This volume is the fourth part of a 7 volume compendium, which in total, contains 8 Caged & Transported books and 9 Sheik Husni books. The Saga contains a total of 480,000 words and describes events in Japan, Mexico and Dubai. This is the second edition of the 17 books, but the first time they have been edited into one long epic story.

From Tokyo and Folito Island, to Salim's Pony-girl stables in Dubai, the story ebbs and flows, as one character after another becomes caught up in the dramatic story. This is a unique chance to read about their Pony-girl and Puppy-girl world.

 

The 7 volumes contain the following books.

Volume 1 contains the first three Caged & Transported books.

Volume 2 contains the fourth, fifth and sixth C&T books.

Volume 3 contains the seventh and eighth C&T books,

Plus, the first Sheik Husni book.

Volume 4 contains the second and third Husni books.

Volume 5 contains the fourth and fifth Husni books.

Volume 6 contains the sixth and seventh Husni books.

Volume 7 (The Finale) contains the eighth and Ninth books.

 

1. Zabya - Backbreaking work

 

The black mangroves of Northern Oman were one of the most beautiful parts of the vast and desolate country. Seeing the trees and thick vegetation growing in the salty waters of the coastline, in such high temperatures, was a huge attraction for holidaymakers in and around the city of Muscat. Many tourists and Arabs visited the hotels and beaches but hardly venture beyond the properties where they were staying.

However, the beautiful surroundings were completely lost on 19-year-old Zabya and the rest of the slaves that worked on Sheik Bin Hali's coastal estate. For a whole year, Zabya had been owned by the elderly Arab, whose agents had purchased her in an auction in Al Awabi. Life on his estate was no better or worse than the previous period of her life, where she had slaved away, carrying goods and supplies over rocky terrain in the Jebel Shams Mountains of North-eastern Oman.

The gritty teenager had fallen foul of her master when she had tried to escape on several occasions. He had grown tired of her constant bad behaviour and eventually put her up for auction to get rid of her. Both before and after being sold, she had had the benefit of living an outdoor life, but the punishments and abuse continued with her new owners, so, in her own mind, nothing had changed.

Zabya hadn't had an education and until she arrived at the palace, she was unaware of what went on in the outside world. She lived in her own sterile bubble, where she was forced to work from dusk to dawn, every day of the week. The men that lived and worked in the palace treated her like dirt during the day and like a whore at night. The downtrodden teenager didn't know what it was like to walk around without restraints or without being tethered to other thralls when she was working.

She knew her name of course and was aware that she was labelled a trouble maker, by both her old and new owners. This manifested itself in even worst treatment, which prompted a certain amount of resentment from the other thralls when they too received additional punishments, because of her behaviour.

The resolute teenager had made one friend though, a 20-year-old English girl named Lucy. The poor girl had been snatched from her family's yacht two years earlier and enslaved by Somalian Pirates. After a year with her savage captors, Lucy was grateful to have been sold to Sheik Bin Hali, where she became one of his most diligent workers.

The English girl was the only thrall in the Bin Hali household to befriend her. Although the slaves were forbidden to talk to each other, Lucy slowly taught her the English language. All the slaves she had ever known wanted to learn English, because it was an asset they could use if they ever escaped from their masters.

One day she hoped, she'd escape from the Arab world and go somewhere like England and get away from the abuse and punishment that she'd suffered all her life.

Thwatt! "Muuuuumph!" she moaned, when the housekeeper's stick landed diagonally across her bobbing butt cheeks.

"Get a move on, you lazy little bitch," the big woman growled, nudging her thigh with her foot.

Zabya swore under her breath, gingerly edged backward a foot and increased the speed of her scrubbing to avoid another nasty blow. The angry youngster was crawling on her hands and knees along the main palace corridor and was only half way finished.

Because of her history, the Slavemaster kept her permanently in a knotted culit - a rope device attached to her ankles - that held her feet apart by more than 12 inches. A metal bar with an eye in the centre stiffened the restraint which was wrapped in reinforced rope that also circled her ankles. A series of tight knots around the bar were then sealed with a small padlock.

