The tent of the Bedouin
by Bedouin
Part 1
Miel was enjoying her dream, she was even aware of being a part of it, the
feelings too strong and wonderful to be part of anything real.
Her body had been transported through golden light, with warm air caressing her
skin and billowing through her hair. She sensed the ground beneath her as she
was carried at great speed over rolling rivers and hills of yellow and fiery
orange.
miel could not see it, but she had been smiling in her sleep, a tear of joy had
seeped from her tightly closed eyes and trickled down to her cheek. The teardrop
had grown smaller on its trail and the warm air, dreamed or not, had dried it
into nothing more than a happy stain.
Deep, satisfied sighs and soft moans kept miel company on her journey, she
hoped, in her half-consciousness that it would never end, that she could travel
in shimmering pleasure for ever. But, as often happens in dreams, the picture
began to change.
Something had appeared, at first just a dark speck towards the distance, then
growing larger, taking shape, filling with colours. For the first time miel
made a small noise of protest, her dream tarnished by this intruding form.
She began to settle again, as the shape became familiar to her. The ground
came into focus, it was sand, soft sand, and it was everywhere. miel looked
around her in wonder, nothing but sand, nothing that is, except her intruder.
She smiled at her earlier annoyance at the dark speck, for it had become a
wonderful thing, a beautiful shape, an enormous colourful tent, in the Arab
style, with slanted canvases, secured by sturdy ropes and flapping pennants that
made snapping sounds in the breeze.
'What else would I find in a desert?' miel dreamed to herself.
As the smile spread across her sleeping face her head slowly began to spin,
disorientated, miel felt like she were losing balance, breaking her grip on the
dream. A flap had opened at the front of the tent, a dark opening and it
beckoned. In the dream, miel opened her eyes, frightened, suddenly wary of the
tent's contents.
'I won't go inside... no, I don't have to....'
A wind began to blow.
miel tried to push her feet into the warm, yellow sand, to anchor herself
against the buffeting of the wind. As it became stronger she fell to her knees
and began to stumble, miel thought it might be a storm, the kind she had read
about, that she might be covered inside a huge drift of sand, never to be found.
Her heart leaped with fear as she realised she was meant to go inside the tent,
that the wind was there only to force her to enter the dark opening. miel
clawed at the sand trying to hold on to the ground, crying as it trickled away
like water between her fingers.
The wind howled louder in her ears, the sand stung her face and eyes, she
moved, sobbing to the entrance. And stepped inside...
Instantly, all was quiet. miel had fallen forwards onto a dark rug, had landed
on pillows, the flap of the tent closing behind, blocking out the storm. Her
heart pounded in her chest, still frightened by the storm and then, and then she
laughed.
'A dream, a silly dream... oh my, how stupid of me to be so scared!'
Relieved, she curled against her imaginary pillows and fell again into sleep,
this time the type of sleep that is so deep it is without dreams, and even
without nightmares.
As miel awoke she remembered nothing, she dallied in her half-sleep relishing
the comfort of the satin cushion against her face, so smooth and soft and
smelling so wonderfully of perfume.
Her eyes opened wide...
'Satin? She didn't own any satin pillows, and she never, ever sprayed her
bedlinen with perfume!'
She blinked a couple of times as her mind whirled, trying to recall where she
was. It would not come to her...
miel rose quickly, she was lying on a thick rug, surrounded by cushions and
pillows of every size, the room was dimly lit, she could see no further than a
few feet, and... and, she realised with horror, she was naked!
miel gasped as she realised her condition, what had she done last night? Where
could she be? Why had she no clothes? Who else was there?
She tried immediately to get to her feet, grabbing at a large pillow to cover
her modesty but was suddenly yanked back to the rug. 'What the hell...?'
She heard a deep laugh......
'Who's that?! Who's there!?' She cried out... 'Show yourself!' cried into the
darkness.
Another laugh filtered through the chamber.
With dread, miel looked at her arms. Large iron manacles were fastened around
her wrists, thick chains were passed through them and fastened to the floor some
distance away. She almost sobbed aloud as she realised that more manacles had
been affixed to her ankles and also connected to the floor! No wonder she had
been unable to stand.
