The Services of Mrs Henderson
by Freddie Clegg
This tale is set in the imaginary country of Trisban, the brainchild of Freddie Clegg. Before reading the tale it is recommended that you read the introduction to Trisban so that you comprehend fully just what it is all about.
An Introduction to Trisban
High above the arena the performers circled, swung, dived and leapt in ways that drew breathless gasps from the crowd.
A man and two veiled women sat in the box directly opposite the arena’s entrance, enjoying the event as much as the rest of the audience. Even so they found moments to break away from the spectacle above their heads. Harran Horem, speaker of the Trisnarch, the part of the parliament concerned with the country’s external affairs leant across to his hostess. “Mrs Henderson,” he said, as above a black clad figure executed a somersault from one high platform to another, “a most excellent presentation. The extraordinary agility of the girls is most remarkable.”
The other veiled woman, the Trisban minister of cultural affairs nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Mrs Henderson,” she said, “this has been an excellent contribution to the Festival of Friendship.”
Mrs Henderson muttered her thanks. “Well, I can claim some credit for bringing them here but their talents are their own of course.”
Close to the roof, two of the girls, balanced on a small platform. They wound their bodies around each other as each moved from one side of the platform to the other. The display was undoubtedly one of considerable athletic agility but it would be hard to deny its erotic nature as well.
“Extraordinary,” Harran Horem remarked as two more of the girls began a similar movement while sliding down the pole that supported the platform. His long acquaintance with Mrs Henderson had left him respecting her ability as an impresario and as someone that understood the pleasures of the flesh. He had never been entirely certain of her origins. Her name was western and her manners were too but her contacts with Vippon, far to the east, were extensive and her appetites outshone those of any Trisbanian woman that he knew. They had both enjoyed each other’s company (and bodies) on her previous visits and she had shown herself to be a woman of extraordinary capabilities that had been of service to Horem. She styled herself as a married woman but there had never been mention of a husband. Either she was widowed or divorced or her husband was the most cuckolded man anywhere, if Horem’s experience of her enthusiastic embrace of things carnal was anything to go by.
Finally the last girl dived from the platform into the catching arms of the rest of the troupe before they all strutted around the arena, lithe in their skin tight costumes, waving at the applauding crowd. “Excellent!” Harran Horem exclaimed.
In the audience, the men watching were only too happy to agree as the girls of the Cirque Acrobatique du Vippon paraded around the arena. In common with the custom in Vippon, and for that matter in Trisban, the women kept their faces covered but, rather than the flowing veil so often used, these girls used a sculpted half face mask that covered their nose, mouth and chin. That alone would have attracted attention in Trisban where such face coverings were unknown. However, the Vipponese girls also wore black, skin-tight, costumes that, while covering them completely, left little to be speculated upon about the form of the body beneath. At first there had been a suggestion that this would outrage public morality but, when it was pointed out by Mrs Henderson that this was an important cultural feature of the performance because their costumes were the representation of uniforms worn historically by the Nanji, the ruthless female guerrilla troops employed by General Ito Tagowa in his campaign to unify Vippon, all opposition was dropped. The men of the audience were united in their approval given to allow a public performance license. Whether this was as a result of the cultural contribution, the girls’ costumes or a collective fantasy of debauchery fuelled by their body-flexing performances was unclear.
“How is any man supposed to find a women that he can desire? In the west it is easy; the women are all on display. Here, we are supposed to look for their ‘inner beauty’. That is all very well but is it unreasonable to seek some outer beauty too?” Asnar Ishar looked glumly at his sherbert as his friends looked sympathetically on. The three young men, not long out of Trisban University, all in their early twenties were beginning to make their way in the world but sometimes the world seemed not to fit with their expectations.
“I know what you mean,” Keera replied. “My mother said, ‘trust me I will find a girl for you’. I should not have listened. My wife, Visaan, is pleasing enough to look at but she will not be ruled by me. She knows my mother chose her and that she can appeal to her if I try to steer her ways or change her moods.”
“You are too kind, to her Keera,” the third of the group, Hierash, said. “She should be made to see what is right. My father says that women have found too much influence in the state now and this makes it harder for them to take their proper place.”
This was not something he would have given voice to in public but in private he had a wide reputation as a womaniser and a man of illiberal views. Hierash’s father, was speaker of the Trisnarch, the all-male house of the Trisban government responsible for external affairs. A constant tussle for power existed between the Trisnarch and the Trisnette where women exclusively controlled matters internal to the country. Hierash’s father made little secret of his view that he Trisnette should be abolished in favour of government by the Trisnarch in all matters.
