Prologue

 

The two men sat quietly in the large, airy, circular room at the top of the tower, silently watching the sun set over the golden dunes of the desert stretching away to the blazing horizon. Beneath their feet, the huge, fortress-like Palace hummed with the activity of its thousand occupants as they went about their end-of-the-day duties, while far above the meeting continued.

From the distance, the domed buildings and spires seemed to float above the trackless sands, their plain exteriors lending them the look of a high technology, research centre, concealing deep within, the secrets and the lives of its occupants, willing and otherwise.

"Ahmed," the deep voice of the Sheik murmured, "it is time for another selection of females to be obtained for my Hareem. The oil revenues continue to fatten our treasury and I grow bored of the ones currently here."

"Yes, Majesty," acknowledged the Palace administrator. "We will be returning the next batch of Hareem girls to their decadent Western cultures soon, and will have openings for another 24 within the next two weeks. What part of the world do you wish me to select the females from, Sire?"

"I think that ... ah, yes, Canada would do very nicely for the next set, but do not limit yourself to just that country if the resources and quality are not there. You may also procure from the southern United States and its West Coast state of California, if there is still a requirement to fill the quota."

"Aye, Sire," the retainer acknowledged his instructions. "Do I have your permission to employ the new Transportation Uniforms and shipping cocoons for this next acquisition?"

"Patience, Ahmed. Patience," the Sheik said slowly, stroking his grey-streaked beard reflectively, "I know that you wish to try all the new toys that you have had made by your German manufacturers, but I feel that we should test some of them a little more on the females we already have on hand, before utilising them on those who are completely unfamiliar with my Uniform and Equipment requirements. Perhaps, on the lot after this one, we will employ the isolation and restriction devices right at the beginning. Some of the females that you have tried these new toys out on have suffered quite severely in them, even after short durations. Is that not correct?"

"It is true, Sire, but I believe that we have solved the problems in that area and our most recent tests have given very satisfactory results."

"Oh? How so?"

"Sire, after the female has been fastened within her Travelling Cocoon, she is, as you know, totally isolated; bound, helpless, speechless, sightless and unable to hear any of what transpires even immediately next to her. Prior to being placed within it, we have, of course, fitted her with a chastity belt and plugs, and have found that though the females hate their Travelling Cocoon and Uniforms with a passion, they are able to endure them quite well. What we have done is to selectively control their hearing; providing what is known as 'white noise' through the earphones of their isolation helmets. This, apparently, allows the mind of the occupant of the Travelling Cocoon to fix on something, and thus prevents total sensory deprivation. She will have some very interesting dream experiences while in the Cocoon, but she will not go insane. We have also continued the process of ensuring that they are kept, ah ... for want of a better word ... horny, by means of concentrated sexual stimulation to their genitals and breasts during the time that they are imprisoned within their Cocoons, thus beginning their addiction to sex and disciplinary procedures in combination. The Uniform and Cocoon are wonderfully efficient at restraining a female and, with the proper attachments, she can be kept in it for up to 14 days at a time."

"Interesting, Ahmed," the Sheik said with a smile at his subordinate's enthusiasm, "but I don't wish them to be used until the next intake after this one coming."

"As you wish, Sire." Ahmed bowed, realising that he was pushing just a little too hard.

"What is the current status of the Hareem?"

"Sire, at the moment we have 17 of the 20 modules occupied, giving you a total of 204 wives in residence. Of these, 72 are being kept as Cow Girls and another 12 are in residence as Horse Women. As well, you have a 12 girl Lipizzaner Pony Team and another of Lipizzaner Horse Women. The rest reside in their modules. Of those, 60 are Second Level wives, and the others are Third Level."

"Very good, Ahmed. I shall look forward to receiving the next batch with great anticipation and I wish you to begin setting the process in motion at first light tomorrow."

"I shall begin at dawn, Sire. You may expect the next females within 14 days."

"Fine, fine, Ahmed," the Sheik mumbled. "I tire of the day, oh trusted retainer, and will now retire to my rooms. Ensure that one of my Third Level wives is brought to me for the night's entertainment. Chain and gag her in some unusual way. I wish you a good evening. Allah keep your soul from harm this night."

"Good evening, Sire, and may your steps be guided with His divine light," Ahmed said, bowing his way from the room.

Chapter One

The Application

 

At 19 the world seems to be at one's feet, waiting to blossom with all sorts of wonderful things.

