Black Horse - or Sheep?

Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. Upon waking, I looked in the dictionary of dreams I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised.

Passion is my life. Indolence, carnal licentiousness, pleasures of the flesh, they are all mine – and I love them. I live my life easy but to the full.

Mind you, there are those who would not approve. For them, the black animal I dreamed of would have been more appropriate had it been a sheep. For that is what my family see me as, I am sure. The black sheep, with whom they have as little to do as possible. Still, why should I care? I have the way of life I want and I had just made myself a tidy sum of cash that would ensure I continued to live in the manner to which I had become accustomed for at least the foreseeable future. Yes, life was good and that silly little English girl would pay for my staying in luxurious comfort for another couple of years in this Mediterranean paradise.

I sat back in the shade, sipped my drink, and thought about how stupid – and unknowingly generous - she had been, `my` young Julie.

It was the time of day I liked the best and I sat out on the patio beneath the canopy of vines and sipped my sweet wine. The smells of the Mediterranean evening wafted around me, propelled by the gentle breeze. Frangipani and hibiscus lent their subtle blend to the still-warm night air and the cicadas and crickets added a cacophony of sounds that completed the picture to perfection.

The sounds of music and the occasional burst of amplified voice could just be heard drifting up the hillside, rising occasionally above the clicking of the insects, but I did not mind that for it was that that paid for all of this luxury. No one entertained in that part of the island without being booked through me and for that privilege, they paid me an agent's commission. Around the waterfront and the old harbour, in the hotels and the town, the bars and discos would just be getting going, making me money.

It was then that I heard the bell, not that I had to react to it One of my men would get it. By leaning and lifting slightly I could see who it was at the heavy barred gate and when my man turned I waved for him to let her in.

She came up the curving slope of the footpath between the bushes bending with the weight of her backpack and guitar. Silly bitch! Of course, I knew all about her and watched with mild pleasure as she approached the patio. She was hot and sweaty and mentally uncomfortable too. That was obvious from her tentative expression. And so she should be after the abuse she had given me!

She had opted out of college in far-away England and come out here in the close season to `entertain` in one of the bars, on the understanding that when the season came round, the regular girl would replace her. That time had duly arrived a couple of weeks back but instead of taking her paid-for flight home, she had sold the ticket and hung on trying to get another job. Not easy, and especially so since I had `blacked` her. She had opened her mouth a bit too much for my liking when I had explained about the commission system. A bit of high spirits did not go amiss with me but not cocky abuse! As a consequence, she had walked the streets for the last 2 weeks being greeted universally by the area`s shake of the head that meant `not a chance of a job`.

I had kept my eye on her. She had run out of money 5 days ago and out of friends to give her a bed 2 nights ago. It had been only a matter of time before she had come up that hill from the town to apologise. And here she was!

I had my man fetch her a cool drink and told her to sit. She dumped the bag and the guitar and slumped down in the chair, avoiding my eyes. She thanked me and then, after a pause, made her apology. She was panting a bit, mostly from the physical effort; my villa was 400 feet above the harbour, high in the foothills of the mountains. But there was the breathlessness of nervousness there, too. I suppose she was not used to crawling!

There was sweat running down her face from her forehead. Her long, dark hair looked as if it could do with a wash. She was no beauty queen at her best, but she had the freshness and vigour of youth on her side - normally. Now she looked beaten and tired.

"Would you like a bath?" Her head came up. There was suspicion in her eyes. "I know what you have come for, Julie, and we will talk about that in the morning. You can use one of my guest bedrooms till then." No-one did anything for nothing. She had learnt that hard truth over the last few days, but when I added, "I`ll see you out here for breakfast at 8 a.m.", she thanked me with some awkwardness and rose to follow my man.

I watched as she hefted the bag up and her guitar. He did not offer to help. He would put her in the back guest room - the one with the bars on the window. I had plans for this girl! I had had her checked out. A rift with her parents when she chose to dump her further education, which they had no doubt paid for, had left her pretty well isolated from them. At best the occasional postcard just to say she was OK. Only she wasn`t. Not now! It was good of her to have made her way up to my villa herself - especially in the dark. Hopefully, very few people would have seen her make her way up the hill and those that did would keep their mouths shut, for me.

