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Zorra moaned in pleasure as her lover thrust into her. Prinz growled with delight. “You like that, don’t you bitch? You’re such a whore.”
Zorra moaned again and arched her body into him, wrapping her legs around his back and pulling him as deep into her as she could. She had to admit she had become very good at making her master believe that she actually enjoyed being fucked ten times a day.
Prinz gave her another dozen or so thrusts and then spurted into her with a grunt of satisfaction. He rolled to the side, panting from his exertion and slapped her backside as she rolled over. “You’re getting fat, bitch. You’re not getting enough exercise. Perhaps I should increase the number of clients you serve.”
Zorra wiped the dribble of semen from her thighs and vulva. Prinz was in a talkative mood. Usually he left her alone to douche. She was, after all, his highest priced whore and he didn’t want her getting pregnant. She walked over to the mirror and eyed her reflection. By any standards the woman who looked back at her was undeniably beautiful with lush curves that would delight any man, however, perhaps Prinz was right. Perhaps she was carrying an extra kilo or two. It wasn’t as if she got any real exercise. Being fucked ten times a day really didn’t require much in the way of real exertion. Mostly she simply had to lie back and let the client do what he wanted. Only occasionally did she run into a real sexual athlete and even then it hardly taxed her strength or endurance. She was in remarkably fine shape for a woman who spent most of her working hours in a bed.
“Perhaps I do need to lose a kilo,” she admitted. “I’ll ease up on the chocolates.” That was another thing. Prinz kept her well fed and there wasn’t really anything to do except read or do her toenails when she wasn’t working and even then caring for her cuticles was attended to by her maid servant. Fortunately, she really enjoyed reading and Prinz had proved her with a fine library of soppy romance novels.
“Good girl,” Prinz said. He pinched her delicately rounded backside and started pulling on his clothing. Usually when Prinz was finished with her she was through for the night, especially since they usually shared the bed until morning. Tonight, however, he had somewhere to go.
“Duty calls,” he said. “Have a bath. I might be back before morning. I’ve got a couple of new girls to look over and they might not keep me busy for more than a few hours.”
“Busy” usually meant that Prinz and a couple of his henchmen were going to “break in” one or more new recruits. It was a job he really enjoyed. However, for some reason it seemed to leave him even more aroused when he was through and he usually returned to her bed for some early morning lovemaking. Or at least “lovemaking” was what Prinz called it. As far as Zorra was concerned it simply meant she got fucked one more time before being allowed to relax during the day.
Usually she had the mornings and afternoons off. It meant she got to catch up on her sleep and eat whatever she felt like. She was also allowed to associate with a few of the other high-priced girls. For the most part, however, she did not seem to have much in common with them. Most of them were illiterate and Muslim to boot. They spent a good deal of time in prayer, asking forgiveness for their sinful lives. Several of them had tried to interest Zorra in their religion, but after an initial interest, something inside her made her resist the idea that she was being punished for her sins by being forced to live the life of a whore, and so she kept to herself, selecting from among the array of romance novels and few books on sexual techniques that Prinz had provided for her.
She did a good deal of her reading in Prinz’s suite of rooms. They were quite, luxuriously furnished, and Prinz liked to find her there when the urge took him to give her a good fucking. For some reason known only to her master, Zorra was favoured in this regard over all of the other girls.
There were a lot of things she did not understand. For one thing she had no memories older than two months. She could remember lying in bed in one of the rooms in the brothel, her body covered in bruises, and with a small prune of a man called Doctor Helm attending her. He spoke to her in German, a language she readily understood and acquainted her with the fact that she was Prinz’s prize whore, a fact that he proved to her, by fucking her as soon as she was healed well enough to perform. It turned out she was quite good at pleasing him, which seemed to confirm what he had told her about her status. A week or so after that she was turned over to Prinz who confirmed the fact that he was her master. She was never given any explanation about her injuries other than being told that she had been roughly handled by a client and that Prinz had saved her. For that she was grateful and she accepted the fact that he had a right to enjoy her body whenever he wished.
She also found that she spoke Turkish. Languages seemed to come naturally to her, something she also accepted as normal. All of the books provided for her were in English and French, two languages she had no trouble reading. She often wondered about herself, but there was no way of learning anything else about her past. She was Zorra the prostitute, and Prinz seemed especially fond of reminding her of that fact.
She rang for the servant. In spite of Prinz’s comment about her weight, her nightly exercise had left her hungry. That was something else about the brothel. The food was excellent and she was allowed to eat as much as she liked. This time, however, she ate only half of what was brought her. If she was getting fat she would have to watch what she ate.
