White Slave Trade

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Disclaimer: 

The following is a story written by a member of the site, reproduced with permission.  Congratulations on your great writing, CL!!!! 

This story is meant as pure fantasy. It does not condone such implied actions within this story as anything to be performed against anyone’s will in real life. Kidnapping is illegal 

For consenting adults with lots of pre-arranged understanding, role-play is lots of fun.   The Basement does not, however, condone rape in any form, and we do not condone non-consensual sex, or sex with minors,  or drug use, in any way.

If you can’t differentiate between consensual adult sex games and rape, please see our Main Page and Information Section before reading any further.


White Slave Trade

 

Of course, I had always had a thing about white slavery. The idea of having a woman or, better still, women forcibly stripped, held prisoner for someone elseís pleasure and repeatedly made to perform sex against their will, had served as my staple masturbation fantasy for years. What I did not realize until I took the job that therefore seemed so suitable to me, was that women fantasized about the same thing! Well, some did!

The job? I became a tour guide in North Africa, along the old Barbary Coast, which was, of course, the historical center of the old white slave trade. A labor of love, you might say. Conducting parties of tourists seeking the slightly more unusual, perhaps more risquť, diversions as part of their well-earned holidays.

The company poster said it all:

 

THE CORSAIR COAST

Follow in the footsteps of the victims of the

White Slave Trade

 

A Full Day Tour, with knowledgeable guide, tracing the infamous history of the Barbary Coast

 

Ladies! Dare you come and see!

 

Knowledgeable guide - that was me!

I had been drifting round the world for years earning my keep on the fly so to speak, when I happened upon this opening in Morocco. I had always had a way with words and people. My travels had given me the basics in about a dozen languages and, after a little swatting up on local history, I talked my way into the job.

With mainly English-speaking tourists, usually small enough in number to require only the use of a mini-bus, and therefore easier to communicate with, I found a niche that suited me. At first I approached it from a purely historical and factual angle, but I soon realized that if I let my personality intrude and I used a little imagination, I got a much better reaction from my paying customers. Especially the ladies! Clearly, the passion I put into my explanations and tales of the terrible goings-on of the past had an effect upon the delicate sensibilities of the fairer sex. This was confirmed by the resentful glances I got from some of the men. Some Ė not all! The clever ones knew that they were going to reap the rewards of the stirring of the senses I was causing.

It was not long before the boss at the tourist agency told me that he was getting queries about what other trips I did. Me, personally! Apparently, the people liked my style. So, I developed my techniques a bit more and let my personality sort of take over. It was almost like wanking in public. And being paid for it!

Then, after one of the coastal runs, out of the blue, so to speak, I got a most unusual request. On the way back from a particularly good day, I stopped the bus in a lonely bay. I always drove the mini-bus myself and, although I gave a sort of running commentary over the microphone, I always parked up somewhere with good atmosphere to tell my tales. There, on that particular evening, I had woven a dream sequence around the setting sun and the quiet isolation of the location. I had asked my `guests` to imagine a Corsair ship drifting in on the dying evening breeze toward a waiting party on the shore below us. The camels would have been pawing the sand and snorting, recognizing the sails of the Arab ship and knowing they would soon be working with the goods that were coming ashore. And those goods were women! White women! Taken from 3 ships the Corsairs had attacked and raided that week. Below deck, chained up in the hold, weeping and wailing, were the wives and daughters of English merchantmen and soldiers who had been traveling East to join their families. Traveling too close to the Barbary Coast as it happened!

Now, they would see those families and loved ones no more! For here, below us, in the quickly falling dusk, they would be brought ashore, struggling and crying out, the subject of amusement for those local people watching. The unsympathetic Arab villagers would see the white women tied by the wrists to the tails of those waiting camels to be marched inland to the Slave Dealerís cells. There they would be stripped and washed, ready to be displayed for the rich Arab Sheiks and the Turkish Beys who would examine them with a view to purchase.

This was going down so well, I even wove my tale around the people in my party. The 2 giggly young girls, I made daughters, sisters, just 17 and 18 years old, innocents, the first man they would know would be their Master! Not a lover, nor a husband but the man who bought them and owned them! Both of them. Together! That got gasps.

There was an older woman on the mini-bus too, so I worked in the Colonelís wife, taken at the age of 38 years and at her peak as a woman, now made to perform for the Sheik! Trained to dance the dance of the 7 veils for him before she joined him in his bed!

There was a young woman, on holiday for some reason with her sour-faced, disapproving mother. I made her the young wife of a shipís Captain in the story. She had seen her husband struck down before her in the heat of battle and had bare-handedly attacked the Corsair leader herself, much to his amusement. Afterwards, back on his own ship, he had sent for this young white woman and for amusement had punished her for her temerity. Punished her in front of his men. I left it at that and let my tourists think about it. The concept of a fully grown white woman being punished in front of the Arab crew was obviously quite titillating. One or two of my ladies were a bit red in the face when I gave them a grin and broke the spell by starting the noisy diesel engine of the bus. It was an anti-climax as we set off for the dropping points at the hotels and dinner.

