Slaves of the Sultan: A Gossamer Ghost Peril

[BettyDreadful]

Hey folks, and happy holidays! Have the latest installment of the Gossamer Ghost's adventures, here! Might be a little different than usual, hope folks enjoy it! As always, any questions/comments/criticisms are truly appreciated! Hope you enjoy!


SLAVES OF THE SULTAN
A Gossamer Ghost Peril




The idle chatter of academics filled the hallways of Professor Abernathy’s expansive home as his guests mingled. The party had been going on for a little under an hour by the time the guests settled into a comfortable party routine. Old friends mingled, debated issues of the day, and poured drink after drink down their throats.

It was into this environment that young Layla Sabri sashayed, with her friend Kimi Li in tow. Layla looked fantastic, in an ankle-length red dress that was open to her lower back, with a large golden bangle dancing loosely across her right wrist. Kimi was dressed similarly well, in a knee-length black dress with cute, bright white heels. Of the two, Kimi looked only slightly out of place, her eyes scanning up and down the room to take in the sights.

“Miss Sabri!” the Professor said, exclaiming as he saw the two young women walk into the stately manor. “So good of you to make it, tonight!”

“Thanks for having us,” Layla said, extending her hand to him, “I have to get a chance to pull myself out of that museum sometimes, don’t I?”

“Ha-hah, well, of course …” Abernathy’s eyes went from Layla, slowly, to Kimi Li. “And your lovely date for the evening is …?

“My roommate, Kimi Li,” Layla said, “who needed to get out for a night even more than I did! Kimi, this is professor Abernathy. The chair of my department’s historical records department. He gave that lecture I told you about.”

“Charmed,” Kimi said, trying to suppress a gag as she caught Abernathy’s eyes lingering on the soft curve of her cleavage. “Thanks for having us, Professor.”

“My pleasure,” their host said, rising up to his full height. “Please, mingle. I’m certain Layla has so many people to introduce you to. I’ll catch up to you later.”

The glad-handing professor immediately made his way away from them, dashing off toward a well-dressed older couple that were heading into the library, the main floor of the party. Kimi breathed a sigh of relief, watching him go.

“How do you put up with creeps like that?” Kimi said.

“So many snide comments in department e-mails,” Layla said, leading Kimi into the party. “Honestly, I’m not sure how our mutual friend can put up with so much of it …”

Kimi only nodded at that comment, nervously hoping that no one would hear and ask about that. The two women, members of the secretive club the Justice Sorority, were united by two things: a desire to see justice done in the city, and their association with the costumed crime fighter, the Gossamer Ghost. The association that had been what actually brought these two young women to the party tonight, to begin with …

Layla took Kimi by the wrist, forcing her to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose as the two of them entered the mingling sea of people. Kimi was impressed with the ease with which Layla was able to navigate the room. Saying hello to various other party guests in turn, keeping a smile on her face and a pleasant tone in her voice, all without breaking stride as the two of them made it through the throng and toward the back hallway. Layla was an old hand at these faculty events, but it still amazed Kimi.

Once they’d managed to swim through the churning crowd of glad-handers and strange grins, Layla and Kimi had managed to make their way to, and up, the stairwell. Kimi shook her head hard enough that she nearly lost her glasses, eyes widening in disbelief at everything they’d just managed to circumvent so quickly.

“Again, how do you do this …?” Kimi said.

“Oh, hush,” Layla said, looking rather pleased with herself. “We need to get to the balcony access. That’s where the fun really starts …” Kimi noted the enthusiasm with which Layla was assisting with a breaking and entering at her professor’s home, but she tried not to overthink it.

Before Kimi would have that chance, however, the two women were at the top of the stairs and Layla was already fidgeting with the latch for the balcony. Kimi kept lookout behind them, while Layla worked at the door. For a moment, Kimi’s heart threatened to pop straight out her chest, as she heard footfalls at the edge of the hallway. When the steps stopped, however, and the bathroom door at the corner opened, Kimi let out a loud, deflating sigh.

With a final click, the balcony doors swung open, revealing the costumed figure of the Gossamer Ghost. Their friend and ally stood tall, her grey hooded cloak blowing in the second-story breeze. The Ghost looked imposing, the thin white lace negligee that was her costume clinging to her curvy figure. The lace top clung to her figure tightly, the lace hanging from it swaying off her hourglass midsection in the wind. The stark white opera gloves and thigh-high stockings standing out in the night, giving her an ethereal shimmer. The members of the Justice Sorority knew that Margo Fox dressed like this in her crime fighting career to serve as a distraction to her enemies, to disarm them before fights even began. Until they saw her in action, however, it seemed like none of them were truly prepared for the full effect.