My father and mother were divorced and wanted few entanglements with grown children still going to school, but they had been thoughtful enough to provide an apartment for me, even though I was attending one of the local colleges only on a haphazard basis. They'd combined forces, for once, to provide me with a monthly allowance over and above the apartment rental, so I only had to worry about preparing meals and finding things to hold my attention.

One day while sunning on the balcony, leafing through one of the up-market women's magazines that seemed to have sprouted roots in the apartment, despite the maid's efforts to keep it neat and clean, I came across a discrete advertisement near the back. In elegant script it stated that "excellent pay" was being offered for a five year, foreign service position, provided the applicant passed rigorous intelligence, appearance, and aptitude tests. For some reason it caught my eye while passing over the usual drivel, and knowing that I was far from stupid and had some modicum of culture, I penned a long and thoughtful handwritten reply to the impeccable Vancouver address, as was requested. I had become really bored with how things were going now that I was out in the big wide world all by myself, and thought that this might be just the thing to alleviate my growing ennui.

The allowance that mother and father provided was pretty good by most people's standards, but I always seemed to end up short of money after the second week of the month, then had to take it easy until the next cheque arrived. Later in the afternoon, a little uncomfortable from a mild sunburn and bored with sitting around the apartment, I walked down to the Granville Street post office and mailed it off. I promptly forgot about the letter I'd sent when my latest date, a handsome young law student named Jason, called and asked if I'd be interested in going to a hot new club downtown, later that evening.

Three weeks passed and I became more and more bored with a pointless life, until one afternoon the large gold-embossed envelope that would forever change my life arrived. Having forgotten completely about the application, I took it back to the apartment along with the usual selection of junk mail and then, like a little kid, opened all the other correspondence first. I sat at the glass and polished brass table staring thoughtfully at the enigmatic envelope propped against the flower vase centrepiece, wondering just what it contained. There wasn't a return address on it, only a postmark indicating that it had been mailed from in-town. Finally, I reached out and opened it with the silver letter opener.

The beautiful, flowing script of the handwritten note informed me that I was one of a select group of young women requested to appear at an exclusive downtown hotel for an interview, three days hence. It advised me that a limo would be sent to pick me up and it would return me to my apartment after the interview was concluded. In addition, the note requested that I dress appropriately.

The arrival of the note in the prestigious envelope aroused my curiosity, challenging me to do something that would be entirely different from my humdrum existence and that evening while watching some mindless fluff on TV, I mulled over what I would need to buy in the way of clothing and accessories, to really knock the socks off whoever was doing the interview. Right then, I began to plan my next two days for shopping, hair appointments, a manicure, facial, and the myriad of other small details that would complete my image of sophistication. Finally, I went to bed that night with a purpose, even if only for the next three days or so.

Strangely, during the past two weeks and on a number of occasions, I'd gotten the haunting feeling one gets when being inspected or stared at and a lot of the time, even during the day, I had the sensation that I was being followed. I could never catch anyone at it, try though I might to surprise them at their observances.

I spent the next 48 hours shopping for just the right clothes and shoes and completing my other appointments, then on the third day, took all morning preparing myself for my appointment with destiny, as I jokingly thought of it. How prophetic those thoughts were, I had no idea.

When the interphone buzzed, I checked the TV monitor and saw a tall, black-uniformed woman waiting in front of the camera for an acknowledgment. She wore the classic Chauffeuse's Uniform, but in addition, the bottom half of her face was hidden by one of the obscuring veils that are in favour in the Middle East. All I could see of her features were her dark, heavily made-up eyes; these being almost obscured by an even finer mesh veil that disappeared under the brim of her peaked cap. The eyes behind this fine mesh were separately delineated with what appeared to be a narrow strap passing up over the bridge of her nose, also disappearing under the bottom edge of the cap. Instead of the usual Chauffeur's jodhpurs, she wore a tightly-fitted, long, narrow, black skirt that descended to her ankles, and from under whose hem appeared the toes and heels of a pair of what I later found out were tightly-laced, six-inch heeled knee boots. When I looked her over more closely in the television monitor I noticed that her long and lustrous black hair was neatly coiffed; contained in some sort of invisible netting. Realising that she was being inspected, she held an elegantly lettered, small sign in front of her in gloved hands, not speaking a word. My name was all that was written on it.