Her meal finished, she headed for the bathroom and with the aid of the servant enjoyed a long and luxurious bath. Then wrapping herself in a robe she waited for her hair to be combed out and then tired out from her exertions retired to Prinz’s bed to rest.
She awoke just after
She knew that the cabinets were locked for a good reason and that she shouldn’t even be thinking about what was behind the polished mahogany doors, but something bothered her. That was another thing about her personality. Memories, or rather her lack of memories nagged at her. What had she been before she had become Prinz’s prized whore? She was definitely not like the other girls. None of them were fluent in several languages and most of them were not the least bit curious about anything outside their limited existence. It had not taken her more than a few minutes conversation to discover that when it came to intelligence she was far ahead of most of them. What was in the locked bookcases that Prinz did not want her to see?
She sighed in frustration. There was no way to find out without breaking into the cabinets and the locks looked too complicated to pick. Besides, she doubted very much that she had any ability in the skills normally practiced by a burglar. Or did she? That was what was so frustrating. Not having any past simply made her more curious . For all she knew in her previously life she might have been a master thief.
For now, however, she decided to let things alone. Prinz could return at any time, especially since he had not seen her for several hours. It was better if she left things alone until she was sure she would not be discovered.
Prinz did return, and he was not in a particularly good mood. “Stupid bitches,” he explained. “Had to show two of them who was boss. Sometimes these foreign whores don’t think they have to do what they are told. Not like you. Right Zorra?”
“Yes master,” Zorra answered. Prinz had made it clear from their first meeting that she was to address him as “master.” For some reason only he knew, he seemed to find it quite pleasing when Zorra called him that even though he did not demand it of some of the other girls.
He unbuttoned his pants. “I’m in the mood for a good blow job. On your knees whore.”
“Yes, master,” Zorra replied, dropping to her knees on the thick Persian rug. It was nothing she had not done many times in the past few months and she was very good at it. She knew just how to tickle Prinz’s cock to get the desired reaction. Within minutes she had him moaning in delight.
“Damn, you’re good,” he panted. “You’re worth every dollar I paid for you.” He gripped her by the hair, sliding in and out of her mouth as Zorra worked him into a state of erotic excitement. And then he came, shooting into her throat. He liked for her to swallow his seed, although sometimes he liked to pull out early and shoot it all over her. Not today, however. She would have clients to attend to shortly and he didn’t want her smelling like shrimp that had been left out too long.
Prinz zipped up his trousers. “I’ll see you later tonight. We’ll be able to spend a bit more time together. I have a few very well-heeled clients who have asked especially for your services and they want you for half the evening. I am pleased to say that your fame is growing.” Zorra nodded obediently. By now she was quite used to this part of her life.
She got up and washed out her mouth and brushed her teeth as soon as Prinz left the room. He would have been most annoyed if he had known she had done this, flattering himself that Zorra actually enjoyed pleasing him sexually. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Something in Zorra’s character told her this was wrong, in spite of the fact that Helm and Prinz had asserted it was the only profession she had ever known.
She went again to the locked cabinet and stared at the lock. On a whim she reached up to her hair and removed a hairpin. She poked it tentatively into the lock and then suddenly a part of her brain took over. A few seconds later the lock opened with a sharp click. “How did I know how to do that?” Zorra wondered. Carefully she replaced the hairpin and then opened the cupboard door.
If she had thought to discover something startling, she was disappointed. Inside there were a number of thick books, several of them bound in leather. Other than the fact that they looked more expensive than the romance novels and sex manuals on the other shelves there did not seem to be anything special about them. She pulled one out at random and studied the title. Her eyes widened and then she took out another and another.
The Discovery of Tomb of Jengis
Khan; The Lost City of the Maya; Encounters in the Lost
World. The titles were
exotic, but it was the name of the author that sent Zorra’s world crashing
around her. Every one was written
by
Larra shoved the books back into the case with trembling hands. Her body was slick with sweat and her legs would barely support her. Lost memories slammed into her consciousness with such force that she almost fainted.
“I’m
She placed her hands on the shelves of the bookcase to keep from falling. “Oh god,” she gasped. “What did they do to me?”
Everything came back. Everything. Her body shook with rage. “How could they do this to me?” Shame mixed with her anger as she contemplated what she had been forced to do over the last few months. Then a deadly calm came over her. Slowly she replaced the books and closed and locked the cabinet.
She returned to the bedroom and quickly realized that there was nothing for her there. The only clothes available were Zorra’s gauzy garments, intended to display rather than hide her body. “Alright,” she thought. “I think know where I can get something decent to wear.”