“Thanks, ladies,” the Ghost said, with a smile. “I assume we’re alone, then?”

“For right now …” Kimi said,s till looking over her shoulder.

“Just letting you in,” Layla said, “I’ve got a pretty good idea of where the statue might be, if we’re ready for a treasure hunt.”

“Always,” the Ghost said, with a smirk. Tonight’s plan had been the result of a great deal of good fortune, and the slightest bit of careful planning. Weeks ago, a statue had gone missing from the private collection of a middle eastern dignitary. The suspect list was short, and happened to include one of Layla Sabri’s own faculty advisers. It almost seemed too easy a matter for the Justice Sorority’s resident academic to get an invitation to his house, and let the Ghost in to do the grunt work of searching the premises.

The three women moved down the hallway with speed and caution, hoping the din of the party would be enough to cover their footfalls. It seemed to be, at least long enough for Layla to lead her friends to a secluded room, at the end of a long hallway.

“Here,” she said, testing the knob. It rattled, the lock holding.

“One second,” the Ghost said, reaching into a large white satchel bag slung around her shoulder. “I have just the thing!” From within, the Ghost pulled out a small, rod-like device. The vigilante held it up to the doorknob, and depressed a button on the side. There was a slight mechanical hum, some noise, then the pop of a lock coming free.

“Magnetic lockpick,” she explained with a smile.

“Why didn’t you use that on the balcony?” Kimi asked, still looking over her shoulder.

“One charge,” the Ghost explained, “and beside, I would have been lost without Layla’s guidance, here. Now come on, let’s see what we can see …” The Ghost pushed the door open gently, revealing an impressive study. Shelves lined the walls, each stuffed with leather-bound books and artifacts that seemed to span the globe. One in particular seemed to catch the Ghost’s eye, as she walked straight toward it.

“Here we are,” she said, picking up a rough-looking brone statue, “so he did steal it!”

“He always was a bit of a creep …” Layla said, with a look of disgust. “So, what are we going to do about this?”

“I’m thinking some pictures will suffice,” the Ghost said, producing a small camera from her bag, “sent anonymously to the lead investigator on the case. Won’t be as satisfying as when I turn the crooks over myself, but this stolen artifact is a little more diplomatically sensitive than my usual scratch-fests with someone like Diva de los Muertos …”

Layla turned back to Kimi, saying “Well, I guess we can head back to the party, so we don’t arouse … Oh my God!” Layla’s words were cut short, by the sight of newcomers into the room!

They were all striking figures. Six women, spread around them in a semi-circle. They seemed to slip into the room like shadows, without making a sound. Each one was dressed in the same fashion, in sheer silk pants, with sashes of gold chain and coins. Their tops were immodest, similar to their sashes, barely covering their ample breasts. Each woman had her long hair pulled tight into ponytails, with veils covering the lower half of their faces. Layla and the Ghost looked on in shocked horror, seeing Kimi gripped tightly in the arms of one of the girls. Without making a sound, she’d managed to choke the poor young woman out.

“If you’ve hurt her-” threatened Layla.

“What’s going on here?” the Ghost said, striking a defensive posture. These women were obviously not normal party guests, or normal home security. In fact, their outfits made Margo’s daring costume seem a bit conservative!

If the women were interested in talk, they didn’t show it. Two of them immediately lunged for Layla, while three others closed in on the Ghost.

Layla raised her hands, ready for a fight. At least, she thought she was. The young Egyptian-American had taken a few semesters of Krav Maga training, focusing on it even more once she’d become part of the Gossamer Ghost’s entourage. However, outnumbered and wobbling on high heels, it was far from preperation for this fight.

The women seemed to fight from their hips, coming in spinning. One came at Layla fast, tripping her with a leg sweep. “Oooh!” Layla exclaimed, eyes widening in shock as she lost her footing. The young woman turned her head just in time to see the second attack close in, a roundhouse kick that connected hard, right upside Layla’s head!

With a loud, final moan, Layla fell to the floor. She lay flat there, out cold, the rise and fall of her shoulders the only sign of life from her. Seeing how quickly her friend was dispatched, the Ghost’s eyes widened in horror behind her mask.

“Dammit,” she said, reaching for her bag. The Ghost hated involving her friends in the more violent aspects of the Ghost’s cases, but this was completely unexpected. Now, all she could do was try to ensure they would survive it!

