TALES OF GOR-# 6

Used car salesman. That was it, that was what he reminded me of. I couldn’t understand the language, but something in his manner and oily tone, reminded me of such. Maybe a used cars salesman that moonlighted as a professional wrestler, I added to myself as an after thought. The tunic he wore made it easy to note his powerful build. Another man, dressed in the same, to my mind unusual manner, stood next to him with what could only be described as a look of scepticism on his face. The look of a man on the hunt for a bargain, and not at all sure he was getting one. I didn’t have a clue where I was or how I’d gotten here, but I didn’t doubt that the first man was indeed a salesman, and I and my fellow women were the merchandise.

Like Ebenezer Scrooge when confronted with the ghost of Jacob Marley, part of me wanted to believe this was all a dream, brought on perhaps by indigestion. My practical nature wouldn’t allow that though. From the feel of the cold stone floor beneath me, to the memory of the hand clamped over my face with the rag soaked in some noxious drug, to the smell of sweat and fear that now assailed my nostrils, this was all to real.

I said a quick Hail Mary. Although not Catholic, I had once come upon the prayer in a book and been intrigued by the thought of sending my prayers to a woman. Who better to understand my weakness and fear? Whether by Divine design, or natural selection, women were always the weaker in their dealings with men, and we could use all the help we could get. The cadence of the prayer soothed me, and I took a strange comfort in the last line: Pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death. While a stark reminder of what awaited us all, it also reminded me that no matter how dire the circumstances at the moment "this too shall pass".

I opened my eyes, feeling an odd serenity. There didn’t seem to be anything I could do about my circumstances at the moment, so I had no choice but to accept things the way they were. I was chained to a wall by an ankle with four other women. The woman to my left appeared to be in a trance. She stared unseeing into space. Earlier I had tried to urge her to drink from a battered pan of water that had been provided, but she didn’t acknowledge me or my efforts. Even a rough shake had yielded nothing. How long could a person remain like that I wondered? If she wouldn’t even drink, she would be dead in days. Two women on my right wept softly and continuously, while the woman on the far end of the line looked frightened, but dry eyed. We had tried to speak to one another earlier, all seemed to speak at least some English, but our soft whispers had been overheard and a man had strode to us wielding a whip. It had fallen upon us, and each received at least two strokes. I wore the thin skirt and short sleeve shirt I had been captured in and they had offered little protection from the searing crack of the whip. No one had dared to speak a word since.

The one I thought of as the sceptic pointed to the weeping woman on my right and Mr. Used-Car-Salesman smiled an ingratiating smile as he went to her, putting a hand in her hair to turn her fully forward. She screamed, the most piercing shriek I’d ever heard, and began to struggle wildly. I moved as far away as my chained ankle would allow as she screamed and flailed like a woman possessed . The man flung her back hard against the wall, and I winced at the thud she made before sliding down to curl in a fetal position at the wall’s base, her head covered with her arms. He angrily pulled the whip from his belt, shaking out the straps before bringing it down with a true vengeance again and again, until the woman couldn’t even scream, her breath gone under the harshness of the blows.

As he stood back from her and folded the whip’s straps back against the handle, the other man turned as if to go. The man with the whip grabbed the other man’s arm and began talking earnestly and gesturing expansively to the women with his whip. The man paused and turned back, as if to reconsider his choices. He rubbed his chin in thought, then pointed to me. The man with the whip smiled at him, but gave me a hard look of clear warning as he approached. My mother not having raised an idiot, I was determined not to get any of what the other woman had, so I didn’t resist as his hand fastened in my hair. He stepped to one side, displaying me to the other man as he talked rapidly. He slid the handle of the whip down the front of my blouse, popping buttons as he went. I tried to pull my blouse together, but his hand twisted painfully in my hair and I lowered my hands. He continued with what was clearly his sales pitch as he slowly stripped me naked. I felt my face get hot with embarrassment, but made no move to try and stop him. It seemed clear any attempt would prove futile...and painful. The man came forward and I closed my eyes as he ran his hands over me, fondling my breast and rubbing strands of my hair between his fingers. He stepped away and the men began to haggle back and forth. I saw money change hands and my ankle was released from its manacle. The man pulled me up roughly by an arm and shoved me at the other man who turned me and pulled my hands behind my back, tying them tightly. To my absolute disbelief, he slipped a leash over my head and abruptly dragged me along behind him with it. I stumbled after him, off balance with my hands tied behind me, and stared in gape mouthed amazement as I was pulled out a door and into a busy sunlit street. The scene before me was like nothing I’d ever encountered before. People were dressed in Roman era costumes, but in much brighter colors than I had imagined. Although some men were dressed in browns and tans, there were bright splashes of color with tunics in vivid red, blue, and green. Some women were dressed in resplendent layers of gowns and veils, with nothing showing but their eyes, while others ran about nearly naked in scandalously cut tunics. I felt some relief at seeing other totally naked woman, and the fact that none seem to pay attention to nudity. Or at least, not much attention. I squealed as a passerby ran his over my bottom. I nearly fell to the hard stones of the street as the leash on my neck yanked me forward. The incredible sights that greeted me continuously diverted my attention, but I some how managed to keep my feet as I was roughly pulled along. I saw huge, lizard like creatures being ridden and pulling carts. The implications staggered my mind. I knew that no such things existed on earth and could only believe I’d somehow entered another dimension, or just as incredibly, somehow ended up on a different planet. I turned fearful eyes to the back of the man holding the leash, thinking perhaps he wasn’t human at all, but alien. The tunic he wore left little to the imagination, and as I studied the lines of his body I became convinced he was indeed a human male. That thought really wasn’t much of a comfort, all things considered.