She rang for the maid and seated herself before her dressing table. It was a routine that Zorra performed every evening and Larra did not want to do anything to attract undue attention. She sat patiently while the maid helped apply her makeup and then waited patiently for her clients to show up.
Alone she welcomed the two men into the room, but she was more than ready for them. They were typical of many of Zorra’s clients; two middle-aged Turkish businessmen dressed in dark suits and with white shirts. No doubt they both had wives and children at home, and Larra had no intention of depriving those wives and children of their husbands and fathers. However, she also did not intend either of them to leave the room without teaching them a lesson.
She knew just what they wanted. She had all of Zorra's memories, and shameful as they were, it told her exactly what type of woman her clients expected. She greeted them with a compliant smile and ushered them into the room.
The bath was ready and she had no trouble getting them to remove their clothing and enter the steaming water. “She really is what Prinz claimed; a real sex goddess,” one of them said. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and considerably overweight. He eyed Larra’s supple body with an almost predatory gaze.
The second man, taller and thinner, smiled his agreement. “She’s got legs that seem to reach to her shoulders. I can hardly wait until they are wrapped around me.”
The two men spoke as if she was not even there. Ss far as they were concerned, she was just another thing to be used; something they had paid for and could use any way they wanted. The bathtub was designed for at least five people and was more like a small pool. As Larra slipped off her clothing and stepped into the water they both reached for her.
It was critical that she be quick and catch the two men unprepared. She slammed the palm of her hand into the fat man’s forehead, snapping his head back against the side of the tub and then twisted her body around, locking the thinner man’s head in a strangle lock. As he thrashed frantically she tightened her grip, choking off his air supply. Water and bubbles flew in all directions, but gradually the client’s struggles weakened until he went completely limp. She dragged him over to the side of the tub and pulled him half out. The battle had left her out of breath, reminding her that part of what Prinz had said was true. She might not be exactly fat, but months of inactivity had seriously sapped her conditioning. However, she couldn’t worry about that now. She returned to the tub and rescued the fat man just before he slipped below the surface of the water. She was really panting by the time she had pulled him clear of the water.
Quickly she took several of the towels and with some effort ripped them into long strips. She bound and gagged the two unconscious men, thinking, that Prinz was going to have two very dissatisfied clients. But she also had something planned for Prinz.
She sorted through the men’s clothing. None of it fit perfectly, but the tall man’s shirt, jacket, and pants were close enough. She didn’t bother with their shoes, preferring her slippers. She tucked her long hair under the red fez one of the men was wearing. The hat was a bit large for her so she managed to make it all fit. She hoped that from a distance she would not look too much like a woman. Prinz had his brothel well defended and she needed to get close to the guards as possible without them spotting her.
She stepped to the door of the room and eased it open. She knew enough about the layout of the brothel to know that there was usually as least one guard in the corridor. Interestingly enough they were not posted there to keep any of the girls from escaping, but to protect them from overly brutal clients. Just how well that worked was the way Timur, Belgin, and Nedim had been allowed to work her over.
The guard was standing about thirty feet down the corridor. He caught sight of her immediately, but Larra had expected that he would. There was no place to hide in the long corridor and to approach the guard she would have had to step into the open. Instead she allowed only her head and shoulders to peek around the door frame and she motioned for the guard to come to her.
He came quickly, no doubt thinking that something had gone wrong with Prinz’s most valuable whore. Larra met him just inside the door, her instep flattening his testicles against his abdomen. She was much less inclined to be merciful with one of the men who had probably helped to beat her senseless and had no doubt participated in the process of breaking her in. She followed up the attack with two quick blows to the head, dropping the thug to the floor.
She took his gun and truncheon, and then using some of the sheets from the bed tied him up as well, and then stepped into the corridor. She knew where she was going. Zorra had been there too many times for her not to know, and armed with the guard’s P38, she walked through the hallways toward Prinz’s rooms.
She encountered two more guards. She made them wish they hadn’t. Although her simple disguise would not have passed muster against anyone who was alert, it did the job against the bored thugs who wandered the corridors of Prinz’s brothel. She was careful to drag the bodies out of the corridors, just in case someone showed up who might give the alarm.
She finally reached Prinz’s rooms. She had been there often, too often and knew their layout exactly. This time of day Prinz was usually busy “interviewing” new recruits or dealing with one of his contacts in the white slave trade. The former were often conducted in the bedroom and the latter in his office.
The room was beautifully furnished in the best art deco style; a mode that did not fit in with Larra’s more old-fashioned tastes, but she could see that all of it was very expensive. As she passed the massive white piano an idea came into her mind; one that made her smile grimly. “Bastard,” she thought. “He’ll wish he never heard of me.”
