The Debt Ch. 02

Dhipa hated them all. She hated them but loved what they were doing to her, loved the feeling of being poked and fucked with their hard white cocks, smeared and covered with their excited secretions, loved to hear them moan and groan over her soft, warm flesh.

The could see the Doctor still sitting in his chair smoking his cigar. He looked bored, disinterested in what they were doing to her, even as she squealed and choked around the cock in her mouth and the men called her every filthy name they could think of, treating her as if she weren't even human. He didn't care about her either. He was enjoying this, enjoying what they were doing to her, taking her like an animal. And the fact that he was enjoying it sent a shocking thrill through her.

She was a whore, a slut. No, she was worse than that. She had no word for what she was. She loved the Doctor, and loved him even more fiercely when he let her be humiliated and used like this, when he threw her love back in her face like something dirty. It thrilled her to depths she had never known before. She felt her orgasm building to incandescent hieghts.

She saw the Doctor check his watch and sigh. He was getting bored no doubt. They were fucking her like an animal not six feet from his face and he was bored. The realization made her delerious with lust.

The man masturbating and rubbing his cock on her tits was the first to come, groaning as he pumped out his load onto her jiggling breasts, gout after gout of hot cream which he smeared around her nipples with the head of his spurting prick.

Then she felt the man fucking her suddenly pull his cock from her and hold it against her body as it throbbed and shot hot jets of semen on her body. She couldn't keep herself from reaching down and dipping her hands into his thick discharge, rubbing it into her skin, while the fourth man moved up and shoved his cock against her anus as he masturbated wildly.

Now Montenegro raised up on the very tips of his toes, driving his stiff meat deep into the back of her throat.

"Fuck! Whore! Cunt! Fucking slut! Agghhh!" he cried out as he came, pumping his ejaculate into her mouth, onto her lips, humping her face till his come spilled out over her lips and ran down her cheeks while she coughed and groaned with excited shame, knowing what she must look like.

The fourth man came at the same time. He couldn't push his prick into her ass but he was content to hold the tip of his piece against her as he unloaded on her asshole, groaning with deep satisfaction.

Dhipa lay on her back, her body covered in their dripping white sperm, panting and trying to catch her breath. She was still half crazy with lust, and she had not yet had enough. But damned if she would tell them that.

The men began to clean themselves off with napkins from a stack left by the table, muttering with satisfaction.

The Doctor stood up, grabbed a handful of napkins and dropped them on Dhipa's stomach.

"Clean yourself up." he said casually. "You're not getting in the car like that."

Montenegro came over, arranging himself in his pants and zipping his fly.

"I've got to hand it to you, Mabeuse." he said, "That little darkie knows how to suck a cock once she gets started. You teach her yourself?"

The Doctor nodded. He still seemed bored. "No, I didn't have to. She's naturally talented."

Montenegro glanced back at her. "And she really likes that abuse, eh?"

The Doctor sniffed. "She certainly seems to, doesn't she?"

"That pussy can make you a lot of money, Doc."

The Doctor only nodded.

Dhipa cleaned herself off in the washroom, wiping herself down with napkins soaked in warm water. She rinsed her mouth out several times to remove the taste of semen, then repaired her makeup. She looked at her face as she worked but she avoided meeting her own eyes in the mirror, afraid of what she would see there.

She hesitated as she left the bathroom as she swallowed down a sudden flood of tears that threatened to overwheln her. She stood by the door, head down, refusing to allow herself the luxury of crying. She didn't deserve the comforting balm of tears, didn't deserve them at all. She straightened her back, raised her head proudly, and walked out.

The car was waiting for her at the curb when she at last exited the restaurant, her coat wrapped around her to prtect her from the freezing wind. She got into the back without a word, placing herself at the extreme end of the seat as far from th Doctor as possible, and she let herself sink into the warm and fragrant leather.

The big Rolls hummed smoothy away from the curb and Dhipa kept her eyes fixed on the lights that passed by the tinted window. She was not tired. She was confused, but still humming with the same unrelieved excitement that had almost brought her to tears in the washroom.

The Doctor pressed a button on his arm rest, and the smoked glass partition glided smoothly up, hiding them from Mickey. She knew what that meant.