Margo reached for her satchel bag, but her attacker had other plans. The woman had pulled a wickedly curved knife from her sash, thrusting the blade straight for Margo’s heart! The Ghost pulled back, hearing the knife cut fabric. Ghost was rattled, fearing what would happen if that blade tore through her soft flesh.

Looking down, Margo saw no blood and breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until she saw the actual effects of the slash. A split in the strap of her satchel bag sent it tumbling to the floor. Worse, though, was her costume. Slowly at first, the fabric of the Gossamer Ghost’s negligee began to come apart, a cut from the knife spreading and ripping fabric. The bra of the costume slowly came apart under the weight of supporting Margo’s generous bust! Margo’s breasts began to expand, no longer constrained by the tension of the fastened bra, until it popped the cut fabric off and her ample bust came spilling into the open!

“Eeep!” Margo squealed, her gloved hands reaching up to clasp protectively over her suddenly exposed breasts. She watched in wide-eyed horror as the slashed fabric of her top fluttered to the floor. The other fighters circled her. Margo’s legs tensed, anticipating the next strike.

Margo’s hands struggled to contain her bust as she moved, twisting to avoid a wide, roundhouse kick aimed square at the crimefighter’s head. Margo moved an arm, blocking another hard left kick that would have knocked the wind out of her if hadn’t protected herself. Margo winced, as the force of the impact against her arm forced her to squeeze her own breast, tightly. Soft flesh beginning to spill over her small fingers, Margo bit her lip and anticipated having to choose between preserving some dignity, and preserving her life!

Her attackers wouldn’t give her time to decide, unfortunately. The knife-wielding woman struck first, lashing out with a lunge that forced Margo to bend over backward and watch as the blade passed harmlessly between her cupped breasts and just over her slender throat! “AH!” she squeaked, watching the blade curve up and away.

Margo couldn’t celebrate the narrow miss for long, however. Literally bent over backward, there was nothing the Ghost could do but watch as one of the dancers spun forward on her heel, and unleashed with a hard kick to Margo’s back!

“Aaaghh!” Margo screamed, the kick slamming hard into her vulnerable back. The vivacious young crimefighter fell forward, to her knees. Gasping for air, clutching her bare chest, Margo tried to keep herself in the fight. It was an empty act of resistance, however. The second she was down, the third dancer was in position to unload on her with another kick, a spinning roundhouse that cracked Margo right across her skull.

“Nnnuh … no, I … I … uuughh,” Margo said, her voice a low mumble. She was dizzy from the beating, barely able to keep her head upright. Vastly outnumbered by some stunning fighters, Margo couldn’t help but feel this was the end. Half-naked, on her knees, with her friends already down. Margo looked up with quivering eyes. Just in time to see one of the dancing women step up, raise her foot high above her head, and bring it crashing down on Margo’s woozy head. That was it. Everything went black, and Margo went limp. Her body slumped backward, her hands fell to the floor and her buoyant breasts came spilling out into full view as everything faded to black. Margo’s final thoughts were on how pathetic she must look, at the feet of the vicious women who held her and her friends’ fates in the palm of their elegant hands …


+++++


The first thing that Margo Fox felt when she came to, was dirt on her knees and cool air on her skin. Secondly, was a sigh of relief. When things faded to black, with six scantily-clad assassins looming over her, Margo truly believed that it would be the last thing she would ever see.

Opening her bleary eyes, her grim situation slowly came into focus. Margo looked around to see a dirt floor, and brick walls that seemed carved out of solid stone. Margo let out a sob, seeing that she was still half-dressed, and bound to the wall with chains. Cool, subterranean air braced her bare chest, her exposed body shivering slightly. Her shimmering white leggings were caked in dirt from the floor, and her cloak as gone. Margo could still feel her mask in place, much to her surprise. Layla and Kimi were nowhere to be found. Margo nearly panicked, but hoped that if she were left alive, then they could be somewhere here, as well.

On her knees in the dirt, stripped and humiliated, Margo lost track of the time she spent alone in the darkness. A few times, Margo tested the strength of her bonds by pulling at them, only managing a suffering moan as she found them holding her fast to the wall. “Damn …” she whispered.

Eventually, however, Margo would be joined. Two of the dancers who had defeated her entered the room, followed by a strange man. Tall, wearing somewhat plain robes, loose-fitting pants, and a tightly-wound turban. What stood out the most, however, was the ornate golden mask that covered his entire face. With winding, intricate patterns, the mask was at once featureless and menacing, seeming to glare at her from dark eye sockets. Margo writhed in her bonds, instinctively trying to cover her bare chest with her arms, to no effect.