“Perhaps, but what am I to do? If I force her out, my mother will disown me. If I let her stay I will be driven mad by her shrewish ways. If I try to change her she will simply see that I am overruled.” Keera still had the boyish looks of a much younger man. With an open expression, pale skinned for a Trisbanian, Keera was often mistake for less than his twenty three years.
Asnar, the youngest of the three, built more heavily and already starting to lose some of the fine dark hair that crowned his head, looked solemn. “At least you have a woman. I am surrounded by these wraiths in their long robes and their veils. How am I supposed to decide on a woman when I see nothing of their bodies?”
Keera smirked and reached into his tunic. He pulled out a small photograph and passed it to Asnar. “How about this?”
Asnar looked at the small picture. A naked woman was emerging from a shower cubicle. Although the picture was slightly out of focus the shape of her full breasts, rounded belly and the dark shadow of the hair that covered her sex were clearly visible. She was in the process of gathering her long black hair up into a towel to wrap around her head.
“Who is this? How did you come by such a picture?”
“My wife!” Keera grinned. “She does not know I took it.” That surprised neither of the others.
“I cannot understand how you could find problems with her. A perfect body. I would have no problem ruling her.”
“You can have her! Without my mother’s influence she would be easy to rule, I am sure.”
“Well that is easy, Keera,” Hierash interrupted. He had his father’s saturnine looks and prominent hook nose. His voice and manner commanded immediate attention. “You make Asnar a present of your wife. You are freed of a shrew; he finds the alluring partner he desires. All things live in a circle as we say.”
“A good idea but impossible! My mother would not permit it. Her choice, discarded? She would be disgraced.”
“A shame,” said Asnar. “I have the perfect place to keep her; somewhere she could learn to be a good wife, not a shrew.”
“Well, do not give up your dream, Asnar,” advised Hierash. “I know someone who could help you. Perhaps your wife cannot be given, Keera, but she could be taken.”
“I am not that fortunate.”
“Of course not. Luck is the reward of the diligent. I know someone who could organise such a thing, in a way that neither of you would be implicated. There would simply be the matter of a commission. It would not be cheap, of course, but it could be organised if the two of you would wish it.”
Asnar and Keera looked at one another, hardly able to believe that their friend could so readily solve their problem. Asnar looked around to see that they were not overheard but there was only a serving girl on the far side of the bar and she was busy with collecting up the remains of another group’s dining. He looked back at Keera and then to Hierash. “For my part I am ready. I could find funds. That is no problem.”
“And for me as well,” Keera affirmed.
“He is so childish!” Visaan fumed at the behaviour of her husband. “Today at breakfast he wished to talk of nothing but sports. Today when the Trisnarch is trying to do so much for international trade, when he should be seeking to carve out his fortune, he thinks of nothing but trivia.”
“Better that than what most men think of!” Jasana, her sister, responded.
The two women were lounging, naked, in the steam room of the Great Women’s Bath. One of the oldest buildings in Trisban, the Bath had been a scene of social intrigue, gossip and sexual politics ever since it had first opened.
Jasana was the elder of the two. Both had the classic Trisban looks, with dark almond shaped eyes, pale olive skin and long, straight black hair but Visaan had slightly softer features with a snub nose rather than her sister’s more chiselled looks. Both took care of their bodies, in the traditional ways at the Bath and, as modern girls will, by regular fitness sessions at the gym. As a result both were slim and fit and both were endowed with breasts that, were they on display, would have attracted the attention of any man.
Unfortunately for the men of Trisban both Jasana and Visaan were virtuous girls who took great care to follow the custom and the law in remaining modestly veiled at any time they were in public. Their one concession to open flirtatiousness was that both used veils that left their eyes uncovered in spite of the tutting of elders that believed they should veil completely in the burkah.
For now though the two were able to lounge without the restraint of clothes, enjoying an oil massage from the Hamaam’s attendants and talking of the latest manoeuvring in the Trisnette where their mother served in the post of Junior Minister for Women’s Affairs.
Hierash found it almost impossible to determine how old the woman sitting opposite him was. Above her veil her eyes were a piercing blue, unusual in Trisban. They were framed in skilfully applied kohl. Her voice was husky as she reached forward for the envelope that Hierash had brought her. “The expression of good faith?” she said.
“One third of the amount as agreed,” Hierash responded. Although his friends thought of him as an accomplished political operator, a man that could get things done, this was the first time he had ever arranged anything like this.
The woman looked inside the envelope and nodded with satisfaction. She indicated a door. “Come through,” she said. “There we will have privacy.”
The door gave on to an inner courtyard. A small marble fountain played water quietly into a hexagonal pool in the centre. Jasmine trees climbed towards the light above. A stone bench ran along two sides of the courtyard. The woman gestured for Hierash to sit. “Here we can talk without concerns of being overheard,” she said.