"Come here, Dhipa." the Doctor said. "Next to me."

For a long moment she didn't move. Then, deciding it wasn't worth fighting about, she slid across the leather seat to the Doctor's side. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, and she felt her throat tighten with anguish and rage.

"Damn you! No!" she spat just as the Doctor grabbed her hair and pulled her head back to kiss her lips. Shocked, her eyes flew open and she tried to puish him away, but he was so strong, so strong, and he enclosed her in the warmth of his body and his coat as he kissed her.

The anger that had sustained her up till now melted away in his warmth and tears flooded her eyes as he kissed her.

"How could you?" she sobbed. "How could you let them do that to me?"

"Dhipa," he said as he tenderly kissed her eyes, "You just don't know, do you? You just don't understand at all."

No, she didn't. She didn't understand any of this, what he was doing to her--the way she felt, the way he abused her and her own abject excitement at being used this way--and she lost all control and wept openly onto his chest, her shoulders heaving.

He let her cry, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. And when her tears had slowed, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.

"You're incorruptable." he said softly. "Truly incorruptable. You've been raped, fucked by strangers, made to suck men off, soaked in men's come, and still you're untouched. Still you're a princess. Nothing touches you, does it?"

She looked into his eyes and saw something very soft and warm in them; something she had imagined seeing many times but had despaired of ever actually seeing. She knew that what he said was true. She was incorruptable, she could feel it inside her as a perfect flame, clean and untouched, safe from anything anyone could do to her.

"Do you what it does to me, to see you like that?" he asked her. "Do you know how it makes me feel to see your purity in the midst of all this filth?"

He took her hand and lowered it to his lap, where she felt his cock, hot and hard beneath his pants.

"And this is all I can give you?" he asked.

"No. No." Dhipa said, and she kissed him violently. "No."

"Open your legs, Dhipa." he whispered.

She did as he said, exposing herself to him completely. Her legs were visibly trembling as spread her knees apart and clung to his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged sobs as she awaited his touch.

And he did touch her, and she immediately exploded, clutching at him and pulling his head to her breasts as she arched her back in a rictus of orgasm, sobbing out her love and and falling helplessly into her surrender.

On a rainy Monday morning the Doctor knocked on her door.

"Dhipa? I just got a call from your brother Bhasir. I didn't know that your father was so ill."

"Ill? My father?"

The Doctor looked at her for a moment.

"Yes. According to your brother he's been ill for some time. Apparently he's taken a turn for the worse. The family wants you at home."

Despite the early hour, Dhipa's mind was clear enough to make her keep her mouth shut. Not only was she unaware of her father's illness, but as far as she knew he wasn't even in the country. Why would Bhasir say something like that?

"Get your things. I want you to go home and do what you have to do, my Dear. It sounds like your family needs you. You won't be of any use to me here until this matter's resolved. Mickey will drive you. Just call me when you understand the situation."

Dhipa stared at him. "You mean I can go?" she asked cautiously.

The Doctor walked in and threw the curtains open to reveal the rain-flecked windows and the gray day outside.

"Of course you may go." he said. "You work for me Dhipa; I don't own you. You may come and go as you please as long as you're in my employ and you don't have a client."

He gave her a smile that was almost warm. "You won't run away, Dear. You might think you will now, but if I know my business you'll be back. And I do know my business."

The Doctor turned and walked out, then stopped in the doorway. "My best to your family. And tell your brothers they still owe me ten thousand pounds, will you dear? Don't forget to call me."

Dhipa was incredulous. How could the man be so stupid as to let her go home and think she would come back to be him again? She was certain that the story about her father was nonsense. The brothers must have had second thoughts about sending their sister off to be a whore and had created this story to get her out of the Doctor's clutches. Possibly it was Assad, the only one with a shred of conscious. Certainly it wouldn't have been Bashir, who was only too happy to give her to the Doctor in lieu of paying of his gambling debts.

In any case she was going home she thought as she sat in the back of the Doctor's Rolls. She had chosen to wear a very expensive dress of black jersey that the Doctor had bought for her. It clung to her curves in a way that was flattering but not cheap, and was the most modest thing she had. It seemed suitable for a daughter going home to visit a sick father. She wore dark hose and her handmade Italian pumps, and her coat was of mohair, also handmade in France. She wore a Hermes scarf around her neck, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. Everything had been paid for by the Doctor.