A 12 inch wooden dildo was screwed into the eye in the centre of the culit and short lengths of rope clipped to the ends of the culit. Then, while one assistant guided the mahogany phallus into her quim, another lad clipped the short ropes to a 'D' ring on the back of her posture collar.

She had to remain in the all-fours position with her toes pushing against the sides of her ass. The dildo nudged the roof of her womb as she crawled and scrubbed the floor. If she tried to rest by sitting back on her heels the rigid shaft pushed against her extremity and caused her considerable pain.

The ropes were tight, keeping her knees bent and her heels tight against the outside of her ass cheeks; consequently, the housekeeper or Slavemaster had a large area of ass to strike at will.

Plus, her anus was accessible to the sadistic male servants who frequently took the opportunity to spear her when the housekeeper was busy elsewhere. It was doubly uncomfortable, because the ropes continually pulled on her collar, forcing her to keep her head high. Whenever she needed to dip her head to glance at the floor, she drew the phallus deeper and caused herself even more pain.

However, Zabya had discovered that she could build up a rhythm and use the device for her own pleasurable ends, while scrubbing back and forth on the ceramic tiles. She had actually enjoyed the first 20 minutes of the day, as she experienced a series of multiple orgasms, but the novelty soon wore off.

The problem was, that the dildo became saturated and slippery and impossible to control in her greedy orifice. Try as she might, Zabya soon found that she couldn't keep the damn thing still. It was worst when she had to shuffle backward, because she completely lost control of the rigid cock, and being on the edge, a few nudges were enough to send her into oblivion.

She wasn't a house slave, so cleaning the floors was an infrequent event, as was her presence in the palace. When she arrived a year earlier, the young Omani was detailed to the gardening section of the household staff and had spent all her waking hours tending the magnificent gardens and the huge private beach. The outdoor work suited her physical attributes and she had enjoyed most of the heavier jobs she was forced to do.

However, it had also given her the chance to try and escape. None of the other girls were interested, so when she finally managed to evade the attention of the guards, she took her opportunity and scaled the wall, wearing nothing but her short smock and a shock collar.

The desperate teenager ran and ran for all she was worth toward the west. The neck restraint was her undoing though. She thought that if she got far enough away, the controls wouldn't work, but didn't realize the device had a satellite navigation system in it.

The guards tracked her down in the mangroves after just 4 hours of freedom and hauled her back to the palace, where she was beaten in front of the staff and then locked in a cell for the previous three days. That morning she was released and without an explanation, put into the punishment culits and told to clean the ceramic tile corridors of the main building.

Thwatt! "Muuuuumph!" Zabya moaned, when yet another flash of pain tore down the centre of her posterior.

Her position meant that the skin across the upper slopes of her ass was taut and an easy target, as was the deep valley as far as her puckered anus. The housekeeper aimed for that most sensitive spot and made several direct hits, sending shock waves through her sweating body.

"Get a move on whore. I want this finished before the agent comes to collect you." The housekeeper scowled.

Despite her lack of an education, Zabya understood the implication of an agent coming to collect her. It meant that she was moving on. If she hadn't been gagged, she'd have asked the housekeeper where she was going, but instead she dipped her head and continued scrubbing the floor.

The belligerent woman walked away to berate another slave who was working six feet further down the corridor.

Zabya was slowly backing down the passageway with her bucket of soapy water and scrubbing brush, while the second thrall was moving back toward her, polishing the damp floor tiles. With each movement back, droplets of cunt cream dripped onto the tiles, which needed to be cleaned up as they appeared between their knees.

Her fellow slave escaped a blow from the housekeeper, when the miserable woman walked past her and disappeared into the kitchen. Zabya paused to study her unfortunate companion's bobbing buttocks.

The dark-skinned thrall was spared a dildo, but had a knotted culit fastened between her ankles, while her lower legs strapped to her thighs, thus spreading them wider than her butt cheeks. Zabya had a perfect view of the girl's prominent cunt. Her glaring red labium lips were divided by a heavy line of clitoral meat.

She had noticed the housekeeper, on several occasions, swing her tawse low to wrap the fingers of the weapon round the curving bulge of her vulva. It was hardly a comfort, but Zabya found herself feeling grateful that her own quim was occupied with the culit's dildo. The woman was forced to lash her strokes across her cheeks.

