropes being tied around the sack.  She soon realized that it was 

futile to resist.

The truck took a series of sharp corners and then headed straight for

what seemed to be an eternity.  Gwen realized that she was being taken

out of the city.  There was a sharp pain in her right arm.  Letting out a

small gasp, she realized that she had been injected with something.  Suddenly 

she began to feel very sleepy.  Knowing she would probably never see Alex 

again, she began to cry. She continued to sob quietly until she lost 


Gwen awoke to find herself free of the sack, inside what appeared to be a 

large tent.  There was a sore spot on one arm where she had been injected with

something to insure that she slept properly.  Immediately upon raising her 

head off the pillow, she was surrounded by a half dozen girls all dressed in 

slave silks.  They immediately began to undress her.  Fighting with what 

finger nails she had, Gwen managed to drive the girls away.  One of the girls 

yelled something in Arabic.  

Two giant men, with shaved heads and whips walked into the room.  They look at 

her menacingly and walk out of the room.  Once again, the girls began to 

undress her.  This time Gwen did not resist; she had no choice.

They led her giggling to a bath which had been treated with perfumes

and oils to soften her skin.  The slave girls scrubbed her vigorously and then 

backed away, allowing her to soak in the warm water.  ``Maybe being a slave 

won't be all bad.'' she thought.

A bell rang in the distance and the girls help Gwen out of the pool

and dried her.  They wrapped her in silks like their own, curled her hair

and applied her make up for her.  The final touch was three silver bells,

tied to her left ankle.  Gwen walked gingerly across the room, enjoying

the tinkling the bells made with each step.  

Suddenly all the girls bowed as the two  bald giants reappeared.  They walk

towards Gwen and fastened a collar around her neck.  It was silver and

matched the chain which attached the bells to her ankle.  She humbly followed

the two men as they left tent.

Like a dog, she was lead across a compound to an extremely large ornate tent.

There sitting on a throne, wearing a mask to keep the desert sand out of his

face, was her captor.  With the lower half of his face covered, he looked

sinister.  She could tell, just by his presence, that he was cruelly handsome 

and that expect to have his way with any woman he desired.

Gwen was forced to kneel in his presence.  The man on the throne snapped his 

fingers and a smallish man who looked like a Turkish librarian walked into the 

room and sat at the base of the throne.  In a high shrill voice he spoke, 

``You are now a slave of the Sultan Naj.  You will bow in his presence and 

obey his every command.  You will only address him as `Master'.''

Rising to her feet, Gwen said, ``I will not I am a citizen of...''

As she spoke the Sultan raised two fingers and one of the giants brought

his whip across her back side twice.  Gwen winced in pain, bitting her

tongue to hold her scream.

As if nothing had happened, the librarian continued, ``You will now dance

and remove your veils to serve your master's pleasure.''

Exotic music came from behind one wall of the tent as the librarian and

two enforcers took their leave.  Gwen started to dance.  It was 

awkward at first but she did not want to feel the whip again.  No matter

how hard she tried, she kept stumbling and could not keep with the beat.

She started to cry.   This man was a stranger and she did not love him;

how could she be expected to dance for him? 

His eyes smiled at her as he said, ``Dance like the girl at the airport.''

``Yes, master'', Gwen replied and promptly kept time with the music.  Each

twist and turn of her body sent ripples of desire towards the Sultan.  

As he became more and more engrossed in her performance, she removed each veil

in succession.  Upon reaching the last veil, the Sultan stood up.  He removed

it himself and lowered the mask from his face.  As his lips descended to

meet hers, Gwen cried, ``Oh Alex''.  She felt his hand slap her smartly

on the rump.  ``I mean, oh Master''

With that he pulled her to the floor by her chain.  There, on the

soft rugs, her took her.  Each time was more ferocious than before.  In

the morning she awoke with a pleasant soreness between her legs.  She could

not have asked for a better honeymoon, for she knew to him she was worth at

least two camels.


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