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The Glass Harem by Adriana Arden

The Glass Harem 
(Adriana Arden)

TGH - excerpt

Excerpt from: The Glass Harem


It is 1955, and attractive widow Isobel Forbes and her pretty, grown daughter Lorna are on a holiday cruise. They have stopped off for sightseeing in Kabesh, port city capital of Barbouria, a small African state that was once the realm of the notorious Barbary Pirates, which was situated on its North Western sea coast between Morocco and the Spanish Sahara, close to the Canary Islands.  But their ignorance of local customs leads to a scuffle in the bazaar and the desecration of a mosque and their arrest…


Wooden slatted shutters over the windows filtered out the brilliant afternoon sun from the white plastered office, while an electric fan in the ceiling attempted to stir the hot air.  Below it, Captain Velasquez of the Kabesh police, a lean greying man in his forties wearing a uniform shirt with rolled sleeves, frowned at Isobel and Lorna across his big desk, which disturbingly had a braided leather quirt laid across it.  They sat before him in their now stained and dishevelled summer dresses.  Somewhere during the chase Lorna had lost her sunhat while there was a tear in her mother’s skirt.  The two policemen who had rescued them from the mob outside the mosque were standing attentively behind their chairs. 

Velasquez consulted the notes he had taken from the reports made by his officers.  ‘It appears you have caused material damage to the wares of several street traders,’ he said, speaking in good English but with a more marked accent than Rashid’s.  ‘You started a public commotion and you have deeply offended the elders of the Dharami Street mosque which you entered so irreverently.  They also suffered injuries while trying to eject you.  In addition, you, Mrs Forbes, physically assaulted Hassan al Rashid, one of our most respected citizens, when he was only trying to come to your aid.  Do you deny any of this?’

Isobel took a deep breath. ‘No… but all this happened because Mr Rashid kept pressing his attentions upon us.  I was frightened that he had an ulterior motive, so I tried to get away from him.’

‘Are you saying that this is his fault?’

‘No… I mean, I found his behaviour… disturbing.  I was worried about my daughter’s safety!  So I… may have overreacted.’

‘I understand that Mr Rashid was only paying you both a compliment.  Did you not think to make allowances for different customs in another country?’  Velasquez asked acidly.  ‘Or do you believe the whole world must behave according to English standards?’

‘No… I am sorry for what happened.  Of course, I will pay for any damage I caused.’

This did not appear to improve Velasquez’s temper.  ‘Do you think of it as simply as that?  You have done more than cause damage, Mrs Forbes; you have deeply insulted us with your public display of wild and uncontrollable female behaviour.  I’m afraid your case will have to go before a court, which means you will be staying with us for some time.  I will arrange for your baggage to be removed from your ship…’

Isobel and Lorna both looked horrified.  ‘What?’ Isobel choked. 

‘You will not be completing your cruise,’ Velasquez said simply.

‘But…I said I could pay… I have money.   How much do you want?’

Velasquez glowered. ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’

Isobel looked horrified.  ‘No, of course not...’

‘Perhaps you think that as I am just a policeman of a little African country with skin darker than yours, I will accept a bribe to, as you say, turn a blind eye?’   

‘No not at all!’

‘That is good, because the penalty for attempting to bribe a public official is fifty lashes.’

Isobel bit her lip while Lorna swayed, feeling sick.

‘We have our own form of justice here,’ Vasquez continued, ‘and this will affect you; especially since you do not have a protector.’

‘A “protector”?’  Isobel asked.  ‘I don’t understand you…’

‘For women travelling without an older brother, husband or father in Barbouria, they need to have an officially designated protector: a male who will take responsibility for their actions.  There was a space for such a person to be named on the entry permits you signed when you were disembarking from your ship.  I see yours was left blank.’

Now Isobel recalled seeing the phrase.  ‘I didn’t know what it meant.  We don’t have such things in…’ she finished lamely…’ England.’

Velasquez smiled grimly.  ‘You should have asked.  Why are you not travelling with your husband, Mrs Forbes?’

‘I’m a widow.  I lost my husband in the war.’

‘Ahhh…. my commiserations.  It was a terrible time.  But you are still a most attractive woman.  Why did you not remarry?’

‘I did not feel the need to.’

‘All women need a man to care for them.  That is only natural.  Now you are facing criminal charges without anybody to speak for you.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself; and for my daughter!’

‘Perhaps in England, but you must understand that your word alone counts for very little here.  We allow visiting foreign women their liberties as long as they behave, but it is a courtesy not a right.  In your case that courtesy has now been withdrawn.’