She looked a damn sight better at breakfast. Fresh, clean and with her long hair shining. She had on cut-down jeans, showing me her long legs and a white tied-off shirt so I got plenty of bare midriff. All calculated, of course. We had fresh fruit, chilled fruit juice, croissant and coffee and she remarked shyly how pleasant it was, on my patio at that time of day. I asked her if she had slept OK, then where she was going to sleep the night coming. That stopped her in her tracks, reminding her of her problems.

"I was hoping….." Her voice trailed off.

"What? That I…..! I let my voice trail off, mocking her, and shook my head. I offered her a shrug. "Not at this time of year, Julie. Except…" She looked up expectantly, "There is always the exotic dancing!" She couldn't hide the disappointment or the disgust. Dancing with just tiny knickers on, and sometimes not even that, on top of a bar or in a disco cage. One step from the back room shows for money thrown in the ring, where pseudo lesbian stuff and Coke-bottle masturbation took place. I grinned at her and said it was OK. She could stop with me for a few more days.

She swam in the pool and sunbathed beside it. It was the third day when I strolled over and told her to take her top off. Of course, she had gone topless like so many of the girls, done that on the town's beaches, but up here in front of me and my men, that was different. She said she preferred not to.

"I am not asking, Julie. I am telling!" I stared her out, for she was glaring back. "Consider it a little payment of rent, should we say? Make the place look pretty and stay on, eh?"

I didn't press it then, but the next time she swam, she came out and laid face down, she loosened her bikini top. When she got up, she left it on the sun lounger. When I wandered over and chatted to her, she flushed a bit and stared me out, looking up at me from the sun-lounger in that challenging way she had. Her breasts were small for a 19 year-old but they were very firm and high.

It took her 4 days to realise she was a prisoner. She came to me almost stamping her foot in anger.

"Your man won`t let me out of the gate. I want to go down to the shops." I asked her what for. "What's that got to do with you or your men?" she asked, in a huff.

"What do you want, Julie? Tampons, towels, panty pads? What do you use?"

As it happened, that was not what she was after, but my pseudo-familiarity made her really angry. She demanded to be let out.

My calmness angered her more. "All you should need is here. If it isn`t you ask me and I`ll get it for you. Now go and do your sunbathing or whatever and stop being a nuisance." She stomped off.

I issued instructions for my men to keep a closer watch on Julie. Late in the afternoon she came and found me and asked if she was going to be allowed out at all. She had caught on! I just smiled at her and shook my head. When she asked, still rather angry, "Why?" I grinned again and told her that was my business and left it at that. Meanwhile, since she seemed to have time on her hands, she could spend some of it thinking how she was going to entertain me. She should be prepared to dance for me that evening, on the patio. She stared at me for a long time but sensibly restrained from saying anything, before stomping off again. I noticed she had coloured up a little.

I had to send for her for dinner and Juan my head man sort of ushered her to the table. She was in jeans, not her usual shorts. After a light meal, I had the tape player brought out. She watched them setting it up in silence. I nodded and they switched it on. I had chosen a quiet piece with a good strong rhythm line but it was wasted, I am afraid.

Julie blushed a bit, looked away and shook her head in refusal. " I`m not going to dance for you." She told me.

Now we were on an official basis, I decided to have her moved to the `special` room we had for naughty girls. Out the back, in the old stables. One little vent opening, way up high in the back wall, a narrow bed and a thin mattress, a bucket for emergencies and a locked door. I had her put in there stripped to her underwear.

The following morning, I had one of my men bring her to my breakfast table. She looked tired, hungry and thirsty but very sexy stood there in her bra and knickers, held before me by her arm by one of my men. I asked her if she were going to dance for me that night or did she want to spend the day in her cell thinking about it? She nodded, straight away, head low in shame and asked if she could get dressed.

I had her conducted back to the proper guest room and she appeared half an hour later looking more her normal self except that she seemed somewhat embarrassed as she asked with awkward diffidence if she could have breakfast. She was learning.

When you dance tonight, Julie, you`ll be topless. OK?" She stopped eating in surprise and looked sideways at me. Her eyes wide with suppressed anger again "But you can keep your panties on tonight, Julie. Tomorrow night, you`ll dance nude."