Without further remark she began to disrobe. Hierash was shocked. It was of course not unusual for a woman to disrobe in the privacy of a house but she would normally ask the man she was with or at least acknowledge him in some way. She saw his shock as she unfastened her veil and let it fall from her face, revealing makeup as carefully applied as that to her eyes. In spite of the cosmetic artistry, it was clear to Hierash that she was not young. He guessed she was in her forties. Even so she possessed an assured look that transcended the simple physical beauty of youth. She continued by removing her headscarf, loosening a mass of dyed blonde hair. Her robes followed to reveal a dress of most definitely western fashion enclosing a body sculpted by the attentions of both the costumier and the surgeon. Hierash found the transformation from shapeless and veiled to the almost animal like creature before him arousing and felt his member stiffen in response. He dropped his hands to his lap almost instinctively, fearing he might offend her in some way.
The woman, seeing his action smiled. “Do not worry, little Hierash,” she said. “I will not eat you.”
Hierash regained his composure. “Mrs Henderson, you have done my father some services, I believe.”
“How very indiscreet of your papa,” Mrs Henderson joked, taking a cigarette from a packet lighting it and blowing a stream of blue smoke skywards.
“Please,” said Hierash, “I am here to be serious.” He found her flippancy irritating. As a woman, even a foreigner, she should defer rather more in his view but she could, if he believed the letters he had found in his father’s files, arrange the things he required.
Mrs Henderson sat down. “What can I do for you? I had expected that you would like a night of amusement with one of my Vipponese troupe. I would have hated to disappoint you young man as they really are not that keen on laying with gentlemen, I am afraid. But I believe you have a different need.”
There was a swish of nylon from beneath her skirt as Mrs Henderson crossed her legs, turning slightly towards Hierash. Her black dress was tightly fitting, the skirt short and barely covering what Hierash knew would be the tops of her stockings. The swell of her artificially augmented breasts and the chasm like cleavage between them were only partly veiled by a covering of fine black net that stretch from her bosom to the dress’s high collar. Hierash swallowed. He was having even more trouble with the member between his legs.
“Indeed,” Hierash tried to remain as polite as he could, focusing on the choice of each word in turn. “As I explained, I need to arrange for the wife of a friend of mine to be, ah, taken, abducted let us say and given to another.”
Mrs Henderson looked at him coolly and took another deep drag on her cigarette. “Assuming I would even think of being involved in such a thing. What possible motive would I have?”
“A favour to the son of the Head of the Trisnarch would of course be recognised.” Hierash had learned his father’s oblique way of cajoling and threatening.
Mrs Henderson could see that he was indeed serious. “You had better tell me what you need,” she said.
Hierash’s explanation took little more than half an hour. By the time he left, Mrs Henderson was already formulating her plan and when Nitochi, one of the Vipponese acrobatic troupe happened by, Mrs Henderson beckoned her in. “Come here and sit at my feet,” she said. As the girl did so, Mrs Henderson looked down at the two slit eyes staring up at her from above the black and silver mask. She reached up and pushed the girl’s head covering back so that her shiny black hair fell loose and then wound strands about her fingers, luxuriating in the silky feel of it as it slipped between and around the rings she wore. “Nitochi, I have a job for you.”
“Nai Jin,” Nitochi responded in her native tongue as she looked up at the woman toying with her hair. Her tone was affectionate. Like all the Cirque Acobatique she owed her chance to travel and experience the wider world to Mrs Henderson and, like the others, the care that Mrs Henderson showed her won a loyalty that no Vipponese man could expect to command. “Nai Jin,” she said again, “Love person, tell me what you wish.”
Visaan put down the glass of wine in response to the ring at the door bell. Jasana said, “Shall I get it?”
“Yes, please,” said her sister, “I need to fetch…”
Jasana went along to the front door of the apartment. Through the glass panel she could see the distorted shape of an official looking blue uniform. She opened the door to see a girl from the electricity company, veiled under her official cap.
“Visaan Jasminter?” the girl asked.
Jasana nodded and was about to say, “Yes, she’s inside,” when the girl slipped a cloth from her pocket, pushed Jasana back into the hall kicked the door shut behind her and pressed the cloth across Jasana’s mouth and nose.
Jasana, taken completely by surprised and overwhelmed by the girl’s attack could do nothing except gasp in the sweet, oily, smell of the substance on the cloth. Realising almost at once that the fumes were robbing her of her consciousness, she could still do nothing to prevent the drug taking effect as she struggled in the grasp of her assailant. Suddenly the walls of the hall seemed to dissolve into a pattern of bright light and then, inexorably, she slipped into unconsciousness.