‘I… I want to see a lawyer.’

‘Your protector could have engaged one.  As it is you do not have the right to do so.  One will be found for you nearer the time of your trial…’

‘But how long will that be?’

‘Oh… Three months… maybe four.  We do not rush justice in Barbouria.’

Lorna looked horrified. ‘B… but we can’t stay here for four months!’

Velasquez scowled.  ‘Are you saying Barbouria is not a fit place to stay for four months?’

‘No… not at all,’ Lorna said fearfully.

Isobel said: ‘I demand to talk to the British ambassador!’

Velasquez shrugged and spread his hands eloquently. ‘You may demand, Mrs Forbes, but alas, our small country does not concern your own enough for them to provide a full ambassador.  There is a consul, but I happen to know he is indisposed at the moment.  Not that there is anything he could do for you.  There is no doubt of your guilt.  I’m afraid you must face the consequences of your actions alone.’

Lorna snivelled while Isobel groaned in despair.

‘You brought it upon yourself,’ Velasquez reminded her. ‘And now, as subjects of criminal proceedings, you must be properly secured.’

‘Secured?’ Isobel asked.  ‘What do you mean?’

‘You are criminals and criminals and must be secured so that you cannot escape justice nor commit any more crimes.  Your passports will be confiscated and will be kept in custody.  That is the law.’

‘But aren’t we allowed bail?’

‘If you had a protector you could be released into his care upon payment of a surety,’ Velasquez said.  ‘But as you don’t…’

‘This is ridiculous!’

‘No, it is our law, and our people must see that even pretty Englishwomen are not above it.  The time of your great British Empire is passing, Mrs Forbes.  No gunboat will come to your aid.  Now you must obey the rules even of a little country such as ours.’  A smile played about his lips as he contemplated the consequences of that statement with evident pleasure, and for the first time his eyes lingered on their bodies until they squirmed uncomfortably.

Lorna snivelled and clutched at her mother’s hand.  Isobel squeezed her hand back reassuringly, although with little hope.  Velasquez smiled at the forlorn gesture.

‘First; female prisoners are not permitted clothes so you will both undress…’  He waved a hand and added generously: ‘… though you may continue to wear your sandals.’

As Isobel’s eyes widened and her mouth opened to vent forth her outrage at such a degrading suggestion, Velasquez rose, snatched up the quirt that had been lying across his desk and slashed it menacingly through the air before their eyes. 

‘No, not another word from you, Mrs Forbes!’ he thundered, so that she and Lorna flinched back in fear.  ‘In deference to your English sensibilities I have permitted you to speak for long enough already.  But women are given to us to be seen and enjoyed and their talk can soon become tiresome.  You and your daughter will obey my command without question or else I promise you will suffer for it!’

Behind them the two arresting policeman unhooked the quirts that had been hanging from their belts and stroked them menacingly.  Lorna squealed in fear.

‘Obey or your clothes will be removed for you…’ Velasquez growled.

Isobel looked into Lorna’s pale disbelieving face.  ‘I’m sorry, dear… but I don’t think we have any choice…’

They stood up and with trembling hands began to remove their clothes.  Under the eyes of Velasquez and the two policemen they stripped off their thin summer dresses, then their silk slips and finally their underwear.  In a minute they stood before them shivering although not from cold, wearing only their white leather sandals.

Instinctively their hands crept over their groins and breasts as if to shield them from the strange men’s gaze, but Velasquez snapped: ‘No, you will cover nothing!  This shame you feel is necessary.  Now clasp your hands behind your necks and stand straight!  If you drop your arms without permission, you will taste the whip!’

Stifling sobs of despair, they obeyed.

Velasquez stroked his full moustache and nodded in satisfaction.

Isobel was lusciously full figured.  She had a slightly doll-like face crowned by long golden wavy hair was coiled up in a bun.  Direct deep blue eyes shone out under straight, no-nonsense brows.  She had wide pouting lips and a neat nose with finely arched nostrils.  Her heavy breasts hung in soft, liquid curves, capped by large brown nipples.  Her hips were womanly in their fullness and her pale buttocks were smooth and fleshy.  A deep cleft mound of Venus with pouting inner lips showed at the junction of her soft thighs beneath a fluffy tangle of dark gold pubic curls.