Prinz was talking with two men. One of them she did not know the other was a man called Dmitri. She remembered him as taking particular pleasure in taunting her as he helped Prinz break her in. All three men turned as she entered.
“I gave orders not to …” Prinz halted mid-sentence as he saw the gun in Larra’s hand. “Zorra, what are you doing dressed like that? And where did you get the gun?” His calm words belied the fear in his eyes, but if he was frightened now it was nothing compared to what he would be in a few minutes.
“Zorra is a dead as you soon will be unless you do exactly as I order,” Larra replied.
Prinz got up from behind his desk. “If you shoot me the guards will hear it,” he said edging his hand toward the top drawer of his desk. At the same time Larra noted Dmitri and the other man moving slowly away from each other, their hands moving toward their jacket pockets.
She shot Dmitri first and the other man second. She was not remotely creative in the way she killed them. She was using an unfamiliar firearm and aimed dead centre killing them both with the first bullet. “Don’t shoot,” Prinz screamed, raising his hands.
“I happen to remember that these rooms are soundproof,” Larra said. “Certainly no one heard my screams when you had me in here. And I expect no one will hear yours either.”
“W…What are you going to do?” Prinz quavered.
“Take off your clothes,” Larra ordered, paying no attention to Prinz’s questions.
Prinz complied, shaking with fear. Like many bullies he was terrified when he found himself at the mercy of someone else. “Now move into the living room,” she ordered, stepping aside so that Prinz could move past her.
“Wh…what are you going to do?” Prinz asked again.
“Vandalize your Bösendorfer,” Larra answered, gesturing toward the grand piano. “But first let’s just make sure you don’t get any foolish ideas about running off.” She herded him into the bedroom, hoping that he would find it as humiliating to be handcuffed by his own bondage gear as she had been when he had used it on her.
She secured his arms at the elbow, an especially painful position as she had learned on far too many occasions. He whimpered in pain, but Larra ignored him. If this was all he suffered he would be damned lucky. She finished her bondage with a ball gag, shutting off his protests and pleas for mercy. Then she marched him back into the living room.
Removing the piano strings took a little bit of effort. Without the proper tools she had to resort to using a pair of ordinarily pliers obtained from Prinz’s erotic torture kit. Her nipples throbbed just remembering the pain they had caused, and her mouth assumed a hard, cruel line as she focused on her task. Prinz had come closer than any man she knew to completely breaking her and turning her into something she was not. Nothing she did to him could be harsh enough.
“Get up on the stool,” she ordered. The piano stool was perfect for what she wanted, sturdy enough to hold his weight, and tippy enough to make him very nervous.
It took Prinz several tries, partly because he was trembling so badly he could hardly stand, and partly because the seat of the stool insisted on rotating until Larra finally held it steady.
Once on the stool his groin was level with her head, something she immediately took advantage of, going to work with the piano wire.
Prinz whimpered in fear and pain as Larra tightened the wire around his
genitals. But she wasn’t
through yet. She took the loose
end of the wire and standing on top of the piano secured it to a crystal
chandelier that hung overtop of the
Bösendorfer.
She pulled the wire tight and used the pliers to make sure it was
absolutely secure. Then she jumped
to the floor. She stood back
to survey her handiwork. Prinz
stared down at her in absolute terror.
If he fell from the stool the piano wire would cut into his genitalia
like a cheese cutter. It took
no imagination to figure out what would happen if that
occurred.
She was, however, not quite finished. She still had a couple of lengths of wire left. Tying one end of the wire to the top of the stool she ran it across the room and hooked it tightly through the upper hinge of the door. She was almost finished, but she had her goodbyes to say.
“I wish I could stay to see what happens when the door opens,” she said, “but I have another score to settle. Enjoy yourself.”
She opened the door and stepped into the deserted corridor. Quickly she wound the piano wire around the inside of the door handle and eased it closed, pulling the wire tight. When the door was opened it would jerk the stool out from under Prinz’s feet. She hoped no one came looking for him for a few hours. She wanted him to be able to think about what was going to happen to him for as long as possible.
Getting out of the brothel wasn’t all that difficult, not once Larra had removed a few more of the guards. Her only regret in escaping was that she could not take all of the girls with her, but she had a plan for that. A telegram to the American and British embassies alerting them to the presence of kidnapped British and American girls in Prinz’s brothel should stir up some trouble. She also intended to send one to someone else. Actually several someones who would no doubt be very glad to learn that she was alive. And then she had one more score to settle. Marchand was in for a rude surprise.
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