A few minutes later Zabya the sound of a man's voice coming from the kitchen, which she hoped signalled that the agent had arrived. Sure enough, a few minutes later the housekeeper appeared with an Arab dressed in a white thawb and a red and white checked keffiyeh headdress.

"Is that the thrall?" the bearded Arab asked, pointing down the hall toward her.

"Yes," she said, nudging the house slave over to the side of the passageway with her foot. "Whore, get your ass in here!" she commanded, pointing at her feet.

This was it. The man had come to take her to another Sheik, or a slave market. The youngster was relieved, because a new owner meant a change of scenery and new opportunities to escape.

 

 

2. Salim - Meeting an old friend.

 

Salim carefully negotiated the mobile staircase, followed by Masumi and Ejaz, his body guard. As soon as his sandals touched the ground, he set off across the 100 yards or so of shimmering hot tarmac. They were making a beeline for the first of two Mercedes Mini buses, which were waiting to whisk them away to meet his friend, Sheik Abdul Jahid.

The Sheik's Bombardier Global 8000 had just touched down at Al Ain International Airport having originally been scheduled to fly him to Dubai. The plane had only just taken off from Bangkok, when his old friend contacted him via satellite link for a business chat.

During the conversation Abdul mentioned that a clandestine slave auction was about to take place just across the border in Oman. The location was close to the garden oasis town of Al Ain, which was in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi. Salim was interested, so after a short discussion, Abdul agreed to take him, provided he arrived in good time.

It was too tempting a treat to miss, so Salim immediately ordered Arthur, his pilot, to divert to the modern airport at Al Ain, where he was told that a couple of cars would be waiting for him. It was midday Wednesday, and the auction was happening later that day, so he knew that they didn't have much time to organise themselves. The day was stiflingly hot, with the temperatures in the high 30s, which of course was exactly the kind of weather Salim was comfortable with.

"Salim, wait up!" Masumi called, lagging behind him.

The blonde-haired youngster caught up and clutched his arm tightly.

"It's so hot Salim! The air is so dry!" she gasped, trying to slow him down.

They had spent a day in Bangkok, where the temperatures were in the mid 30's, but the humidity had been high, enabling her to cope. Having arrived in the UAE, the weather was hot and dry, conditions Salim had warned her to prepare for.

The billionaire's Bombardier 8000 was kitted out with not only leather seating for 14, but also a small bedroom at the back, where he would normally play with his concubines. However, Salim had spent the entire flight from Bangkok with Masumi, lying with her on the bed.

He tried to explain why she couldn't go with him to his friend's Palace in Al Ain. He hadn't missed the opportunity to shaft the naked girl while they adopted various different positions on the bed. However, he wasn't sure if she fully appreciated the situation, especially as her mind had been occupied with the relentless fucking.

Masumi had a lot to learn about the Male dominated society in the Arab world and needed to accept that the slave auctions, with very few exceptions, were only attended by male buyers. He wanted to send her to a hotel with the concubines, just for the night, while he attended the event, but she was having none of it.

Salim was desperate to get her to Dubai, where he could begin her training in earnest, so didn't want any distractions before he got home. The youngster was having a strange effect on him, which manifested itself in peculiar ways. He had only known her a couple of days, but he found himself hating the idea of not having her by his side. He had made her his chosen woman, but he had always been able to separate himself from his previous choices.

He pointed out that if she went with him to his friend's palace, etiquette dictated that she'd have to stay with his concubines. Even though he tried to put her off with stories of harsh treatment, the idea immediately piqued her interest. They discussed the auction, whereupon he reiterated that the only girls attending it would be the thralls being bought and sold and would therefore not be able to go.

Masumi tried every angle she could to persuade Salim to take her to the slave auction. She even suggested that she pose as a thrall and that he could purchase her from his friend, who would be pretending to sell her.

Salim immediately dismissed the idea as fanciful and ridiculous, and quickly changed the subject. She had a romantic perception of being a slave girl, but the reality. Salim knew, was that the thralls were treated very harshly indeed.