Her attacker allowed her to slide to the floor and then stepped over her to open the door once again. Another blue clad, masked woman stood waiting. “Was all well, Nitochi?” the girl asked.
“Of course, Nahijo,” Nitochi replied. “See, she is dealt with. Now we must just…”
Nitochi’s words were cut off by a call of, “Who was that at the door? Oh!” as Visaan came into the hall.
Nitochi and Nahijo had not expected a second woman and looked at one another for a moment but realised at once what was necessary. Nahijo leapt across the slumped Jasana in a high somersaulting leap and dived towards Visaan. She reached her just before she managed to get to the telephone on the hall table, grabbed her around her waist with one arm while pressing a latex gloved hand across her mouth and nose. Nahijo swung the woman back so she was facing Nitochi as she in turn advanced down the hall, drugged pad at the ready. Visaan struggled but her efforts were useless against the surprising strength of her much shorter, much slighter, attacker.
“No, please, you mmmmm!” Visaan’s cries were cut off as the latex glove was pulled away and the veiled Nitochi pressed the cloth against her face. As she gasped for breath she only drew more of the sleep-inducing drug into her lungs and her efforts only hastened her oblivion. She followed her sister into sleep and onto the floor of the hall.
Nitochi turned to her partner, “You must search. See there are no more. I will tie.”
“Which one is Visaan?” Nahijo asked. “They look very alike.”
“This one said she was,” Nitochi pointed to Jasana, “but she looks older. I cannot say. We will have to take both. Now quickly, search!”
As Nahijo went to ensure that the apartment contained no more surprise visitors, Nitochi began to secure their captives. Plastic cable ties, from the back of the electric company van were used to fix their wrists and ankles, while lengths of rubber insulated copper wire were pulled tightly around arms and legs immobilising the two women still further.
The final touch was to silence the women with lengths of the black and yellow warning tape that the two Vipponese girls had found in the van. “Warning! High Voltage!” the words on the tape said but now strips of it had been wound around each of the girl’s heads, plastering their mouths to such an extent that there was no question of a sound escaping their lips.
It was the work of a moment for Nitochi and Nahijo to load the two helpless women into the rear of the Electricity Company truck. Nobody in the street took any notice as the truck drove away. It was only much later when the truck was found abandoned except for two electricity company staff laying helpless in the back.
The girls from the electricity company were not able to help the police much. All that either of them could say for sure was that they had arrived for work as normal and were about to take their van out from the depot when they were attacked.
Of course they had not seen the shadowy figures slipping past the depot’s security by springing over the razor wire topped enclosure. They had not seen the way in which the two intruders had slid into the shadows between their van and one of the depot’s knot of small buildings.
The girls only remembered being grabbed from behind, a strong arm about their throats, the smell of a sickly sweet pad being pressed across the nose and mouth and the terrifying sensation of consciousness slipping away. After that there was nothing until they recovered who knew how much later.
They both told of their horror at awakening to discover their wrists cruelly bound behind their backs, their ankles trussed and their whole bodies wrapped and bound so they could barely move, their mouths filled and muffled so they could hardly breath and blindfolded so that they could not see.
The police officer that found them as a result of the drumming sound of feet kicking against the van’s closed door, recounted how at first she had thought she had stumbled on some bizarre robbery. There were two helpless figures in the back of the van, obviously women. They had been stripped of their uniforms, left wearing only their underwear and elaborately bound with electrical flex. Whoever had done it had also been determined to disorient their captives to the greatest possible extent; the girls had been gagged and blindfolded and their heads had then been swathed in cloth so that they were silenced deafened and virtually unaware of their surroundings. It had taken the officer some time to free them; only when she found a set of wire cutters in the van was she able to release the helpless employees.
At least the two electricity company girls now had their freedom. The same could not be said for Jasana and Visaan. They awoke to find themselves naked and shackled in a gloomy stone room with bars across the one small window high in the wall opposite them.
Jasana was the first to recover. She found herself with a heavy iron collar around her neck fastened by a short chain to the wall. Her sister, unconscious on the floor of the room was just out of her reach, but she called softly to her as she saw her begin to stir. “Visaan, it’s all right. I’m here. Don’t be frightened.”
As Visaan awoke and realised her situation, she replied in less than good humour. “All right! Just what is all right? We have been kidnapped. We are naked and chained up. What do you suppose is all right?” She jerked at the chain that linked her collar to the wall but with no effect.
The sound of approaching voices talking in a strange foreign tongue silenced the two captives as they waited to see what would happen next.