Foolishly, I asked if she was here to pick me up for the interview, and she nodded wordlessly, then spun abruptly on her high heels and left the foyer with short, skirt-hobbled steps. I assumed that there would be some sort of kick pleat at the back of her tight skirt that would permit her to walk easily while wearing the snugly fitted and restricting garment, but there wasn't. It was obvious that she was a willing, so I thought at the time, captive of her clothing. She strutted out to the gleaming Rolls Royce limousine waiting under the portico, then waited expectantly for me by the opened passenger door. Without further delay, but a little nervous about the coming interview, I locked the place up, got into the elevator and on the way down to the lobby wondered to myself about the whole mysterious scene I had become involved in; not a little intrigued by the fact that there hadn't been one square inch of the Chauffeuse that was not covered, even if only partially. That in itself, here in Vancouver, was very strange.

I hadn't told anyone about the letter, mentally shrugging it off while I walked through the front doors and slid as gracefully as I could into the back of the limousine. The door closed with a solid, metallic thunk, the kind of sound that only comes from expensively engineered machinery. The Chauffeuse slid into the driver's seat, somewhat stiffly I thought, and spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of time settling herself in place behind the wheel. She leant forward for a few seconds and seemed to fumble under her seat, then there came a couple of subtle clicks when she connected something there. I wasn't aware of it of course, but she'd fastened locking hooks at the end of sturdy web type straps to staples on her skirt- and boot-hidden ankle cuffs. For the moment, they were long enough to allow her to use her feet on the accelerator and brake pedals. I watched with fascination when she next reached back to her shoulders and drew a pair of thick, wide, black leather straps over her shoulders and through the opened divider window between the passenger compartment and the driver's position, I heard the snap of each of their connectors when she slid them into the (also unknown to me at the time) locking restraint harness she was required to wear. I'd only seen seat restraint arrangements like that in acrobatic aircraft at the Abbotsford Air Show and wondered why the system appeared in such a luxury vehicle.

Next, to my amazed eyes, her tightly gloved hands reached over her shoulders to a bright protrusion on the high back of her seat and pulled up on another heavy strap. She fumbled with it for a moment at the back of her neck, under her netted hair, then clipped it to a substantial staple on what appeared to be a wide, silvery band that encircled her neck that until this point had been concealed by her hair and veils. Although I didn't realise it either at the time, of course, she was tightly and securely gagged beneath her veil, while under her restrictive skirt, she was locked into a remotely-controlled chastity belt, complete with a large and vastly intrusive, uncomfortable vaginal probe that monitored and disciplined her into complete subjugation. In addition, she wore a locked-in set of unobtrusive ear buds and so was totally and remotely-controlled from the suite of rooms at the hotel I was being taken to. Although appearing to be free of any encumbrance other than her clothing, she was kept in continuous, secure restraint. The vehicle contained a transceiver that assimilated and re-broadcast her governing signals to the very personal control of her hidden chastity belt, also ensuring that she stayed electronically locked into her seat harness and collar chain, unable to release herself until her Arabian mentors decided that she should be freed.

The large, expensive car moved off with a silenced hum from the powerful engine and I was driven in dignified splendour within its richly appointed interior, through the humdrum traffic of the busy mid-afternoon to the hotel's lower parking garage; there pulling into a reserved slot right next to the Executive Elevator. The door on my side swung silently open, but my Chauffeuse remained silent and unmoving in the driver's seat after she'd turned off the engine. Unseen by me, she moved her arms to cross each other to either side of her waist, manoeuvring the thick, staples of her glove-concealed wrist cuffs, these protruding through them on the inner side, into other, locking slots of the seat restraint harness hip belt.

I watched her suddenly stiffen, but could not understand why she did. Hidden within the structure of the seat a series of small but very powerful, geared-down motors tightened her ankle, waist, shoulder and neck restraints, pinning her securely. A panel on the divider between our compartments flipped open and an envelope dropped out. Naturally, I picked it up and saw that it was addressed to me and upon opening it I found that there was a single sheet of paper inside and a credit card-type key. The note instructed me to leave the vehicle and use the card to access the Executive Elevator next to the parking space, also informing me that the Chauffeuse would wait in the car for my return. When I glanced up at her again after retrieving the card and reading the information, I faintly heard another muffled whine coming from under the front seat, and watched while she was pulled deeply into the soft cushions when all of her restraints tightened even more. Her head was now drawn back very firmly into its rest, sinking into it noticeably so that she stared straight ahead. She seemed to struggle for a moment and I thought I heard muffled gasps of discomfort, but, after some twitching she sat totally unmoving and silent.