Salim came across Masumi 4 days earlier on Folito Island, which was just off the coast of southern Japan. He had gone there at the invitation of Jirou Tanaka for their Pony-girl Gala, only to find, when he arrived, that the director had been murdered by one of his lieutenants, Aiko Yamada. It was an eventful trip and a productive one, for Masumi agreed to accompany him to Dubai.

From the first moment he met the Japanese young woman he decided he wanted to possess her good looks and beautiful body. The billionaire finally persuaded her to leave Folito Island for a two week 'Holiday', to see if she enjoyed the lifestyle and liked being one of his 'Chosen' women.

For the first time in his life, Salim had truly become infatuated with a girl he wanted to possess. He knew that sooner or later he was going to have to rein in her youthful enthusiasm and either train her himself or put her in his purpose-built fitness centre in Dubai, but that would come later after they arrived in Dubai.

All the girls he acquired, through one method or another, and who he thought would make the grade, were taken and transformed into fit and healthy individuals in his superbly equipped fitness centre. Most of the girls he came across at the slave auctions or the Pony-girl meets needed a lot of work on them before they were fit to enter his harem or be trained as Pony-girls.

A group of his finest doctors, educators, and fitness experts, all female of course, put the girls through a rigorous training schedule to prepare them for a life of dedicated slavery. He likes the girls to be 18 or 19, for they are just developing into athletes. However, Masumi was already 21, so Salim realized he'd have to make an exception in her case if she didn't respond to his own personal training.

Whenever he went to one of the many invitations he received, or attended a Pony-girl meet, he usually travelled with a small entourage of five people. His bodyguards, Ejaz and Yafir usually travelled with him, along with two girls from his harem and his chosen woman. That privilege would go to the fittest girl in my harem or a 'special' girl like Masumi.

"I warned you about the heat, Masumi," Salim chided the sweating youngster. She had never been to Northern Africa before and was suffering.

She was dressed in a purple, ankle length abaya and matching silk scarf, which covered her splendid strawberry blonde hair. The shirtdress had intricate silk embroidery around the bodice, which should have taken the eye away from Masumi's substantial breasts but failed miserably!

When he told her, she had to wear a full burqa to some receptions, like his concubines, Masumi almost exploded. Salim was discovering that his new acquisition had a strong character during the day and yet displayed a gloriously submissive nature in bed.

After much arguing, he finally agreed to take her to meet Sheik Abdul Jahid, instead of going to the hotel with his concubines and the bodyguard, Yafir. He had never met a woman that he couldn't say no to, until he met Masumi. Somehow, he was going to have to change that, he resolved.

Salim was within a yard of the silver Mercedes, when the door slid open and his friend Abdul stepped out into the glare of the midday sunshine.

"Salim!" he exclaimed. "How the devil are you?"

"Well, thank you," Salim replied. He stepped forward into his friend's arms and returned his bear hug, while patting his back. "Abdul, you rogue. I wasn't expecting you to collect me." He stood back to look at his old acquaintance. "I do believe you've put a few pounds on since I last saw you," Salim joked.

"Goodness! Who is this Jewel accompanying you to our humble town, Salim?"

He turned to see Masumi bursting with excitement to meet his friend, but also remembering not to speak until she was spoken to. It was rule number one for Salim's chosen women, to ensure they showed respect and modesty in the company of men. It was going to be difficult for Masumi to adjust, but she had taken his instruction on board, after he had lectured her earlier, during the flight.

"Ah yes Abdul, this is Masumi who joined my staff a few days ago and will be my companion for the foreseeable future."

"You disappoint me Salim!" his friend said, moving forward to grasp Masumi's hand. "I thought you'd brought me a present!" he laughed. "Masumi, pleased to meet you," he added graciously.

Masumi bowed her head deferentially, the way she'd been taught, while allowing Abdul to gently shake her hand.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied.

Salim knew that the suggestion that Masumi was a present, was more serious than he made it sound. When meeting to discuss the slave market, it was rare for him to be accompanied by a woman, unless it was a slave, or a concubine. Of course, if they were meeting to discuss business then he would take a PA, or one of his chosen women, especially if it was a function or an event.