I believe she was about to say something silly, so I quickly added that she could spend the day back in the cell, if she wished. Then we would discuss again this evening. In the event, I think she thought she could wait to refuse when the time came to dance. Certainly she looked pretty shifty and increasingly uncomfortable as the day passed. After dinner, I had the tape player brought out and put on some nice rhythmic guitar music and looked at her pointedly. "Please, not topless!" she whispered. She looked so pretty, blushing like that, that I relented and told her topless tomorrow, nude the night after, then. I made her take her jeans and blouse off and she danced in bra and briefs and very nice it was too. Actually, she danced well. No jumping about. Slow and with the music, hands held shoulder high, moving to the beat her head hung low, dark hair swinging, looking the sweet young prisoner she was. She had a natural sense of rhythm and, once she got past the self-conscious stage, moved well. When I told her enough after 3 numbers she scooted off so quickly with her clothes under her arms I did not have time to thank her.

The next night, she blushed a pretty shade of pink as she took her shirt and bra off and then her shorts and danced in her lacy knickers. After 3 tunes I let her sit down again, but not put on her clothes. I called for fresh drinks, so she had to sit still while my men served us. She kept her eyes properly lowered. I liked her in shame! There was a pleasant sheen of perspiration on her breasts, I noticed.

"That's very good, Julie," I told her with genuine praise. She blushed even more when I added that I looked forward to tomorrow night! She wouldn`t look me in the eye after that and asked if she could go off to bed.

24 hours later, after a light dinner, I told her it was time. Blushing quite profusely, she leant close to me and asked in a whisper if my men could be sent away, She would do it for me, but not them. It was a good try, but I rightly refused her request. I started the music and she got as far with her stripping as thumbing the waist band of her knickers before she froze.

"I can`t!" she told me.

Of course, what she meant was she did not want to and I explained the difference

"You don`t understand," she told me. "taking your knickers off, for a woman, it is like the last protection. It is like saying…."

Her voice faded and I finished it for her. "It is like saying you are ready to be fucked, eh, Julie?" I laughed. "Do you not think if I planned to fuck you, I would have done it by now?" I scowled at her. "Now, enough of this. You'll do it, or you`ll suffer."

The silly bitch chose to suffer.

I asked her if she knew what urtication was. She didn`t. Half an hour later, she did!

I had purposely cultivated a special crop of nettles in the garden of my villa for some time. Nettles with a particularly vicious sting. Grown for just this purpose, to punish foolish young girls without evidence or lasting damage. That was what we used to beat Julie`s breasts.

It was such a simple process. A light beating and then confinement in her cell, naked apart from the knickers that had caused all the trouble in the first place.

I looked in on her before going to bed and found her huddled in the corner of the cell, sobbing her heart out. She begged me to help her!

Her breasts were mottled pink all over, with raised white burn-bumps. Of course, cuffed as she was there was no way she could touch herself. I cupped her chin and got her to stop crying long enough to listen to me. I asked if she were going to be a good girl in future and do as she was told and she nodded pathetically eagerly. "Nude dancing tomorrow night then?"

"Yes! Yes!" Then, desperately, "Don`t leave me! Please!" And as I locked the door on her, her desperate cry, "I`ll sleep with you! PLEASE!"

The following night a very contrite Julie stripped and danced for me while I ate my dinner. Then I let her eat hers beside me - still naked. I told her I had decided she could go without clothes altogether now and that in future she would be kept naked. She weighed everything up and sensibly said nothing.

Julie did not come out to breakfast in the morning. I had to send one of my men in to fetch her. He quite seemed to enjoy escorting the naked youngster to my table even if she was quite angry. I explained that I did not expect any little tantrums and if she needed a lesson in humility I was just the one to give it! Since she wanted to be petulant his morning, I told her she could eat on her knees and put her plate of fruit on the floor at my side. She knelt, pretty legs folded under her, and pressed very close together and ate using her fingers. I poured her coffee into a bowl and let her lap it up. By this time, she was weeping quietly, the indignity of her lowered head and raised bottom quite too much for her. Then I made her remain on her knees until I had read the morning paper and had drunk my traditional second pot of coffee before telling her to go to the kitchen and ask my cook for work. Poor Julie looked up at me in shock. It gave me a lot of pleasure to inform her that from now on she was going to have to earn her keep!