The man stopped at a building several stories high and opened a ground level door. He pulled me inside in his wake. An easy swing of his arm sent me reeling into the room to be jerked up short by the leash as he turned and bolted the door. I barely took note of my surroundings, a room sparsely furnished with a low table and luxuriant looking pillows and furs strewn about. My attention focused on the man before me. Not wanting to be hurt, and unable to speak his language, I sank to my knees in what I hoped was an unmistakable gesture of surrender. Still holding the leash, he slowly looked me over and the ancient survival instinct of fight or flight sent adrenaline surging through my veins. I knew I had neither option, and my body trembled with the tension.

The leash tightened and I was half dragged as I crawled across the room to a metal ring in the floor. He pulled the leash through the ring until my head was only a few inches from the floor and put his foot on the strap to keep me that way as he untied my hands from behind my back. He brought my hands forward and used the leash to tie them at the ring. Frightened, not knowing what he intended, I shook hair from my eyes and turned my head as best I could to watch him as he went to the side of the room and picked up something laying there. When he turned back to me I could see it was a whip, much like the one the other man had. I gasped, and disregarding the fact he couldn’t understand me, I started to plead with him. "No," I begged. "Please, no."

I felt certain he understood I pleaded with him, the tone clear, if not the words, but he ignored me as he shook out the whip. I started to cry, as I hadn’t done earlier, as my tension and fear overwhelmed me. He intended to beat me for no reason I could fathom. I was at his mercy and he could literally beat me to death if he chose. I turned my head forward, not wanting to see, and heard the nasty whistle of air as the whip descended. I cried out, my sobs coming louder as I felt another bite of the whip. I cried and pleaded continuously as the whip fell again on my exposed body. It took me a bit to compose myself enough to look up when no blows fell after the third. He stood directly over me and I stared up at him, my face streaked with tears. He let the straps gently caress over my sensitive back, and seemed amused as I cringed away, then crouched down beside me, setting the whip aside. I was still on my knees, my head held close to the ring and had curled as small as I could. His hands urged me to assume a looser position and he moved behind me, his intentions obvious as he pulled his tunic over his head and used his knees to open my legs. I made no objections, the whip so close at hand, and much preferring this kind of attention, to the other. I thought he would have me quickly, but he took his time, his hands lingering whereever the tension in my body told him I was the most sensitive. He lavished attention on my breast and between my thighs before finally coming into me, and even then, drawing it out. No real urgency in him until he neared completion. Finally spending himself and his body slumping over mine as he drew in huge lungs full of air.

He rose from me and I heard him move about, gathering up his tunic before exiting the room through a side archway. Only then did I straighten my body and try to find what comfort I could on the cool tiles. I cradled my head on my arm and closed my eyes. I desperately wanted answers to the questions of where I found myself and what manner of man had me at his mercy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer the second question until I better understood the first. Standards of behavior varied widely between different cultures. Even laws were more traced in water than written in stone as times and attitudes changed. Was he really a cruel man, or by the standards of this elemental place, not without kindness? True he’d beaten me, though I realized not particularly harshly. I recognized it now as a lesson, and I took some comfort in the fact that it wasn’t just an act of cruelty. Had it been, or if I’d angered him, I didn’t doubt it would have been much more severe. I took some deep, calming breaths. Whatever the answers to my questions were, I knew I would need what strength I had. I reached for that strength and sought courage. Amelia Earhart, a brave woman by any standards, had said, "Courage is the price life extracts for peace". I found some of that peace, at least for the moment, and let myself drift to sleep.

Mara

Marascribe@hotmail.com