Her face must have shown her astonishment, the laughing returned.
'Welcome, my dear'
The voice sent miel's pulse racing and her mind spinning, she automatically
covered her breasts with her hands and drew her knees closely together.
'Who are you? Show yourself, what the hell do you mean by...'
'Quiet!!....' miel was cut off as she protested, the suddenness of the man's
shout startling her into silence.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a robe of flowing, brocaded
silks in the Arabic fashion, a pair of broad pantaloons beneath, his feet
encased in richly embroidered slippers.
miel could not see his face clearly as he towered and could not stop a ripple
of ice running over her flesh.
She made to speak, but could think of nothing to say, too confused for words.
After a pause where nothing could be heard but the spitting of the oil lamp,
the Arab said,
'I have had you brought you here, miel'
The voice was gentle but firm, almost patrician, miel did not know why, but her
spirits lifted. Then she remembered the chains.
'Why?' She asked simply....
'I have need of your services, have brought you here to serve me...' He
answered, matter of factly.
'Ssserve you?' miel stammered, 'Are you mad!?'
The Arab let out a loud roar of laughter 'Mad!? Hahahahahahahaha.....'
The mocking tone of the Arab enraged miel, and she tried again to rise even
though fettered, the chains would not allow it. The laughter increased.
'I am glad you have fire in you miel, it is no fun to break someone already
weak willed!'
'Break? What do you mean, break...? How dare you!?' miel almost spat out the
words.
The mood of the Arab suddenly changed and, falling silent he crouched before
miel. She saw him clearly now, the neatly clipped beard, the line of his mouth
set in a sneer, his eyes burning into her.
He brought his face close to hers and looked into her defiant eyes....
'You will submit to my own will, miel. To my whim and my fancy, whenever I
choose or command...'
'Never!' She hissed at him
Undeterred the Arab continued '.... If you do not comply with my wishes, it
will be my pleasure to 'convince' you that it would be wiser to do so.'
miel lunged at her tormentor, but the chains held her just inches from ripping
at his flesh. He did not flinch, confident of her confinement. miel raged,
pulling at the manacles and grunting wildly in anger.
The Arab slapped her, sharply across the face. The blow took away miel's
breath and shocked her into being still. She opened her mouth but no sound
would come out.
The Captor sighed thoughtfully,...
'You will soon see, miel, that I am not playing games. I mean to break your
will and will use the most extreme methods to do so. Soon, you shall give
yourself to me gladly, become my toy for my amusement, be a vessel for my
enjoyment.'
miel mustered her courage and snarled.. ' You will never break me, I will never
serve you, I will fight you and fight you... I despise you...!'
The faintest curl of a smile crossed the Arab's lips...
He leaned slowly and whispered in miel's ear....
'I prefer it that way....'
The words left miel stunned as the Arab stood and clapped his hands sharply.
The tinkling of small bells drew nearer as an attractive girl appeared at his
side, kneeling quickly. Even by the poor lamp, miel could see the lightness of
her hair, she was dressed in shimmering blue pyjamas made of a material so sheer
that her flesh was clearly visible beneath.
miel blushed as she saw silver glinting at the points of the girl's breasts, a
tiny bell suspended from each of the rose coloured tips.
The girl knelt peacefully at the Arab's side, seemingly waiting for an
instruction....
The Arab's voice boomed out...
' crystal ! This one is worthless to me....' Pointing a finger at the chained
miel
'.... She will need to be trained immediately!'
The girl, crystal, did not move, not even to blink her eyes.
'Have her taken to the discipline chamber, I shall deal with her at sunset, you
will assist...!'
From behind miel, strong muscular arms lifted her, her chains were loosed from
the floor and her feet left the ground Two men, their faces unseen, their hands
coal black, hauled miel screaming from the room of cushions.
'Ensure that she is tightly chained and prepare all of the equipment....'
'Yes Bedouin, Sir' said crystal with a nod of her head and rising to follow the
protesting screams of the poor and innocent miel.