They left the Doctor's expensive neighborhood and descended into the grimier areas of the city. Dhipa held onto the strap and gazed out the window, watching the neighborhoods get poorer and grimier. She was amazed at how dirty and neglected everything looked. She hadn't been away all that long, but she felt as if she hadn't been here in years. Everything had changed, was meaner and shabbier.

Mickey piloted the Rolls expertly through the streets as Dhipa stared out at buildings she knew well, the landmarks of her former life here. They all seemed so shabby and decrepit now. This had not been a bad neighborhood, or so she'd thought when she'd lived here. Now she realized with a shock that it was hardly more than a slum. Perhaps not the worst slum in the city, but a slum nonetheless.

Mickey pulled the Rolls over to the curb and Dhipa found herself looking at her old flat; he family's flat. She was hesitant to get out. The first thought she had was that she'd get her shoes dirty, but then Mickey hopped out and opened her door, and she had no choice.

She stood on the narrow sidewalk while Mickey got her bag. He was ready to carry it up for her, but suddenly she was ashamed that he see her home and she took the bag from him, smiling apologetically.

He gave it to her reluctantly. "The Doc told me to remind you to call, okay?" he said.

"Yes, I will." Dhipa said. "Thank you Mickey."

Mickey started down the steps and touched the brim of his hat. "Have a nice stay, Miss." he said.

She watched the big Rolls pull away and turn a corner before she opened the door and walked into the familiar smells of her girlhood, food and her family.

Bashir opened the door when she knocked, and he looked her up and down with his lazy, heavy-lidded eyes. He didn't smile. "So you're here." he said.

She walked in cautiously, as if it might be some sort of trap. There seemed to be no one else in the flat. "Where is everyone?" she asked. "I came as soon as I got your message. Now what is this about father?"

Bashir immediately sank intro a chair and went into his pocket for a cigarette. He stared at her lazily as he lit it and inhaled, then put his lighter away.

"So this is how a whore dresses." he said. "I expected you to be naked, like those whores in the videos."

Dhipa ignored him. She could hardly believe how shabby and dirty the flat seemed. There was an unpleasant, sour smell in the air and dirty dishes and glasses on the dining room table.

"What about father? Why did you call me?"

"He pays you well, eh? You make a lot of money for showing your cunt and your tits and sucking men's penises, don't you?" he asked.

She had never liked Bashir. No, it was worse than that. She'd always loathed him. He was fat, gross, selfish and lazy, and worst of all, he had a way of looking at people that made them dislike him instantly. He stared at people as a snake stares at a bird, as if he were trying to decide whether it was worth his trouble to eat them.

But he'd always looked at Dhipa with a special look that made her skin crawl; a mixture of perverse lust and angry contempt, and Dhipa knew why. Although she was his own younger sister he wanted her, but because he could not have her he hated her. He resolved his conflict by treating her with contempt, as if being female and attractive were some sort of moral lapse or loathsome disease.

Dhipa looked at him with open anger. He disgusted her. He sat with sensual, hooded snake eyes, his thick lower lip glistening obscenely, a sick half-smile on his face.

"You lied." she said suddenly. "There's nothing wrong with Father. You lied just to get me over here, didn't you?"

Bashir just smiled. He seemed to be enjoying her confusion and his attitude made her nervous.

"That whore house is no place for you." he said. "We need you here now. Back home with your family during this crisis."

"What crisis?" She asked suspiciously. "Tell me what's going on, Bashir…"

"Our Father," Bashir said, cutting her off. "is not sick…yet. But he will be when he hears that his eldest son is dead. And that his only daughter is selling her body to men and disgracing the family name."

"What are you talking about?"

Bashir looked at his watch, then stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and leaned forward.

"That is not your concern." he said. "Your family needs you and that is all you need to know."

He got to his feet and crossed over to the window, pulled the curtains back and looked up and down the street. Then he turned to Dhipa who was still standing in the middle of the room.