Two black clad and masked figures appeared, their assailants, Visaan and Jasana assumed, and Vipponese by the look of their slant eyes and slight physique. What can be at the back of this, thought Jasana.
Visaan, on the other hand started to protest. “Why have you brought us here? You will be sent back to Vippon! Who has ordered this? I demand that you free us”
The two masked girls looked at one another and shrugged giving no sense of either understanding or wishing to comply. One turned to the other and said, “Kinbaku-bi?”
The other nodded enthusiastically and fetched two large coils of rope from a nearby cupboard. Each girl picked up one coil and, selecting one of the two sisters, began to tie them in the most elaborate manner, immobilising them with an intricate frame of ropes and knots. Visaan harangued her attacker her protests interrupted by cries and groans as the ropes were pulled tighter about her suffering limbs. “No, leave me, unnh. Stop. This is not – ahh – necessary. Ohh.”
Jasana fared no better even without protesting as she was steadily reduced to helplessness by the embrace of the ropes.
In time the two Vipponese girls ran out of rope. Jasana and Visaan could barely move in the finely woven net of ropes that now encased them.
“This one too talkative,” one of the girls said of Visaan. “Makes it hard to concentrate.”
“But this is fine Kinbaku-bi,” she ran her fingers along the ropes that framed Visaan’s body and her naked breasts.
“Thank you. You own is fine too. But I will quieten this one. Her cries and complaints disturb my Qi.”
Visaan looked up in concern as the girl who had spoken of her Qi, whatever that was, approached her holding two of the eating sticks that the Vipponese used. “What are you going to do with, gruurnk, arrnk,” Visaan spluttered as the girl trapped her tongue between the two sticks and quickly tied cords around either end of the stick to keep it in place. Visaan shook her head furiously in an attempt to dislodge the gag but the sticks stopped her pulling her tongue back in and made sure that she could only make curious animal grunts.
As they lay helpless, bound on the floor of the stone lined room the two girls could do little except wait for whatever next would befall them at the hands of their amused captors.
It was late in the afternoon when a third woman came in. She was much taller than their Vipponese captors and wore a long dark grey leather cloak with a great high collar that reached up above the nose, masking the lower half of her face.
Visaan and Jasana could do little more than register the woman’s mass of dyed blonde hair and dark, kohl-rimmed, eyes as she inspected the Kinbaku-bi bondage. She did little more than look at the way in which the two girls were secured before nodding to their captors. Her only words came after looking at the two captive sisters closely. She pointed at them saying, “They are quite alike and we do not wish to make a mistake. Fortunately, I have a way to resolve the matter.”
A Surplus of One
“This is not what we agreed, Mrs Henderson.” Hierash had been dismayed to learn that not one but two women had been abducted and that Visaan, his friend’s wife and the object of the exercise, had not yet been positively identified.
“Perhaps not but I believe my people did the right thing. There was doubt. To have taken the wrong woman would have caused great complication, to have taken neither would have been unthinkable.”
Hierash and Mrs Henderson were meeting in the outer court of the Trisban Cutural Centre. Although draped in a head to foot deep blue burkah and with even her eyes covered by an elaborately embroidered panel, there was still enough of a hint of the body beneath to arouse Hierash. As Mrs Henderson sat her robe draped seductively across the swell of her bosom. Hierash found it difficult to return his attention to the matter in hand.
“Well, we must manage the situation as we find it. What do you propose?”
“As a first step, I suspect it would be a good idea for us to identify which of the two women is, in fact the one you seek. Then at least we can be sure that we provide your friend with the right woman.”
“Agreed. But what of the other?”
“That is for your decision, I believe. If your friend seeks a second wife then this would strike both needs with one blow.”
“I doubt that his ambition is so great at this stage. Besides if, as you suggest, this is the two sisters, then I cannot imagine he would wish for two mares from the same stable.”
Mrs Henderson nodded. “I could arrange for her to be returned, I suppose.”
Hierash didn’t like the idea of that. It sounded like it would only complicate matters.
“Or I might find another seeking such a partner perhaps in Trisban, perhaps further afield. That might defray your expenses.”
It hadn’t occurred to Hierash that such a thing might be possible but with Trisban as a centre of international commerce he could well imagine that this commodity could be traded as easily as any other.
“Still,” said Mrs Henderson, getting to her feet. “You can think about that. Come with me now and you can identify which of these girls is which.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose I can.” It hadn’t occurred to Hierash but of course he knew both of the sisters and could easily say which was Visaan.
It was only once he had followed the blue burkah of Mrs Henderson down through a maze of corridors into the bowels of the Cultural Centre that he thought of a problem.