I had an elderly Spanish woman who lived in and who was genuinely amused to see the way I treated the young English girls I brought to my villa. Julie was not the first who had reported to her in the nude asking to be given a job! The 2 young women who cleaned about the villa were fiercely loyal to me too and were not averse to laughing behind their hands at the silly English girls` predicaments.

Do you know, the desirability factor of an attractive young woman is multiplied a 100-fold by her enforced nudity. Julie - my Julie as she had become - had looked reasonably desirable in her light summer clothes, or sunbathing topless by my pool. When dancing for me naked, she had taken on an even more attractive hue. No beauty queen, but she was not bad looking. Dancing naked, her firm young breasts moving as she turned and twisted and bent, her thighs somehow held so close together you could hear them rub as she contrived to hide her very best charms, all below the most becoming blushing face, gave her that extra femininity that made me want to go the whole hog and rape her. But not by an uncontrollable amount! Now, as she moved about the villa doing her work very self-consciously nude, I was getting closer to introducing her to the sex side of things.

I was enjoying `playing` this pretty young girl. No need to rush. I let her suffer the `public` nudity and enjoyed her shame. I instituted a daily programme to keep her busy and suitably aware of her new status in my house and home. She worked, she slept in the cell, every night now, and was fetched at 6 a.m. to shower and report to the kitchen cook. She served all the men their breakfasts and then, when I was ready to eat, she served me, bringing my tray out onto the patio. It is difficult to imagine a more pleasing sight than a blushing, naked young girl bearing a sweet breakfast on a Mediterranean morning. Then it was back to the kitchen to clean everything up under the iron rule of my Spanish lady.

Julie did object just the once at being used this way. We beat her arse with some nettles and she settled down!

I insisted too that she keep fit. An hour running round the garden late in the morning and again at dusk - closely supervised by my men with nettles in hand! 50 lengths of my pool before siesta in the afternoon kept her slim and lithe. And then there was the dancing, of course. So, young Julie started to learn her new role, one of service to men. And all this she did, pretty and pink, all thighs and breasts and dark pubic hair on her belly, with my young men constantly on hand. She did not like my young men looking at her. Saw it as a threat to her honour, I think, them being young, fit and rampant males, and her being a young, pretty and naked female. It kept a nice edge on her nerves!

Julie became a much quieter, much more respectful young girl. Then came the day she asked me outright, when would I let her go?

I told her when I had finished with her, which merely served to puzzle her more. `Finished with her`? What did I mean? How long would that be? Would I send her home to England then?

I think she still harboured thoughts at that stage of being allowed to go free. After all, no-one had actually assaulted her and she had come to my villa of her own free will. OK, she was made to go around with no clothes on but there were women practically doing that on the public beach a few hundred yards away. And she had been `tortured` with the stinging nettles, but there was no harm done, no evidence of maltreatment to show how she had suffered. And, most important. Not one male hand had been laid on her in a sexual way. Which, funnily enough, was clearly adding to her problems.

She was no virgin, although I knew from my enquiries that she was not a promiscuous girl, unlike most who worked on `my` island. But she had experienced the delights of having her young cunt filled by a healthily thrusting prick. Now, here she was, kept nude, surrounded by half-a-dozen young men who made no secret of the fact that they lusted after her with their eyes, and practically `owned` by me, and no-one was touching her! I knew she masturbated in her bed at night and during the siesta afternoons. That particular` guest` bedroom was bugged and the rhythmic rustlings and stifled sighings were evidence of her frustration. After a few days, I do believe she would have preferred we put her on her back and fucked her to get it over with.

Anyway, to prolong her belief that she would eventually be released and to supply her parents with the periodic, reluctant `I'm OK` note, I let her write a postcard to them. Under my control, of course, and posted from another island some way away! But the truth was she was not O.K. And she never would be. Not now, not any more.

So now, this blushing young lady was my prisoner. She ate her light dinner at my side, was given half an hour to digest it and then reappeared before me and my men to dance for 15 or 20 minutes for our general delight. I encouraged her to be inventive and give her performance some thought. A couple of skeins of stinging nettles laid at my feet where she could see them served as incentive. I told her that since we had stung her breasts and her buttocks the next logical place to be punished must be between her legs.

