After the sentencing ceremony ended, the Sultan shook Quentin's hand, thanked him again, and went off, surrounded by his guards. Dr. Tanger took Quentin's arm, and led him away in a different direction.

"You stand very high in the Sultan's favor, my friend," the Foreign Minister said as they stepped aboard an elevator. "He is sending you back to your ship in his one of his personal limousines."

The doors slid open in an underground garage. Pulled up to the curb, waiting for him, was a black limousine bearing the royal crest, with smoked windows that hid the interior. It was the longest car Quentin had ever seen.

"What's in there? A swimming pool?" Quentin asked

Dr. Tanger laughed. "No, my friend. Perhaps I will suggest the idea to Mehmet and he will have such a vehicle made. Actually, there is something much better waiting inside."

The driver, who had standing by the car, opened the door. Inside was a woman, wearing the traditional Khalistani costume for traitors, which consisted entirely of gleaming chains, metal cuffs and collar. A key hung from the steel collar on a short chain of delicate golden links. Drool dripping from above hung from her breasts and belly. A hood made of coarse, brown cloth hid her face.

Dr. Tanger pulled off the hood to reveal the face of Serani Bokhur. Her jaws had been forced open wider than Quentin would have thought possible, and a silver sphere inserted in her mouth. She was obviously uncomfortable, and although she was clearly doing her best to hide it, she was clearly frightened.

She rolled her eyes at the two men as they slid into the seat on either side of her, and made a sound that might have meant almost anything.

"I must congratulate you, my friend," Dr. Tanger told Quentin, as he admired the nude girl. "She is even more beautiful than rumor had it. I have never seen one to compare with her."

Quentin, who had seen more beautiful women in the course of his career as a slave agent than he could remember, did not venture to disagree. Serani's dark, exotic loveliness was something outside of his experience, and he was momentarily struck dumb by it. Although he had fondled the naked and extremely sexy Klara Agnarsson less than two hours before, as he looked at Serani, he could now hardly remember what the gossip columnist was like.

"The Sultan is most generous, Dr. Tanger," he finally said, still unable to tear his eyes away from the girl. "Surely, he has given Mr. Caine and me the most valuable thing in the entire kingdom."

"I will repeat your words to him," Tanger said. "He will be pleased to know the gift is appreciated."

He clapped Quentin in the shoulder. "And now I must return, my friend. I wish you a pleasant voyage, and I hope you derive much pleasure from the ownership of Ms. Bokhur...and Ms. Agnarsson, as well." They shook hands, and he slid out of the car.

When the driver returned to the car, Quentin pushed the intercom button, and said, "Do you have orders to return the car at any particular time?"

"No, sir," came the answer. "I am at your disposal for as long as you wish."

There was a little slot in the thick plastic shield separating the driver from the passenger compartment. Quentin took a banknote from his wallet, folded it and slipped it through the slot. "My ship doesn't depart for several hours, and I'd like to see some of Jannipore before I leave. So, if you don't have any objections, I'd like you to drive around for a while before you take me back to the port."

"Is there any place in particular you want go, sir?" the driver asked.

"No," Quentin answered, "just go wherever you like, and we'll just sit back and look out the windows." He pulled a curtain over the transparent shield, cutting off the driver's view of the passenger compartment.

"Very good, sir," the driver replied, as the vehicle started to move.

Quentin ran his eyes up and down Serani's body. Her skin was a uniform light brown, the color of coffee laced with a heavy dollop of cream. The only exceptions were her areolas and unusually long nipples, whose contrasting pink color made them even more prominent. Her breasts were neither too big nor too small, jutting almost impudently out from her chest in seeming contempt of the law of gravity. Even though she was sitting down, Quentin could tell that her legs were as good as any he had ever seen. They made him eager to see if her buttocks were of equal quality.

Even with her lips stretched around the huge ball and saliva hanging down from her chin in long strands, her small nose, with its delicately flared nostrils, her long eyelashes and her enormous, dark brown eyes gave her a mesmerizing loveliness. Quentin studied her for a long time before he finally spoke.

"My dear girl," he said, "you are very nearly beautiful enough to make me forget my duty to Mr. Caine, and keep you for myself. I am officially your co-owner, you know, so technically, you are just as much my property as you are his. I could do pretty much whatever I want with you, and be perfectly within my legal rights."