He had once given his friend a slave girl at one of the Pony events they had attended together. Abdul had returned the favour sometime later. They had known each other since their university days. They were both 36 and had inherited great wealth from their oil rich fathers. Their wealth could be measured in the trillions of dollars and from the moment they left university to join their fathers in their respective companies, they had been competing against each other ever since.

They were similar in many ways, having the same business and leisure interests, like acquiring lucrative companies, owning beautiful women and racing the finest Pony-girls in the world. Both men were 6'0" tall, athletically built and had a full head of dark hair.

However, facially they were very different. Abdul had brown eyes and was light skinned, while Salim had blue eyes and was dark skinned. Salim looked at his friend's broad mature grin and thought that he had aged quickly during the 14 years since they left university.

His friend was dressed in a fawn linen casual jacket and white slacks, while Salim wore an ankle length white thawb. Abdul had put on weight over the years, while he had remained slim and more youthful looking, he thought.

Salim took hold of Masumi's hand and guided her up the step into the mini-bus. He and Ejaz followed and after Abdul climbed in, he slid the door shut, cutting off the oven heat and allowing the air-conditioning to try and recover its lost ground.

Masumi slipped into the far back seat and Salim followed, to sit beside her in the centre seat, while Abdul settled himself beside his friend on the other side of the bus.

"This is much better," Masumi whispered in Salim's ear.

The mini bus had three tiers of grey leather seating, the centre one being a single seat facing the sliding door. Ejaz parked himself there, in front of Masumi, while two more bodyguards occupied the front pair of seats behind the driver. Abdul gave a signal and the black windowed vehicle smoothly pulled away to begin its journey to his palatial residence.

 

 

3. Zabya - Prepared for auction.

 

Zabya put the brush down and began crawling toward the figures who stood watching her rather slow progress, impatiently. The twenty feet of ceramic tiles seemed like a mile, for the fat dildo within her sopping quim, nudged back and forth in time with her movement.

"Get a move on! We haven't got all day." Growled the woman as Zabya passed her on the way through to the kitchen.

"Right, let's see what we've got here," The tall Arab said, while reaching down behind her and taking hold of the culit that was roughly level with her cunt. "Grab her shoulders, Elsa."

Together they lifted Zabya bodily and laid her face down on the table, so her knees hung over the back edge of the wooden surface. Her firm breasts cushioned her body, but the thick, combination shock-posture collar she wore round her neck, meant she couldn't lower and rest her head.

As soon as her torso had settled on the flat surface, she felt the ropes being released from her collar. Her ankles fell back, thus withdrawing the wooden cock from her creamy orifice.

"Ahhhhhh!" she sighed with relief and relaxed while the housekeeper set about unlocking the padlock and removing the culit from between her ankles.

"You'll have to keep an eye on this one. She's a runner and a real troublemaker," the woman informed the agent. "Where are you taking the little bitch, Faris?"

"Her Master is putting her in tonight's auction at Al Buraimi. Sheik Bin Hali is attending it himself to find a replacement and maybe an additional thrall for the household."

"Good, I've been complaining for several weeks that we need a more reliable pair of hands," exclaimed the housekeeper.

The obstreperous woman marched across the kitchen and dumped the restraint, minus the dildo in the agent's bag. She then collected another culit from one of her own containers and returned to the table. Zabya hated having her arms bound with a culit, for the restraint effectively imprisoned her and reduced the chance of escaping to almost nil.

The man pulled her arms onto her back, then slid the loops of the culit over her hands, up her arms, to where he tightened them just above her elbows. The loops were tight enough to grip her limbs, but slack enough to allow the blood to flow to her arms and hands. The knotted culit was short and drew her elbows together painfully, to within three inches of each other.

The restraint brought back dreadful memories, when a year earlier she had had to wear one for a week, before finally being sold to her new owners. During that week she suffered the worse abuse she had ever experienced, while in the hands of a group of men who had been tasked to take her to the auction.

"Could you fetch the paperwork Elsa, while I give her the once over," Faris asked the housekeeper.

"She's a filthy little whore, Faris. I wouldn't risk sticking your cock in her sandpit."

"Elsa, if I don't drill these little bitches, I can't fill in their labels. It's a thankless task, but somebody has to grade their holes."