She danced well!

As we progressed through the stages of incarceration with Julie, I considered it necessary to increase the security arrangements. Because she was locked into her cell at night, I warned Juan to increase the vigilance of his men during the day; our reluctant `guest` would be making a bid for freedom soon, I was sure. Early one evening, she was conducted into my presence between 2 smirking guards. She had chosen just after dusk to make her attempt - and failed. It was the first time I had seen Julie really frightened. Rather a nice sight, actually.

"She was caught going over the back wall, Boss." Juan reported. Two more of my men held Julie`s upper arms, giving her a certain amount of lift to raise her onto her toes. Young women were pretty helpless in that position. She had been back into her old bedroom and dressed. She had her jeans on and a tied-off shirt to make her escape in and had her small bundle of belongings in her rucksack.

Everything out of that was destroyed in front of her eyes, right there on my patio. Clothes cut to ribbons, including her underwear. Then she was made to strip and what she had been wearing was destroyed in front of her eyes as well. She was sobbing by now but standing without fighting the grips on her arms, knowing that she was in enough trouble without the futility of defying me any further. She knew she would be punished but when I sent her to my bedroom, her eyes widened momentarily before she ran away to comply with my order, weeping.

She stood beside my bed, wringing her hands and waiting, the tears silently sliding down her cheeks. Beside my bed! There was a telling position. She expected me to rape her now! Inviting the inevitable, I guess.

When I opened my dressing table drawer and took out my crook-handled cane and laid it on the bed, she put both hands to her face in horror and groaned a long, "Nooooo!"

I made her kneel up on the padded top of the dressing table stool and bend forward to place her hands on the floor. That position threw her buttocks nicely high, into the ideal caning position.

After just the first stroke, she gasped, groaned and started to beg, but she did not attempt to get up. After 6, she was offering to do anything, as they all did. I stopped, put down the cane and stripped. When I presented myself at her head, cock bobbing in invitation, she let out another sob and opened her mouth. She was hot, wet and warm. As she sucked and laved my knob with her tongue, she made her way up my legs with her hands until she was holding my hips. When I was ready, I withdrew from her mouth and made her put her hands behind her back. I masturbated myself - onto her face and hair! Now she knew her place, and I left her kneeling there on the stool to think about it while I got onto the bed and rested.

What a sorry sight young Julie was becoming. Beginning to realise that I probably had no intention of releasing her, with all the associated concerns about what was to happen to her long-term, she now had the indignity of serving me in a most intimate sexual way and having the drying blobs of my semen in her hair and on her face. Julie was being used in the most degrading way and there wasn`t a damn thing she could do about it.

I had one room set out as my office. The big mahogany desk had a covered foot-well. The next time I worked in my office, I had Julie enter the foot-well before I took my seat. When I sat down, I unzipped my shorts and extracted my penis. Without any need for words, and without my actually seeing her, she `voluntarily` sucked me while I worked!

Which left just 2 stages to go in my amusing degrading of this pretty young woman. The first I would expedite at my villa; the second required a discreet phone call.

Julie watched her `audience` assemble on the patio, head hung in shame. I in my comfortable chair and 5 of my young men on more upright chairs, each with a more than usual expectant grin upon his swarthy face. Tonight they were on a promise that Julie, as yet, knew nothing about. In truth, they were not actually expecting the fulfilment of that promise on that particular evening. They understood the vagaries of the young female psyche. Our female `guest` would have to undergo a certain amount of expiating pain before she would bring herself to the new low I intended for her.

So, Julie danced, her usual nude and attractive, initially self-conscious, performance that eased after a couple of minutes into an eyes-shut, more absorbed spectacle. My coaxing her by quiet, insistent counselling had resulted in the dances becoming more sexual. Nothing blatant or obscene, you understand, just that I now insisted on the odd subtle bump and grind and the occasional opening of those silken thighs in our direction!

She always gained an attractive sheen in the warm Mediterranean night air, and this time, as I turned off the music and the polite, mocking round of applause rang out, I refused her permission to exit to the shower.

"You have teased these poor young men long enough, Julie!" I told her. There was a stirring amongst the assembly - including her. I think she imagined for just a moment that I might be about to let her go! "You have shown yourself to be quite adept at satisfying me. I think it is time you extended your generous service to my men."