Serani's chains clinked as moved away from him on the seat until her back was up against the far door. Quentin appeared not to notice. "In all my years buying slave girls and taking them to their owners, I have never violated my duty as an agent, by using them for myself. But then, this is the first time I am a half-owner of the girl, and the first time that girl is..." He paused. "I think, Serani, that you are more beautiful than my Olivia or Elenora..." (these were his long time beloved slave-wives), "...more perhaps than even my dear little Inga..." (like the other two, Inga was a gift from Caine, the newest member of Quentin's harem), "...and I have an almost uncontrollable urge to throw you down on the floor, right now and..."

He stopped, his jaw muscles twitching, and turned his face away from her with an obvious effort. "No, Mr. Caine," he said, looking at nothing, "I won't let you down, sir. The girl is yours, no matter what her title papers say."

He plucked the hood from the floor, where Dr. Tanger had dropped it, opened it, and slid it down over Serani's head. Quentin calculated that the temptation to plunder this treasure would be easier to withstand if he could not see her face.

He was both right and wrong. While he no longer was drowning in the deep, dark pools of the Khalistani girl's eyes, the cloth sack had transformed her from a fabulously beautiful young woman into a faceless, incredibly desirable sex-toy. Blindfolded, gagged and manacled, Serani's squirming nudity made Quentin's cock become almost painfully stiff as he looked at her.

"Down, boy," he told himself, "you can't have her. Still," he continued, continuing to addressing his invisible auditor, "there's no reason I can't kick the tires a little."

Almost of their own accord, his hands settled on her shoulders and slid down to cover her breasts. Her skin was amazingly soft, and her breasts felt as solid and resilient as the cushions of the car seat under him. Her nipples, he noted, grew erect soon after he brushed them a few times with his hands, and were soon standing tall, suffused with blood and twice as long as before, from this fairly limited stimulation.

She tried to twist away from him when he captured the stiff little heads in his fingers, gently tugging and twirling them, but pinned up against the door as she was, there was nowhere place for her to go, and with her hands chained together behind her back, no way to resist. Quentin paid no more attention to her protests, consisting of excited mumbles of "Nahhhh, ahhhh, ehhhh..." and the like, than he did to her ineffectual struggles.

Eventually, Serani came to terms with the reality of the situation, and gave up, lying back on the cushions, quietly accepting whatever he did to her. The twin, dark blotches made by her tears where the hood covered her eyes was the only signs of her emotions, as Quentin's hands and lips roved over her body.

He fastened his mouth over her swollen nipples, and nibbled gently on them, eventually drawing a sharp intake of breath from the girl. "Your breasts are as sensitive as they are beautiful, my dear," Quentin told her, as he watched her body move in response to his manipulation of her nipples. "That is Mr. Caine's good fortune, but your misfortune, I'm afraid. He has a dozen ways to torment the breasts of girls like you. It is one of his favorite pastimes."

His hand went down to the base of her thighs, seeking out the delta of her sex. She instinctively pressed her legs together to keep him away.

"Open your legs, please," Quentin said politely. "I have no particular desire to hurt you, but you are my slave, and if I must use force to make you obey, I will."

She reluctantly spread her thighs to allow his hand to reach her sex. "Don't worry, my dear," Quentin assured her, "I'm not going to do anything permanent to you. I simply need to find out a few things about you."

The first item he investigated was her responsiveness. From the way she reacted to his play with her breasts, he had a fairly good idea of what he would find. He began by cupping her mound in his palm, and gently moving his hand over the silken hairs and soft lips of her pussy to gauge her level of arousal. From the puffy feel of her lower lips and the trace of lubricant on them, the experienced former slave agent confirmed his impression that she had been strongly excited by his handling of her breasts.

He was not surprised by this, nor when he spread her open, probed inside her pussy and felt an interior overflowing with slippery girl-cream, nor when he found her clitoris was fully engorged and hard as a pebble. He was a little startled, however, when his fingers encountered a web of skin that prevented deeper penetration.

"So, you're still a virgin," he remarked. "That is a little unusual for a college student in this day and age, at least it is back in the W.P. But then I keep forgetting how young you are. You haven't reached your nineteenth birthday yet, have you?"

She shook her head.

"The way you became aroused so quickly, it seemed as if you had some experience, at least," Quentin said. "Normally it takes women's bodies a little while to learn to react to stimulation. Have you done anything short of intercourse with boyfriends, like this?" As he said 'this', Quentin ran his forefinger back and forth over her clitoris.