The two of them came to a halt in a small cell like room where two of Mrs Henderson’s acrobatic troupe were sitting playing a game with black and white stones on a board. At the sound of the approaching voices of Mrs Henderson and her guest they had pulled up their masks to cover the lower half of their faces and now stared up impassively at the visitors.
“I have just realised,” Hierash said. “These women will recognise me. That is not a good thing if anything further should go wrong. I must not be seen to be involved. It would cause my father embarrassment.”
“That is true, Hierash,” said Mrs Henderson but I think we can solve that. Here put this on.” She passed a dark robe across to him.
Hierash took the bundle of cloth and shook it out. “But this is a burkah,” he said, “a woman’s garment.”
“All the better as a disguise,” Mrs Henderson said. “Now don’t be silly about this. It is no time for foolish male pride. It is not as if any of your friends will see.”
Reluctantly Hierash did as Mrs Henderson asked, pulling the robe over his head. It had the same sort of embroidered eye panel as that being worn by Mrs Henderson. Before this he’d had no idea how restrictive the burkah was for those that wore it. It must take some getting used to, he thought, especially the fact that really you could only see a small area directly in front of you. He was suddenly aware of a giggling noise behind him and tried to look around in response.
He almost tangled himself up in the robe he was wearing. By the time he had gained control of it the two Vipponese girls were looking implacable and giving no clue as to which of them had found his appearance so amusing. Hierash turned back to Mrs Henderson. “Well,” he said, “you had better show me the results of your labours.”
Mrs Henderson gestured to the Vipponese girls to open the heavy door at the back of the room. It opened onto a dark cave like cellar. Standing chained, against the far wall stood two women, naked except for the veils that covered the lower half of their faces. “How considerate of Mrs Henderson,” Hierash though, “to allow them to preserve at least some of their modesty.” He walked across to where the women stood. Muffled whimpering told him that they wore gags beneath their veils. He was sure that Visaan was the girl on the left but to be certain he lifted each of their veils in turn, revealing their faces as they tried to struggle away from his attentions. Satisfied that his original opinion was confirmed he reluctantly allowed the girl’s veil to fall and, taking a moment to run a finger over the girl’s breasts to her confusion and distress, returned to Mrs Henderson’s side.
“It is as I thought,” he confirmed to Mrs Henderson. “The one on the left is Visaan, the other is her sister, Jasana. Now if you are quite happy I would like to get out of these robes.”
“Of course,” she said as she led the way out of the room. Once outside Hierash quickly shed the burkah. “You do not wish to join the community of the veiled, then?” Mrs Henderson continued jocularly.
Hierash scowled. “You can deliver Visaan as agreed. As for the other, I will ask.” He threw the burkah down on a chair and left.
Mrs Henderson discarded her own robes just as Nitochi and Nahijo joined her.
“He was not pleased?” the younger of the two girls asked.
“We brought him the two Trisbani and still he was not happy,” the other said
“He felt he looked foolish in the robes he had to wear.” Mrs Henderson explained
“So, his judgement at least is sound,” Nitochi and Nahijo collapsed in giggles.
Mrs Henderson wagged an admonishing finger and shook her head.
The two girls looked embarrassed for a moment but then Nitochi spoke up for the two of them. “We have something to show you, Nai Jin,” she said. “A new position. Please. May we?”
In response to Mrs Henderson’s nod the two began to curl and twine their bodies and limbs in a way that combined erotic charge with athletic skill. As each became more aroused, Mrs Henderson sat back watching their display with quickening breaths until her own sex was damp with anticipation of the amusement to be provided by the two girls later. The muffled groans from beyond the door as Visaan and Jasana struggled fruitlessly against their fetters, served only to intensify Mrs Henderson’s response to the seductive performance before her.
“Mrs Henderson, you are truly a great asset to our country.” The Vipponese Cultural Attaché shook Mrs Henderson warmly by the hand as he prepared to board his flight home. “The presentation by the Cirque Acrobatique has done great things to cement relationships between Trisban and Vippon. I thank you.”
It was a cool evening and the sun steamed through the hangar doors, glinting on the metal skin of the aircraft as its pilot finished his pre-take off checks.
“Well I have had every assistance from the Embassy. And I wished to recognise that assistance. I have a small gift for you as you return to Vippon.”
“It is most improper for me to accept a gift. I am sorry, but I really must refuse.”
“Oh my, I had no idea. I can see that now. My apologies. I had no wish to cause embarrassment but she…”
“She? Exactly what is this gift?”
“Here, let me show you.” Mrs Henderson led the way to a small corner of the hangar. There sitting on the forks of a lift truck was a long narrow wooden crate. She unfastened tow heavy black metallic catches and swung the lid of the crate free.
