Trudy lifted her apron.
The president of Zindawba was delighted. “You can cover yours up, girl. I’ve seen it before.” He dismissed Caroline’s pubic offering with a wave of the hand. He focused his full attention upon his impromptu maid’s dark triangle. Chuckling with some thought of his own, he demanded: “What d’you call it, girl?” Trudy wished she’d had the second drink. “My pubic hair, Sir?” she ventured timidly.
“Hell no! The slit. You call it something?” Trudy was lost. “It’s never been christened, Sir—”
The lord of Zindawba exploded into a huge guffaw. “Dammit, Caroline, give the girl a hand.”
“Trudy, grow up. You know perfectly well it’s a quim, a fanny, a twat, a manhole cover, a cunt, a—”
“But I’ve always called mine a pussy.” Trudy hoped she would not be whipped too hard. Another burst of merriment.
“Why not a cat?”
“I could call it a cat, sir, if you wish. May I drop my apron?”
“You can take it off completely,” said the nation’s president grandly. “Then serve those drinks.”
“Can I undress too, please?” Caroline asked. “I think it would make it easier for her. It’s a bit of a shock for a girl to make herself naked in front of a president.”
“No you can’t! I want one with and one without. And are you asking for another mark on your rump?”
Trudy was glad to occupy her hands, even if they were chained together. She pulled the bow round front and tugged, the tiny apron fell away. Her fevered anxiety saw her pubic bush twice as luxuriant as she remembered it last. Placing the discarded trifle on a chair, she felt as though half the world was scrutinizing her loins.
“Don’t kneel again. Stand up facing me, legs well apart. Sip your drink and keep your hands away from your cat.”
It was worse than the cage, more personal. Trudy caught a fleeting glance of reassurance from the older girl and hoped for the best. She could not conceive the afternoon passing without punishment. She hoped alcohol was all they said it was.
The head of State sipped enjoyably and gave his full attention to Trudy’s pubes. She judged him a connoisseur of cunts. Tiring of her black fronds and pouting lips he turned to the lounging Caroline.
“You still horny?”
“Yes. I’m sitting on the stripe you gave me.”
“Go on up to the bedroom.”
The older girl was undismayed. Trudy suspected she was happy to be honoured. The naked maid felt abandoned.
“Stand just the way you are, eh! Don’t move. No drinks.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
It sounded trite, but he seemed satisfied. Having sentenced the servant to an indefinite period of tiring ennui, Khalief Abhad followed his concubine from the room. Trudy sighed. She longed to sit, but knew she lacked the courage to do aught but stand and exhibit her pubic bush to a nonexistent audience. It was an unkind punishment: presumably to keep her out of mischief. Dolefully, she looked down at the empty glass still in her cuffed hands, and wondered if she was allowed to place it on the rug. Probably not! Sighing again, she held onto it and gazed at the wall. It seemed a frighteningly long time before Rulua appeared. She held handcuffs and two flags.
“Standing to attention, eh! You do it well.”
“Oh, Rulua, it’s been so long! Where are they?”
“They’ll be right down.” Rulua chuckled. “You know damn well what they’ve been doing. Stand just as you are, dear, and I’ll put your Union Jack on for you.”
It seemed impossible that Caroline should look the same after what she had been doing, but she was radiant. She was also naked. “May I put my flag on before you handcuff me?” she asked sweetly.
Trudy watched the stars and stripes shield from view a feminine facility she was prepared to swear was swollen and engorged. Caroline held out her hands prettily to watch the handcuffs locked upon her wrists. She never seemed to care whether she was chained or not. To the watching girl she was more of a mystery than ever. Abhad watched Rulua take charge of his slaves, nodded absently, and departed.
Rulua led her nude and handcuffed charges back to their cage. The Market accepted them with its usual lewd curiosity. The heavy chains were locked on their ankles, then their wrists. The Mistress pocketed the discarded handcuffs.
“Why can’t we just wear handcuffs instead of all this iron?” Caroline asked jauntily.
“You know perfectly well, dear,” Rulua told her drily. “These lovely chains on you symbolise the subjugation of your race. You’ve no idea how pleased the citizenry is with the two of you in this cage.”
“But our race isn’t subjugated—just us!”
“You sure of that! Anyway we’re working on it. In the meantime you’re profitable propaganda. Nothing personal.”
“These chains are awfully personal.”
“Want to complain to the president, dear?”
“You know I wouldn’t dare. I got a stripe today without even trying.”
“Got something else too, didn’t you!”
“Do I detect envy?”
“So O.K. I’m envious! You’re a damn lucky girl. There’s lots here who’d trade with you, cage and all.”
“And my forthcoming Grand Tour—all those Town Squares I have to entertain in?”
Rulua paused, beholding a vision in her mind. She shook her head. “Nuhnuh! I don’t suppose they’d want to go that far. Anyway, they couldn’t. It’s you who’s qualified. For that job you’re probably the best there is.”
“What the devil was she talking about?” Trudy demanded after the Mistress had locked the cage and disappeared.
“Oh, just something . . .” Caroline too was seeing visions. She turned, impulsively, to the younger girl who shared her nudity and her cage, and placed her shackled hands lovingly on bare shoulders. Her voice was tender. “Darling, I want so much for you to know how glad and thankful I am for your being here. You help me stay Me. It would have been awful alone.”
“That’s all I’m here for, isn’t it, a little pussycat to keep you company?”
“Don’t be sulky about it, sweets. You were Khalief’s idea before I ever happened. He wanted an English girl for—” She made a vague gesture that sent her chain swirling and tugging at her wrist. “For—oh, for some idea of his own. It’s probably a crazy idea. But it isn’t crazy to him.”
Trudy stood on her dignity. “Am I allowed to know?”
“Well, not really. He doesn’t want it talked about. Besides, there’s not much you have to do except wear that Union Jack and keep me from falling into a depression.”
“And be chained in a cage in a wog Market Place for gooks to gawk at,” Trudy tittered. “Gosh, if my family could see . . . !”
“Khalief’s got his own State aircraft. It was parked at Gatwick anyway, so picking you up and bringing you here was no big trick. He brought me in it too.”
“Tied up and naked.”
“How’d you guess! He said it was good for my soul.”
“And the chloroform?”
Caroline shrugged in a gesture of helplessness.
“No, I didn’t get that. I’d made a choice. It’s turned out a bummer, but how was I to know! Look, darling, don’t push about it. If I seem happier than I should be or manage a laugh here and there it’s because I did once exercise a free choice. I’m trying to look at all this as simply a remarkable experience.”
“Being ravished by a giant black?”
“Don’t be melodramatic. Khalief’s an amazingly tender lover.”
Trudy sniffed. “Is it true about—about his—his—?”
“Yes, it’s true,” Caroline giggled. “I didn’t know we girls are—well, the way we are. But it all goes inside somewhere, and it’s—it’s simply—oh, never mind!”
“You were going to say he’s simply gorgeous.”
“Oh all right, I was, and he is! Darling, if you feel a bit left out, would you like me to persuade him to—?”
“Caroline!” Trudy was shocked. “Absolutely no!”