"I'm guessing she won't score very high from the look of her scrawny ass; and take care you don't catch anything!" The burly woman scoffed.

Her words fell on deaf ears, for the agent's hands descended on her defenceless butt cheeks, moments after the housekeeper departed the room. Zabya suspected from her experiences, that there wasn't a man alive who would pass up the opportunity to drive his cock into her succulent quim, especially as the dildo had left it pouting and oozing with cunt cream.

"Are you a filthy whore?" the tall Arab muttered, taking a hand from her butt and lifting the hem of his thawb onto her back.

Zabya felt the tip of his cock tease her wet entrance, before thrusting into her with some force. His girth stretched her, beyond her normal elasticity, making her groan with a mixture of pain and pleasure. He was fatter than the dildo but her quim was saturated, making his task easier.

"Yes, the real thing is a better isn't it whore!" he exclaimed, beginning to piston fuck her juicy quim.

Then, without warning, he slid from one orifice and speared her higher, tight pucker. His slowed while taking care not to damage the goods and kneaded her buttocks, which provided some additional pleasure to his somewhat speedy fuck. She had never climaxed while having her ass hole pummelled, but she was approaching one when he suddenly started to jerk a modest amount of jiz into her back passage.

He withdrew and then grabbed her slim hips, before starting to roll her over.

"Mummmph," she complained, as her body twisted over, so that she ended up laying on her arms, behind her back.

The tight culit that pulled her arms and shoulders painfully back, had the effect of stretching her firm, shapely breasts, which were topped with large dark areolas and chunky nipples. The men who had used her body over the years had always homed in on her nipples; and because of the rough treatment, they had grown to an impressive size.

"Now these should push your price up a few Rial," he said, squeezing her cherry pips and twisted them back and forth cruelly.

"Oooomph!" Zabya moaned, at the sheer ferocity of the Arab's action.

His eyes roamed over her naked body, while his hand fondled her half hand breasts. "These are a bit small," he muttered, before releasing her tits and running his hands down her body to her belly.

The prominent hump of her vulva was covered in a week's growth of stubble, which he smoothed with his thumbs, before dipping lower. Zabya kept her thighs apart, stretching her cunt, enabling him to easily explore her raw clitoral ridge.

He forced his thumbs into her cleft and parted her firm lips, then prised her clit out with the nails of his thumbs. The moment the agent pulled and painfully crushed her tender nub, Zabya closed her eyes to avoid making a protest.

The bearded Arab soon tired of exploring her body. He removed his hand and reached up to grab her chin, then began studying her face. The housekeeper returned to the room and laid some sheets of paper on the table, along with a black garment, which Zabya suspected was a burqa.

"This thrall is filthy Elsa, let me wash her face before I put the burqa on her," he said twisting her head one way and then the other.

Zabya recognized surprise and interest in the Arab's dark eyes, which was a common reaction when abusers finally looked at her face, after using her holes.

"Are you going to behave yourself if I take the gag out," he asked.

She thought about it for a moment and then nodded. She lifted her head off the table, while he reached round and released the gag. He helped her to sit up, and then taking a wet cloth, which the housekeeper handed over, brusquely washed the dirt and grime from her face. The cold, wet cloth felt wonderful and when he had finished, he continued to study her features.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes Master," she whispered, demurely.

"She's had her breakfast," the housekeeper growled.

"Give me a bowl of rice. The auction doesn't start for another five hours," he informed her. "And I have to pick up three more thralls before I deliver them."

The disgruntled woman went and fetched the rice, whereupon Faris used his fingers to feed her. It was a bizarre act, Zabya thought, in the midst of so much cruelty. As soon as she had finished, he gave her a drink of water and then replaced the gag, before dropping the burqa over her head. A ring on the posture collar was fed through a hole in the garment, to which the housekeeper tied a rope.

Zabya followed the agent out of the palace, through the servant's entrance, to a small van. He shepherded her into the back and tied her rope to a bar, high on the side. She waited for him to slam the doors, then tested to rope. It was too strong to break, but it was long enough for her to lie down.

The young Omani teenager found a reasonably comfortable position by curling up on the floor. Just before she drifted off to sleep, Zabya wondered what her next owner would be like, and whether he would be as cruel as those before him.