out over one of the atriums she had seen earlier and on the opposite side there was a large area of intricately carved stonework. Vague shadowy figures seemed to move behind it. The Prince watched her and smiled.
"Yes, I really do have a harem. Currently there are about thirty-five women in it. None of them are wives of course, they are all slaves and I think it's time you learned why this is called the Music Room."
For a second there was only the swish and smack of Mahmut's whip and the suspended girl's strained grunts in response but then Mohammed entered and ushered another girl out onto the balcony. Ayesha saw she was petite and beautiful, with large dark eyes, straight black hair and a surprisingly voluptuous figure for so slight a frame. Her dress consisted solely of two panels held together by clips at the shoulders and a belt at the waist. The material was translucent and only served to heighten the observer's awareness of the prominence and firmness of the breasts and the length and shapeliness of the thighs. There was an unmistakable flush of excitement on the girl's face as she approached the Prince with her eyes downcast and Ayesha remembered that he had told her he was regarded as a god here. Without having to be told, the girl untied the belt, lifted her hands and undid the clip s at her shoulders . The gossamer gown hissed sensuously to her feet and once again Ayesha gasped. She bore another tattoo. This one emanated directly from the front of her crotch and stretched up one side of her stomach until it reached the breast. It was a plant with bamboo-like stalks which bore large red, rose-like flowers. Inevitably the largest bloom was depicted on the breast, the nipple itself cunningly forming the pistil.
"Put her over my desk and cane her," the Prince told Mohammed; dispassionate in the face of such selfless devotion.
The girl went immediately back inside and bent over while Mohammed took a cane from a rack on one wall. Ayesha couldn't help appreciating the beauty of the girl's bottom as Mohammed began to wield the cane and the whip went on smacking into the other helpless slave's body. The evening air in the atrium was filled with the Thwick! of the cane and the more measured Swish! Smack! of the whip punctuated by gasps and groans, from behind the screen on the other side, Ayesha thought she caught the sound of throaty, excited female giggles.
"That is music," the Prince told her. "The sound of slaves being beaten just because their master wants them to be. Now, stand up straight and put your hands behind your back or I'll add the sound of a whip on your back to tonight's entertainment."
Ayesha felt her stomach lurch as she took in the full extent of the man's cruelty. What the slave herself experienced was completely immaterial to him. She could scream in agony or ecstasy - or both - and it was just the scream that would be savoured, its cause irrelevant. The sounds of the various whips and canes as they landed on female hides was all that counted. Slowly she adopted the position he had ordered. He came close and began to run his hands over her body, squeezing her breasts roughly, forcing hisses of breath through her gritted teeth when he pushed his fingers into her sore vagina. But the continuing sounds of punishment kept her rigidly in position.
"There is one more sound I want to hear tonight," he told her at last. "Bend over the railings."
"Oh please! No!" Ayesha begged instantly. She didn't want to be beaten - she had never conceived that beatings could go on for as long as the ones she was witnessing had - but neither did she think that either of her passages could take any more penetrations. The Prince clicked his fingers and Mohammed appeared by his side. Instantly the big man's steel grip fastened on the back of her neck and she was thrust down onto the balcony railing, her legs were kicked apart and before she knew what was happening she got the hardest cut from a cane that she had ever
"Yes, I really do have a harem. Currently there are about thirty-five women in it. None of them are wives of course, they are all slaves and I think it's time you learned why this is called the Music Room."
For a second there was only the swish and smack of Mahmut's whip and the suspended girl's strained grunts in response but then Mohammed entered and ushered another girl out onto the balcony. Ayesha saw she was petite and beautiful, with large dark eyes, straight black hair and a surprisingly voluptuous figure for so slight a frame. Her dress consisted solely of two panels held together by clips at the shoulders and a belt at the waist. The material was translucent and only served to heighten the observer's awareness of the prominence and firmness of the breasts and the length and shapeliness of the thighs. There was an unmistakable flush of excitement on the girl's face as she approached the Prince with her eyes downcast and Ayesha remembered that he had told her he was regarded as a god here. Without having to be told, the girl untied the belt, lifted her hands and undid the clip s at her shoulders . The gossamer gown hissed sensuously to her feet and once again Ayesha gasped. She bore another tattoo. This one emanated directly from the front of her crotch and stretched up one side of her stomach until it reached the breast. It was a plant with bamboo-like stalks which bore large red, rose-like flowers. Inevitably the largest bloom was depicted on the breast, the nipple itself cunningly forming the pistil.
"Put her over my desk and cane her," the Prince told Mohammed; dispassionate in the face of such selfless devotion.
The girl went immediately back inside and bent over while Mohammed took a cane from a rack on one wall. Ayesha couldn't help appreciating the beauty of the girl's bottom as Mohammed began to wield the cane and the whip went on smacking into the other helpless slave's body. The evening air in the atrium was filled with the Thwick! of the cane and the more measured Swish! Smack! of the whip punctuated by gasps and groans, from behind the screen on the other side, Ayesha thought she caught the sound of throaty, excited female giggles.
"That is music," the Prince told her. "The sound of slaves being beaten just because their master wants them to be. Now, stand up straight and put your hands behind your back or I'll add the sound of a whip on your back to tonight's entertainment."
Ayesha felt her stomach lurch as she took in the full extent of the man's cruelty. What the slave herself experienced was completely immaterial to him. She could scream in agony or ecstasy - or both - and it was just the scream that would be savoured, its cause irrelevant. The sounds of the various whips and canes as they landed on female hides was all that counted. Slowly she adopted the position he had ordered. He came close and began to run his hands over her body, squeezing her breasts roughly, forcing hisses of breath through her gritted teeth when he pushed his fingers into her sore vagina. But the continuing sounds of punishment kept her rigidly in position.
"There is one more sound I want to hear tonight," he told her at last. "Bend over the railings."
"Oh please! No!" Ayesha begged instantly. She didn't want to be beaten - she had never conceived that beatings could go on for as long as the ones she was witnessing had - but neither did she think that either of her passages could take any more penetrations. The Prince clicked his fingers and Mohammed appeared by his side. Instantly the big man's steel grip fastened on the back of her neck and she was thrust down onto the balcony railing, her legs were kicked apart and before she knew what was happening she got the hardest cut from a cane that she had ever
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