I always got good tips from the ladies as they left the bus, but this time I found a written note amongst the bank notes. It was from the woman with the sour-faced mother and would I ring her because she wanted to hear the end of my story?

OK. If she wanted a bit of male company that was fine by me. She answered the phone very quickly and I guessed she was hanging round near it to forestall her mother. Anyway, she arranged to slip away later that evening and I picked her up in my car at the side entrance to the hotel. When I asked where she wanted to go she shyly suggested somewhere quiet and I took her to the top of the hill overlooking the town. There, under the stars of a brilliantly still North African night sky, she asked me to finish the story. She wanted to know how the Corsair Captain punished the white woman who attacked him.

"Because that was me, wasnít it?" she said coyly, her eyes flashing at me in the moonlight.

I confirmed that it was but did she want to know, really? Because the Corsair Captain was a cruel man and what he did to her was not pleasant. My teasing got her all breathless! This one was ripe for it!

By the time the Corsairís men had stripped her naked and bound her, standing and spread, between the rigging lines, to be raped by the Captain while the crew all watched, she was panting with lust.

"God! It must have been awful to be captured and treated like that!" she exclaimed dreamily.

"Awful and nice!" I commented.

She looked me in the eyes and nodded slowly. We both knew she liked the idea. Steamily, she asked outright, "Will you fuck me?".

There, sitting facing each other in my car, we stared at each other in silence for some seconds. She was desperate for it, I could see that. Not to break the spell, I gave her the command she waited for. "Strip! Strip naked!"

She struggled out of her clothes on that front seat and I swear by the time she had her knickers coming off round her ankles, she was part-way coming! Playing the cruel Corsair to the full, I refused to touch her until she had answered some questions. Yes, she was married. They were having trouble and she was not getting any attention from him - and, yes, she needed sex! And could she have it from me, please?

I stayed fully dressed and used just a finger. She came off like a rocket! Then we went to my apartment and I made her strip again and kneel in front of me and beg for it! And I mean BEG! I refused to move a muscle until she was in tears with want.

She loved it. When I fucked her she came and came and came.

Afterwards, I asked her if she had always liked being `Mastered` and she confessed that it had always been there in the background but she had not realized until I did my story how much she wanted it. And she had never done it until that night. When I asked her if she wanted to do it for real - with an Arab man, be his slave for a night, she almost fainted.

"You donít mean it?"

I assured her I did. I knew an Arab who took white girls and bent them to his will. Made them obey! It was not quite true, but it was close enough and it served, rather to my surprise, to ensnare her.

"I canít," she gasped. "My mother!"

My God! She was thinking of doing it!

I told her to find an excuse. She could say she was going out with me. Well, she would be, wouldn't she? Only I would take her to a real Arab who would make her strip for him - while I watched!

Her eyes flew to mine, wide with wonder. And I told her, oh, yes, I would be there to see her obey her Arab Master. Partly in pursuance of her own protection! "We donít want you disappearing into the desert, do we?" I teased.

She was well and truly hooked. With the simple reservation that only I could touch her once she was stripped, she agreed. I told her I would fuck her in front of him and she nodded, eyes glazed with lust. I swear she was nearly coming just hearing the words. She was hooked and helpless just like she dreamt of being. She was incapable of bringing herself to refuse.

The following night, I took her out to meet my friend Akbah, having previously explained to him the role he had to play. There, this young English wife undressed and stood nude hands on head in front of us both. I swear as we just sat there and looked at her, she shut her eyes and came! Without touching herself, she had an orgasm just from being a make-believe slave!

When I stripped and started fucking her, she was so far gone, she was out of it! Taking her from the rear on the floor, it was easy to `walk` her across to Akbah and his waiting prick. Reservations blown away on the breeze of passion, she sucked on it without the need for orders. With me in one end and him in the other, she had the best sex of her life!

She had 4 nights of her 2 week holiday left. She spent every one of them with me and Akbah. We both fucked her until she was limp as a dish-cloth. We told her she was our slave; we even sent her to stand outside naked until we wanted her again and she loved it. We took photos of her naked and we made a video of the 3 of us with barely a protest on her part.

On her last night she asked if she could stay on and live with me. I told her no, but she could be Akbah`s slave if she wanted. And I meant a proper slave. I explained to her that he would give her to his friends to fuck and she would be beaten if she disobeyed him. Incredibly, I think she was only just able to refuse my offer! We left it at that with the understanding that whenever I came to England I would phone her up and she would find a way to come to me and give me sex. Because I had the photos and video, didnít` I?

She told me breathlessly that I did not need those. She loved me and would always be my slave.