“Ah, our guest is awake,” the masked man said. Margo made note of his British accent.

“Who are you?” Margo asked, glaring up at him.

“Your host, my dear,” the man said. The women took their place on each side of him, holding lanterns that illuminated the dungeon. “You find yourself the guest of the man called Shaitan, the Sultan of Sin!"

“You say that like I’m supposed to know what that means …”

“Ha, of course news of me hasn’t reached your American ears. But I have heard of you. The woman whose allure keeps an entire city’s criminal underworld in check. Exactly the sort of woman I’ve been looking for …” The man knelt before Margo, reaching out for her. He turned her chin up with two fingers. Margo glared at him, trying to look defiant despite her pitiful state.

“Sorry, creep,” Margo said, “I’m not interested. It’s you, not me, you see.”

“Ha! Spirit,” the masked man said, pulling his hand back from Margo’s chin … before bringing it back with a hard slap across her cheek that echoed through the dungeon!

“Aah!” Margo cried out, cheek burning.

“I like spirit. All of my women have had it …”

“Wh-what … what are you talking about?”

“You’ve met them. Faced them. Seen their superiority firsthand. You think that happened on its own? I’ve crafted a fighting force like none other, Ghost. My Haram Harem. Each one unfailingly loyal, and unerringly deadly. And each one, nearly as spiteful and hateful of me as you look right now.”

“I don’t understand …”

“I’ve made many enemies, Gossamer Ghost. Mossad. M:I6. Interpol. Elite agents have been sent from around the globe to stop me. And the ones that I deemed worthy? They began the induction process. They all started out cursing my name, planning my death. And in the end, they all broke. They all begged to serve me. And by the end, Ghost, so shall you …”

“N-no!” Margo’s eyes widened in shock. She looked to the two women, the agents of this ‘Haram Harem.’ Despite their outward glare, Margo could see the lack of thought behind their eyes. They focused on nothing. They stood stock-still, unmoving, seemingly existing only as intruments of Shaitan’s will. “I”ll never serve you, you bastard!” Margo’s back arched, chest thrusting forward as she tried and failed to surge forward.

“Mm,” Shaitan smirked, “I do love those sounds. The protest. I’ll remember those, when your will is broken. I’ll remember, even when you’re begging to be mine. Sleep, Ghost. When the sun rises, you’ll have a long, long day ahead …”

The three left the Gossamer Ghost alone. Half-naked, chained to the wall, cold and alone. Margo’s shoulders shuddered. There had been no mention of her friends, no real knowledge of where she was. Only the feeling of helplessness, as she sobbed in the dark.


+++++


Again, Margo didn’t know how long she was forced onto her knees in the dark. The only knelt there, hanging pathetically from the wall, wondering how long she and her friends had left before Shaitan the Sultan came back to her. Margo hated it, but she felt like her entire schedule was already built around that man, and when he might deign to visit her.

When Shaitan finally returned, the masked man brought four of his Haram Harem in tow. Two held lanterns, illuminating the darkness of the dungeon. Two others brought a single, steaming bowl of soup. They set up a small stool before Margo, and placed the soup atop it. Margo looked down at the thin bowl of steaming sustenance, and let the steam rise up over her cool face.

“No spoon?” Margo said, with as much snark to her voice as she could muster. Shaitan made a sound somewhat like a chuckle. Margo’s eyes narrowed beneath her mask. She didn’t trust the bastard not to spike the soup, but she was starving. Of course, there was also the implied indignity of what he expected. For Margo to debase herself, bend over and lap up the soup like an animal, powerless and totally unable to eat any other way. Still, her belly growled, and she felt so weak … she needed something in her …

Finally, Margo leaned forward and placed her face just an inch from the bowl. She closed her eyes, tried to pretend her captors weren’t watching her. Margo’s tongue darted out, lapping up a bit of the soup. It was tasty. Somewhat spicy, a thick and hearty broth. She could taste beef stock in it. How long had it been, since she’d had anything?

Margo’s tongue darted out again and again, lapping up the soup hungrily. She slurped a bit, dignity slowly chipped away by feelings of hunger and powerlessness. The feeding stopped suddenly, however, as Margo felt a fistful of her hair yanked on.