Inside to the cultural attaché’s astonishment was an almost naked girl. She had been chained in place within the crate. Thick foam blocks, carefully sculpted to fit around her body, had been wedged in place so that she could move. All she wore was a simple veil that covered the lower half of her face is deference to her Trisbanian modesty. The remainder of her body was open to view, a view that the cultural attaché was taking some enjoyment from, seeing as the girl’s breasts were much fuller than any found on a Vipponese girl and her legs longer and more slender too.
“Ah – ha,” the cultural attaché responded.
“Her name is Jasana,” Mrs Henderson explained. “I had thought that a souvenir of the delights of Trisban would be an appropriate gift but I can quite understand that…” She began to return the foam padded lid of the crate to its place. Jasana, a strip of tape beneath her veil silencing her cries, could only give out a muffled moan as the box was closed.
“Let us not be hasty,” the cultural attaché interrupted. “I can see that it would be reasonable for me to take back to Vippon examples of local produce. No one could object to that, I am sure. Please arrange for the crate to be loaded. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Mrs Henderson replied happy that the matter had been resolved so agreeably. Not only was the attaché indebted to her for the gift but it was also one that he should not have accepted at all. Jasana had proved herself an excellent asset.
***** ***** *****
Harran Horem lay back comfortably on the bank of cushions in Mrs Henderson’s apartment. Mrs Henderson appeared bringing a tray with a pair of ornate goblets and a jug of wine and was followed by two of her acrobatic troupe of Vipponese girls.
“I thought we might enjoy some entertainment while we drink,” she said as she slid onto the couch alongside Harran Horem.
“I would have thought you were entertainment enough, Mrs Henderson,” Horem replied, slipping his hand inside her robe as she came closer to him. His fingers found the silk covering the stiff boning of her undergarments and followed their line until his hand reached the swell of her breasts. Mrs Henderson smiled indulgently but did nothing to move Horem’s hand. She nodded at the girls, who bowed in their turn to the couple on the couch before beginning their display.
The two girls wore curious costumes. Pale silk lengths of cloth hung loosely from gold chains that surrounded their foreheads. These seemed to loop down, across and around their bodies until they linked to broad, gilded, bracelets around the girl’s wrists. Another panel of silk formed a veil that hung to below the belly before dividing fork-like into two and looping down to similar golden cuffs around the ankles.
As the girls began their movement to their own accompaniment of a simple, wordless chant of animal like noises, the panels of silk swirled about them exposing and hiding views of their bodies. Horem looked on, impressed by the precision of their movements and the lewdness implicit in their actions.
Mrs Henderson’s hand moved along Horem’s thigh towards his crotch. She was already aware of his increasing arousal as he responded to her touch by squeezing at her breasts. “I am very pleased by the way you were able to help,” he said.
“My pleasure,” she responded, moving her hand further, “amongst other things.”
“Hierash is now held in high regard by his friends. That will help his progress in the Trisnarch. Keera and Asnar are both in his debt, so their father’s will now be stronger allies of mine. Poor Keera’s mother and Visaan’s have something to worry about themselves that will keep them from meddling in public affairs. An excellent combination of outcomes. And, I suspect, young Hierash will have no doubt found his encounters with yourself educational.”
“Mr Horem! You can’t imply that I would have taken advantage of our arrangements to amuse myself with your son.” Mrs Henderson’s response had a tone of outraged innocence that Horem found hard to take seriously.
“Well, I would be perfectly happy if you did. He needs his horizons expanding. Too many Trisbanian girls have failed to understand the delights of the flesh in the way that you do.”
“But of course I have so much of it in which to delight,” Mrs Henderson responded with a laugh as Horem grasped her buttocks. I may just take you at your word.”
“There is yet one more advantage from this affair,” Mrs Henderson added. “Of use to both of us. You remember the sister?”
“She is on her way to Vippon with the returning Cultural Attache. He was most pleased to have a Trisbanian girl as a present. Her journey will be a little uncomfortable, I fear, but her new home will open many cultural experiences to her.”
“Vippon is a source of much of cultural value,” Horem said, nodding towards the two girls that were now intricately entwined before them. The implied eroticism of their constant shifting of position and the ways the silk wound across their intermingled limbs continued to arouse him. He turned back towards Mrs Henderson and pulled her towards him, grunting as he buried his face in the fleshy folds of her cleavage with considerable satisfaction.
****** ***** *****
“You could get into great trouble,” Hierash Horem warned nervously as Mrs Henderson removed her long coat revealing an elaborately embroidered jilbab. “Women are not allowed within the precincts of the Trisnarch.”