Lorna was a slightly slimmer and less full-bodied version of her mother.  She had straight collar length brass-blonde hair brushed back from her high smooth forehead, light blue eyes, a straight neat nose and pouting, slightly petulant lips, not quite as wide as Isobel’s.  Her breasts were high set and prominent without being overlarge, capped by red-brown nipples.  She still had slightly girlish slim hips and her buttocks were well-rounded but not heavy.  Her pubic bush, thin about the edges but thickening to the centre, was a dark gold like her mothers, crowning a tight pubic cleft.

Under Velasquez’s unflinching gaze both women felt both fear and shame.  Their nipples, acting according to their shared instincts, at first shrank and crinkled in shame at their exposure, and then, perversely stimulated by this scrutiny, tingled and throbbed and swelled again to confuse and embarrass them with a show of arousal.

‘Turn around so I may see you from all sides,’ Velasquez commanded.

Miserably Isobel and Lorna obeyed, lowering their eyes to avoid the leering gaze of the policeman standing close behind them. 

‘I see where your daughter gets her beauty from, Mrs Forbes,’ he said.  ‘My compliments to you.   Now you will not speak again until I give you permission, or else…’ He held the tip of the quirt before their eyes.  ‘Keeping your hands where they are, you will turn and go through that door…’ He pointed to the entrance of a side room.

One of the policemen walked ahead and opened the door and then stepped aside.  Isobel and Lorna went through it with Velasquez following after them, driving them on with light flicks of his quirt across their pale bare buttocks.  Inside they caught their breath in horror at what they saw.

It was a small room whose only piece of furniture was a small workbench.  Otherwise it was lined with rows of hooks and narrow shelves which were hung and stacked with all manner of chains and cuffs, carved and wrought battens of wood and riveted strips and shining bars of metal.   There were canes and straps and lashes.  Amongst them dangled and thrust shocking phallic shapes.  The smell of rubber, oiled metal and leather filled the air.  Only the end wall of the room under a high window was free of shelves and hooks.  Instead mounted upon it was a row of five horizontal metal bars supported by hinged arms hung from heavy brackets, currently folded up against the wall as if they were some kind of exercise apparatus.

‘As you see, we do not take any chances with the security of our prisoners,’ Velasquez said, closing the door behind them.

While Isobel and Lorna gaped at the frightening array of devices, he went to a shelf and took down a box of cuffs and collars which he set out on the workbench.  They were made of leather reinforced by metal strips and studs and had D-rings set in their sides like dog collars to hook on leashes.  With them he took down a box of hollow rivets and a rivet punch and pliers tool.

‘Put your hands flat on the bench,’ he commanded them and trembling they obeyed.

He buckled sets of cuffs about their wrists, drawing them tight.  Then he used the rivet pliers to drive rivets through the protruding tongues of the buckles locking on to the row of matching holes in the heavy cuff leather beneath them.  Once they were in place the straps could not be unbuckled without the rivets being cut free.  

They replaced their hands behind their heads and then he had them rest their feet one at a time on the bench while he similarly secured cuffs snugly about their ankles.

‘Kneel!’  He commanded and they knelt before him, with their hands still clasped behind their heads.  He buckled leather collars about their necks and riveted them in place as well.  ‘There,’ he said as they whimpered at the weight of them and the frightening feel of leather enclosing their necks, ‘you see you have nice fresh new collars.’  They had metal stripes already riveted to their sides which bore some words in the local script followed by four digit numbers.

‘These will be registered as your prisoner identification numbers,’ he told them.  ‘But so that you are more than numbers I shall give you these as well…’ Another box provided a pair of large round tin tags on which he used a set of steel letter stamps to hammer their Christian names into them.  Then he hung the tags from their collars so they dangled in front of their throats.

‘There, now you are named and marked just like dogs,’ he said with satisfaction, patting their heads as he did so.

Then he took out a pair of tubular metal bars which had rings and padlocks at each end and in the middle.  He laid the bars across their shoulders and snapped the middle padlocks about their rear collar rings.  Then he had them bring their arms down with their elbows still folded until he could padlock the ends of the bars to the backs of their wrist cuffs.

‘Stand!’ he commanded, and they stood awkwardly, feeling the weight of the bars on their shoulders.  Now their arms were secured raised and bent; locked to what had become yokes of leather and steel.  This posture raised and displayed their breasts which they could now no longer conceal.  Instinctively they tried to pull their arms down but they were held fast.  This exposure perversely only made their nipples throb and stand-up even harder.  Velasquez smiled at this and lightly flicked their little hard flesh nubs with the tip of his index finger.