She shook her head again. Quentin did not realize that, although Serani was westernized in many ways, she had been raised in the puritanical Khalistani traditions which highly disapproved of pre-marital sex, and was both inexperienced and naïve about such matters compared with a typical teen from the W.P.

It was not very long before her hips were moving in little circles, copying the circular strokes of his finger on her love button. As he continued to tease her clitoris, the movements of her pelvis became increasingly urgent.

When he judged that she was getting close to a climax, Quentin held his finger still, to see what she would do. Serani made a stifled sound of frustration, then pressed herself down, grinding her hips on his fingers. Her legs were spread apart as she thrust her lower body abandonly against on him. He felt a gush of liquid spatter his hand, as she threw her head back, and made a high pitched squeal, while her body writhed uninhibitedly in a powerful orgasm.

"I think," Quentin said, taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his hand, "Mr. Caine is going to be very happy to meet you, but perhaps you won't be so happy to meet him." Caine knew a hundred ways to arouse women, and no female with a reasonably normal sexual response, even a dedicated lesbian, could resist him for very long. But a naïve, inexperienced virgin who could be aroused as easily as Serani would be putty in his hands. He shook his head when he thought of the tricks Caine could play on the unfortunate girl.

Still, he had his duty to perform, and whatever his private feelings might be, he would perform it. "Turn over," he said, "and lie down across my lap, please."

Serani did not resist when he guided her into position stretching out face downward on the seat, her midsection across his thighs, and her buttocks projecting upward. Her dusky pale moons presented a tempting picture. For most of his life, Quentin had enjoyed a very "vanilla" sex life, and engaged only in straightforward copulation. But since becoming Caine's heir and executive manager, he had changed under the influence of the older man's powerful personality. He had developed a taste for mild bondage and discipline, and this was now a regular part of sex with his three slave girls at home (who had all learned under Caine's ownership to require bondage and spanking as a necessary part of the act). While in the past, he might not have tested a new acquisition's predisposition for bondage, of late he had made it his business to do so before he delivered a new girl to Caine.

He slid his hand over the delicious curves of Serani's rear hemispheres. The skin was just as satiny-smooth there as it was elsewhere, and the flesh underneath was solid with muscle. Serani had been on the varsity rowing team in college, and as a consequence her legs and buttocks were very well developed and in superb condition. If ever there was an ass designed for spanking, this was it.

"Have you ever been spanked?" Quentin asked.

"Nnnn," she answered, a little alarmed at the implication of the question. She twisted her head around, as if trying to see what he was doing, and squirmed nervously on his lap.

Quentin took a firmer hold on her waist. "No, my dear, I don't want you to move. This may sting a little, but I'm sure a brave girl like you will handle it easily, and I do need to have something to tell Mr. Caine when he me asks how you reacted to a little discipline."

He brought his hand down on one buttock hard enough to mark a pink handprint on the pale brown skin and make a loud smack Serani twisted violently and emitted a stifled yelp. Keeping the writhing girl in place with one hand, he favored her other globe with a matching blow. The flesh jiggled just the slightest amount, and she twisted more frantically. Her chained hands moved down to guard the target of his blows.

"I am going to have to ask you to keep your hands up out of the way, Serani," Quentin admonished. He seized her left wrist, and bent her arm up, until she squealed in pain. "Now, please remain still, and we can get this unpleasantness over with quickly." He applied a little more pressure to her arm as he said this.

Serani was nobody's fool. As soon as she understood that he would continue to force her arm upward until she cooperated, she stopped struggling and relaxed. Quentin obligingly brought her wrist lower, but kept it high enough to both maintain control, and force her to arch her back to present her bottom at a convenient height for his hand. .

"That's much better," he said. He started to spank her again, alternating from one cheek to the other, until each had absorbed ten strokes, and both twin rotundities were bright pink with red splotches all over. She remained quietly in place throughout, other than the involuntary lurches at the moment of impact.

"Now I'd like you to open up your legs a bit for me, if you don't mind," Quentin said.

If she did mind, she was in no position to express her objections with either words or actions. She obediently moved her knees apart to expose her sex. A moment later, she felt his fingers once again rummaging around in her virginal womanhood. 

Quentin brought his hand up close to his face, to examine the findings. His fingertips were coated with a slippery, mucous-like fluid. "Yes," he said a little sadly, "I think it's safe to say that Mr. Caine will be very pleased indeed to add you to his staff at Briarcliff." Almost inaudibly, he added under his breath, "Poor girl."