“I won’t tell them if you don’t,” she smiled. The two of them were in the office that Hierash occupied as a political agent for the ruling party. “But just to be sure, perhaps I should lock the door?” She did so without waiting for his reply.
“Ah, how can I help?” Hierash asked reticently, his eyes darting concernedly to the door. “You received your payment for your services; all was well carried out.”
“Your friends, Asnar and Keera were pleased?”
“More than I can say,” Hierash responded. “Keera is freed of the shrew and Asnar is beginning her adjustment.”
“And poor Hierash. You are left with no reward for your efforts on their behalf.” Hierash shrugged. “But that is why I am here.”
“Please, do not be embarrassed. I can only stay a short time but there is something I thought you would enjoy. Before I noticed that you were staring at my breasts. I do not worry. I delight in them myself, why should not others? Here, place your hands upon them.”
“Ah – well, err.”
“It is all right.” She gripped him by the wrists and lifted his hands, pulling them towards her. For Hierash his fingers seemed drawn almost magnetically to Mrs Henderson’s bosom. Beneath the jilbab her breasts, held firm by wired and boned corsetry seemed heavy, possessed of a sensual gravity that could cause the onset of lust on their own. “Mmm, that’s nice,” Mrs Henderson responded as Hierash’s hands pressed against her and he felt the stiffening of her nipples beneath her clothes, “but I can do more. See.”
As Hierash leant back against the desk, Mrs Henderson slid to her knees in front of him. She deftly drew down the zip of his trouser fly and freed his cock beneath. She slid her fingers behind his balls, digging the tips of her long sharp finger nails into the skin. Hierash gave a little whimper and looked down at the woman before him. She lifted her veil and took his cock into her mouth beneath it. As Hierash looked down all he could see were her two kohl rimmed eyes staring up at him from above her veil, glinting at his sexual arousal as her tongue, lips and teeth worked at engorging him.
Hierash decided that his best strategy was simply to enjoy it.
****** ***** *****
“You have no idea!”
“What here? In your office?” Keera found his friend’s description of his encounter with Mrs Henderson unlikely in the extreme.
“Yes. She may not be a young woman but you cannot fault her sexual technique.”
In truth, although he pretended to the contrary, Hierash’s sexual experiences were limited to a few fumbles with girls of his own age. His experience with Mrs Henderson had been one that he was anxious to repeat.
“Well that is all very well but I still have no woman. Before I had a wife that had no use for me and now I do not have a wife.”
“No, but you are free to seek out a woman to your taste. Before you could not have taken a concubine without your mother’s approval now her judgement has been shown to be poor by the fact that the wife she chose for you has run off with her sister or so it is thought. You are free to choose as you please.”
“This is true, but I have yet to find a girl.”
“Keera; that I must leave to you. I think I have helped enough already.”
****** ***** *****
“It is most inappropriate for a high caste wife to be made to wear the costume of a serving girl.” Visaan looked defiantly at Asnar.
“Wife no longer,” Asnar explained. “Your husband has divorced you because of your desertion. And your caste counts for nothing here. Now you have been brought here to be in my service and you shall serve me as I choose.”
“I want my own clothes. I DEMAND my own clothes.”
“It will not be, Visaan. There is none to help you here and you will be ruled by me.”
“I do not mind if she chooses to remain naked,” Asnar’s household overseer, grinned toothlessly at the girl.
Visaan scowled at the overseer and grasped at the costume to try to cover herself from his lecherous gaze. Asnar snatched it away. “No!” he said, “you shall wear it or you shall not have it.”
The girl looked at the overseer, then back at Asnar and nodded her head slowly holding out her hands. Asnar passed her the black cloth. She pulled the long skirt on over her head fastening it so that it hung low on her hips, its hem brushing the floor. Next came the short jacket that barely reached below her breasts leaving her belly bare. Finally the black pill box hat from which hung the veil that would now cover her face.
Asnar smiled with satisfaction and turned to his overseer. “The manacles,” he said.
The overseer gripped Visaan by the wrists and pulled him towards her. He wrestled with her; forcing into place the bands of steel that would keep her prisoner. As she struggled Asnar delighted in the swaying of her backside beneath her newly acquired servant’s robes. Aroused by her movements he scooped up her skirt from behind and pushed his cock inside her as she was held, arms outstretched across the table by the overseer.
It was her first experience of congress with her new master and she had no opportunity to resist. Held in place by the overseer’s iron grip and crushed against the table by Asnar’s repeated thrusts between her buttocks and up into her sex, she could only cry out in distress.
“High caste wife, indeed!” exclaimed Asnar, “you fuck like a serving slut. We’ll see if you can work as well as one too.”
© Copyright Freddie Clegg 2009
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All Characters, Events & Locations Fictitious
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