As they flinched away from him he barked: ‘stand still or else I’ll use this on them instead…’ and he held up his quirt menacingly, rubbing its braids over their nipples, which throbbed and popped up after it.

They stood before him trembling and swaying and biting their lips.  ‘Spread your legs,’ he commanded and they shuffled their feet apart. 

He reached down and stroked the fluffy softness of their pubic bushes, watching the looks of horror cross their faces as he did so.  Then he drew the side of his quirt up between their thighs so that its braided leather rasped through the soft clefts of their pubic mounds.  The women’s cuffed hands balled into impotent fists as they snivelled and clamped their jaws together, desperately stifling squeals of anguish and shame while their thighs twitched, struggling not to close against this unnatural tormentor, even as they felt surges of illicit excitement in their loins.

‘Don’t you like this?’ he asked.  ‘But I think secretly that you do…’ and he slid his fingers in place of the quirt into their clefts, rubbing them to and fro and then raising them level with Isobel and Lorna’s eyes to show the wetness they had deposited upon them.  ‘See, even correct English women have their secret passions…’

The two women hung their heads in shame but Velasquez lifted their chins so he could look into their distraught faces.  ‘Do wish to say something?  If you do you will speak politely and call me “Sir”, do you understand?  Or else…’ and he scraped the quirt across their hard nipples.

They nodded frantically, and then Isobel choked out, although the honorific almost stuck in her throat: ‘Please Sir, do what you want with me, but I… I beg you don’t treat my daughter like this…’

‘How very noble to offer yourself to save her, Mrs Forbes.  Are you fearful I will violate her?  But then why not?  She is an attractive full-grown woman and you are my prisoners.  It would be perfectly natural…’ here Lorna whimpered ‘… unless she is still a virgin…’ He slid his finger once more into Lorna’s cleft, making her squeak pitifully.  Her eyes bulged as he explored her most intimate orifice, but his finger met no resistance as it slid further up into the hot wet mouth of her vagina.  She was very tight but she was no virgin.

‘So she is not intact.  How did she lose her maidenhead?’

Isobel hesitated and Velasquez flicked the tip of the quirt across her belly as a warning.  She gabbled out shamefully: ‘S… she had a boyfriend called Michael, Sir.  I never liked him.  He talked her into… into going to bed with him.  That was why I took her on this cruise… to get away from him… and to find somebody more suitable for her…’

Velasquez chuckled. ‘And look where trying to repair your daughter’s virtue has got you!  Well, she is going to have plenty of real men to compare this Michael to from now on… beginning with me…’

‘No!’  Isobel cried, stepping forward to put herself protectively between him and Lorna.  Then she shrieked as the quirt slashed across her breasts, leaving a rough red stripe in its wake.

‘I warned you not to speak out of turn, Mrs Forbes,’ Velasquez said.  ‘Apparently you have not learned your lesson.  So your mouth must be properly plugged…’

As Isobel shivered, dazed by the shock of the quirt, he took from the shelves a pair of broad rubber straps with buckles ends.  From the inside face of the straps protruded rubber plugs that looked like small black pears.  Isobel and Lorna backed away against the shelves but there was no escape from the room and with their arms bound to their yokes they could not prevent him pushing these plugs between their teeth and buckling the straps across their lips and now bulging cheeks, stifling their squeals and moans of protest.

Then he flicked his quirt across their bare buttocks and drove pair of them across the room to the row of wall bars.  Up close they now saw they were hung with many small hooks and clips on sliding mounts, while the struts that supported the bars were not only hinged at their bases but could also be shortened or extended and then locked into place with large wing nuts.  The upper and lower pairs of bars were also progressively slightly shorter than the middle one so that their struts did not touch and they could be swung within each other.  Resting beside this device were two buckets, one empty and the other full of water, and a folded towel.

Velasquez pulled the middle and lowest bars out, swinging them both outwards and downwards on their hinged brackets until their struts were horizontal and the bars were almost the yard clear of the wall, and then he locked them into place. He pushed Isobel and Lorna forward so that they bent side by side over the middle bar which pressed against their hips and lower stomachs, while the fronts of their lower shins pressed against the lowest bar.   They stared at the floor at the base of the wall numbed by fear while their breasts dangled freely beneath them, capped by their pulsing nipples. 

Pulling their legs apart and adjusting the sliding hooks, Velasquez fastened their ankle cuffs to it.  Then he unfolded the uppermost bar, swinging its supporting struts past perpendicular until it pressed against their shoulders, holding them down.  Then he hooked their yoke bars to it so that their torsos were secured at right angles to their legs and they could neither raise nor lower them.