I am sorry to say that the opening of 5 zips in the fronts of shorts and the sight of 5 semi-erect penises put our young lady into a bit of a panic!

As I had warned them, my small team of guards had to settle for a bit of teasing instead, on that occasion. We did the `teasing` on the patio, which meant that Julie had to be gagged for the first time. Her screams would have rent the air otherwise. They gave her 2 strokes of the cane each, for which she touched her toes quite unrestrained, although she cried a lot. But when the nettles were fetched, she required cuffing and then 4 of them to hold her while the fifth applied the salutary unction. Breasts first, because she already knew what that meant in the way of prolonged discomfort. Then her bottom, that sweet, split hemisphere so recently striped, then with long legs held apart by willing male hands, as promised, the insides of her thighs and the actual core of her sex.

My men took great delight in decorating her vagina, with a thorough and close attention to the fat lips of her cunt. When she was borne away to her lonely cell for the night I do believe she was already wishing that she had settled for the multiple oral service! When I looked in on her later, she was writhing on the floor of the cell, clearly in considerable pain. Still gagged and cuffed, she made a pretty sight. Her mumblings into the fat leather ball were amusing to say the least. I think she was promising the earth if I would only do something about her nettle-rash!

The following night, when she watched her audience assemble, poor Julie was already in tears. Tonight she knew it would not just be a dance. I watched quite happy to be merely an observer on this occasion as she danced, admittedly less gracefully that usual in her distracted state, and then sank to her knees and swallowed 5 separate libations of healthy male sperm. Funnily enough, after the last lot had been generously donated deep into her throat, she had to suddenly lean over the patio rail and vomit into my rose garden!

The next night, she managed to keep it all down, at least until she left our presence. The next morning, as she served my breakfast, I informed her that in future, I was making her mouth available to my men at any time, so it became a common sight, for instance, to see our naked Julie stopped in the course of her run around the garden to sink to her knees and remove the erection from some young man's loins with some expert fallatial activity.

Three days later, a very respectful Julie asked if she could speak to me. She wanted to know if I was going to kill her! She could see that she could never be released after what I had done to her, but I was honestly able to tell her that I had no such plans and that she would be leaving my villa very soon. Whether that cheered her at all I do not know. I fear that my 19 year-old `guest` had become quite cynical about my intentions for her by then.

The luxury yacht moored offshore, the better for our purpose and I went down just before dusk. The hospitality was of typical Arab standard and I enjoyed seeing Masool again. Julie came out in the small launch soon after dark, an anonymous little bundle with 2 of my men keeping her company. Once she was on board, they removed her cloak and the gag and straps and handed her over to Masool`s people who brought her to the shuttered main cabin and Masool and I.

I had arranged for her to be presented in a shimmering silk gown of midnight blue. It had thin shoulder straps and fell only as far as mid-thigh and screamed that she was naked beneath it. I almost felt sorry to be losing her.

I motioned her forward. "Come and meet your new owner, Julie." The word `owner` did not please her, although of course she must have guessed as much. Her eyes were skitting all over the place like a nervous filly. At me, at Masool in his white Arab robe and at his men, positioned discreetly around the room, quiet and threatening to her, no doubt.

She came forward hesitantly, and Masool chuckled softly. He liked to see them frightened. "You have not told her, my friend?" He held out a hand and shook it when she did not take it. "Come child - sit here at my feet."

It was difficult for her to do so without revealing what was - or was not - under her skirt. She was all legs! Masool rubbed her hair lovingly between his fingers, smiled, bent and smelt it. She flinched but did not pull away and he laughed.

"You have trained her well, my friend. But not too well, I hope. I like to see them learn - under the whip!" Julie began to cry quietly. She knew better than to make a fuss.

To her humiliation, I explained in English that she had not been sexually trained at all. "Well, not beyond her ability to suck cocks, anyway!"

Julie sailed away that night to her new life. No more would she be writing her reluctant postcards to worried and confused parents. She had simply become another of the many young girls who disappear without trace, to serve their betters in an obedient and pleasing manner. And I sat beneath the stars and enjoyed my Mediterranean paradise.