"You were always a slut." he said to her. "I don't know where your blood came from, but you've always been a little whore, chasing after men and showing off your tits and your dirty little pussy to them, pushing your privates in their faces. You have no shame. Father should have beaten you, should have beaten the sin out of you. Because I always knew it would come to this, that you would shame us. Shame us all, you tramp!"

She had never known Bashir to speak with such anger and such feeling, but now his eyes were almost glowing with contempt. And yet there was something more there too. She realized with a sick feeling that he was getting aroused. She could feel his lust coming off him like heat from a fire.

"And now that we know what you are we don't have to pretend any longer." he spat. "We don't have to pretend that you're a sweet and noble wife who's known only her husband's touch. You'll spread your legs for any man, whether he pays you or not. You'll suck his penis into your mouth and let him put it places I won't even say!

"Well now I have someone else who wants to taste your favors, Dhipa. I have someone else who is coming to our home to fuck my sister the whore. He is the son of a rich and powerful man who has promised to help us. And as a gift of gratitude to his father you will take him to bed and let him do what he wants."

Dhipa gasped. "What do you…"

"Oh shut your fucking mouth, slut!" he snapped. "This is your chance to do something for your family. Ali Assim is coming here to our house. He knows about you. Just do for him what you do for all those white men and he will help us pay off our debts and gain our honor back. It's not like I'm asking you to do anything you don't already do. With all the men you give your body to one more won't make any difference."

Dumb with outrage, Dhipa stammered, "Ali Assim is a whoremaster and a pimp! Everyone knows that! He takes girls of thirteen, fourteen years old!"

Bhasir shrugged. "What difference does it make to you?" he said.

"How dare you!" Dhipa said. "It's not enough that you've already sold me into whoredom to pay off your gambling debts, but now you want me to do it all over again with this miserable piece of garbage? You're insane, Bashir!"

He smiled slyly. "Why not?" he said, "Paying two debts with the same money. Why not?"

Dhipa picked up her coat and headed for the door but Bashir grabbed her.

"Get your hands off me!" she snarled.

He slapped her, hard, shocking her more than hurting her. It was not the first time a man had struck her, In fact, at one time in her life it had been a common enough occurrence for a husband to strike his wife or an older brother to strike a misbehaving sister. But no longer. She was no longer the person who let herself be treated like this.

Without thinking she bared her nails and went for his face, but Bashir, as fat as he was, was quicker than she. He grabbed her other arm and pulled her around, pushing her back down on the sofa.

Before she could get her wits back he took hold of her dress and yanked it down, ripping the garment from her shoulders. Dhipa screamed but Bashir continued to pull at the dress until her ripped it again, tore it apart so that it hung in tatters from her body.

She was certain that he was going to rape her right there, in their own living room, but instead he backed away, breathing heavily. He gazed at her exposed flesh with his heavy-lidded eyes as his lewd grin returned to his face.

"There." he said, panting. "There's your whore clothes! Now run home to your pimp, you slut!"

He reached down and pulled her up by her arms. Dhipa never knew he was so strong.

"Now go wash yourself and put on the clothes I bought you. They're in your room. Hurry, or I swear I'll beat you so that no man will ever look at you again!"

He shoved her brutally down the hallway towards the back of the house. "I said hurry!"

She staggered down to her old room, almost as if by instinct. She was not thinking clearly. Hardly thinking at all.

Her things were still in her old room, but the room was a mess, with boxes and household junk strewn about. Apparently they now used it for storage.

She went to her old dresser and pulled open the top drawer where she'd kept her underthings. The drawer had been ransacked, all the carefully folded panties and bras she'd left behind had been rifled through and were now in disarray. It had to have been her brothers, she knew. But what had they been looking for?

Probably they'd just gotten off on looking at her things, the sexy panties, the lacy and seductive bras. The thought of them pawing through her things made her nauseous. She could easily picture Bashir rubbing her knickers over his face as he masturbated. It sickened her and she slammed the drawer closed and sat heavily on the bed.

The telephone. She suddenly remembered that she'd promised to call the Doctor, and she picked up the phone. She stopped and listened to the noises in the flat. She heard Bashir cough in the living room. Quickly she dialed the number.