Velasquez stepped back, admiring the picture they now made bound side by side with their pale bare buttocks thrust out towards him.  And between their splayed thighs hung invitingly the curly, soft golden-haired mounds of their sex mouths.  Deep in their furrows and caring nothing for their feelings the dew of helpless primal arousal sparkled.

‘You will remember what you are and not forget it,’ he told them.  He swiped the tip of the quirt across Isobel’s bottom, catching it shallowly but sharply and making her jerk against the bars and bite on her gag as her cheeks clenched inwards.

‘You are both criminals…’

He flicked the quirt across Lorna’s buttocks, drawing a thin streak of red across her behind and making her yelp.  Hot tears began to drip from her eyes.

‘You have no rights except those we permit you…’

He flicked the quirt up between Isobel’s parted buttocks, kissing the exposed pucker of her anus.  She squealed at the shock of such sharp pain in such an intimate place and her hips bucked. 

‘You have no one to protect you…’

He swung the quirt up into Lorna’s bottom cleavage, sending its tip rasping across her anal dimple and she shrieked about her gag.

‘You are totally at my mercy…’

He swung the braided leather up between Isobel’s thighs so that cut through the soft wet cleft of her pussy, tearing away a few golden hairs.  She wailed and tears began to drip from her eyes as well.

‘All you have to offer are your bodies and the labour… or the pleasure they can give those in charge of you…’

The quirt cut up into Lorna’s soft slippery pussy mouth, searing across her throbbing clitoris, ripping a shrill sob of pain from her throat. 

‘Do you offer pleasure to me now rather than pain?’

Isobel and Lorna twisted their heads round to look into each other’s distraught, flushed and tear-streaked faces and knew they had no choice.  Desperately both nodded and moaned their assent.

Velasquez undid the buttoned flap of his flies and pulled it wide to free a manly erection already brought to fall straining hardness by the erotic spectacle before him.  There was no need for foreplay: both he and the women were ready.  In fact their unwillingly stimulated vulvas were already filling the air with their intimate scent.

‘You cannot help yourselves, can you?’  Velasquez said with a triumphal chuckle, making the women shiver with shame.  ‘You may talk about your freedoms, Mrs Forbes, but deep inside you enjoy being mastered…’

Positioning himself between Isobel’s thighs he took hold of the bar over which she was bent and using it as purchase, he rammed his stiff cock deep into her pussy.

Isobel moaned and bit on her gag as he filled her and her mind spun… 

The feel of a strange man’s cock inside for the first time in so long….  Lorna was watching her being mounted like an animal… feeling it pumping back and forth in her as she helplessly clutching and squeezing upon it even in her despair…  Lorna should not see her like this… never had she been treated like this before… Lorna must not see her suffering… it was outrageous and filthy and wrong and… ohhhh!

Velasquez’s hot seed spurted into her even as her loins convulsed and sprayed out her juices over him.


For some minutes Velasquez lay across Isobel’s bare back, enjoying the satisfaction of his ejaculation into this once proud English woman’s vagina, supported by her as she was by the wall bars, his hands beneath her, squeezing her hot heavy breasts while she moaned feebly as if half stupefied, letting her hot intimate wetness revive him.  All the while Lorna was staring at them both goggle-eyed: repulse and fascinated.

He turned to look at Lorna and smiled. ‘Don’t worry; your mother is not hurt.  This is quite normal.  And now it is you’re turn…’

Velasquez pulled his reviving shaft out of Isobel’s clinging slot.  Isobel stirred and moaned about her gag, pleading with him not to violate her daughter.  But of course he took no notice.  Opportunities like this did not come his way very often.

He moved sideways, his shaft dripping with his sperm and Isobel’s unwillingly spilled juices.  Taking hold of the bar he rammed his cock between Lorna’s gaping slippery pussy lips and then up into the wonderfully tight haven of her vagina, giving it a taste of her mother’s juices for the first time since her birth.  And even as he drove Lorna’s hips against the bar and she gasped in outward misery, her tight pussy squeezed close about him.

They could not have known proper men before, Velasquez thought.  Now they could not help themselves.

And so he rode Lorna as he had Isobel and brought her to the same triumphant, shattering climax.  However many more of these they endured and however many more cocks entered them, Velasquez knew that he had been the first man in Barbouria to have them.

Although they did not know it, their new life had just begun.