“Oww!” Margo cried out, her eyes forced open. Shaitan’s expressionless mask stared at her. Margo could feel some of the soup dribbling down her chin. Her scalp stung, but her captor said nothing. Margo trembled slightly. His grip eased up slightly. This time, Margo kept her eyes open, as she returned to lapping up the soup.

Margo winced, catching herself as a few moans of pleasure escaped her throat. She didn’t realize how desperately hungry she’d been, locked down here for God knows how long. She looked up at Shaitan’s impassive face, and the blank expression of the women behind him. Their lack of reaction made Margo’s humiliation that much worse, as if her debasement in front of them meant nothing. Margo could feel tears begin to brim, but she simply couldn’t stop lapping up the soup. Lick after lick, slurp after slurp, the Gossamer Ghost fed herself like a desperate animal, on her knees in the dirt.

Until, finally, Margo licked the last of it from the bottom of the bowl. Shaitan studied her as she did so, staring intently at the humiliated young crime fighter. When she was finished, Margo sighed, sinking a bit. She wanted to bury her face in the dirt to hide her shame, but the bondage wouldn’t allow her to.

“Hm,” Shaitan said, finally, “very good. You’ll eat again when I decide you’re allowed to. And soon, your real training begins …”

“B-bastard …” Margo said, harshly. A tear escaped, catching in her mask. Shaitan said nothing, standing up and motioning for his Harem. Two women took the table, with the bowl, carrying it out of the room. The other two flanked Shaitan as he stepped out of the dungeon.

“You won’t get away with this,” Margo said, lifting her head. “I’ll kill you for this! Do you hear me!? Turn around and face me, you bastard!” Shaitan did nothing of the sort, brushing off her threats and insults without a word. Margo glared at the door as her captors left. All impassive, save for one. The final Harem girl out of the room turned, looked at Margo in the eye. She didn’t smile, didn’t scowl, she only made eye contact.

Margo thought of Shaitan’s story, when they’d met. That the women of his ‘Haram Harem’ were once like her. Heroines, trained agents of spy agencies that he’d broken to his will. Margo wondered who was looking at her, now. How far she must have fallen, to be here, now.

The woman turned. She shimmied a hip, her dancer’s belt shifting slightly … and dropping a length of metal into the dirt. That bit of metal sat in the dirt, as the woman closed the door and left Margo alone in the darkness. Alone, with that small instrument …

Margo’s felt as if it might explode from her chest. Margo squinted in the dark, but she could still make out the faint outline of the instrument, there in the dirt. Small, shining, with a hook at the end. The lock pick taunted her, just out of reach.

Margo was desperate. Her heart was in her throat, now. Margo stretched as far as she could, chest thrust forward, arms pulled back hard by her chains. For a moment, Margo scrambled on her knees, desperation getting the better of her. She writhed in the grip of the manacles, her body shaking and bucking against her chains.

“Dammit!” Margo cried out, dropping back to her knees, chest slouched in defeat. Margo took a deep breath, trying to center herself. The Ghost knew she had to think. She didn’t know where Shaitan was, or if he could hear her, but there was no way he’d let that pick sit there, whenever he finally did come back. This was her only chance, and she couldn’t squander it. First, though, she had to get herself out of bondage.

Margo looked over her shoudler, at the wall she was chained to. Shaitan hadn’t spared any expense on this dungeon, whenever he set it up. The manacles were solidly fixed to the wall, bolted into solid stone. Usually, Margo would have been able to exploit a structural weakness, but not this time. Unfortunately, she was unconscious when the bound her here, so her usual escape artist tricks, setting up her escape before she was even fully bound, wouldn’t have worked. Sweat formed on Margo’s brow, a tear of panic edged out of her eye. She had to think!

After a moment, Margo thought of her stockings. Her legs were thick, but flexible. The lock pick was obviously out of her hand’s reach, but possibly not out of her entire reach. Margo pulled her legs up into a lotus position. She shifted on her butt, began dragging her leg along the rough ground until it caught the top of her stocking, and began to work it down her thigh. Margo grinned, rolling the stocking down her leg. Then, she started on the other leg, until both of her thighs were exposed. Margo then extended her legs, using the ground to peel off the slipper-like shoes she wore as the Ghost. When this was done, Margo started to grind her leg against the floor again. It irritated her skin, but Margo had no choice but to wince and bear it. Eventually, Margo was able to work the stocking down her leg, and use her other foot to peel it the rest of the way off.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. Margo then went into the next stage of her plan. Scooting her butt forward, Margo reached out with her bare leg. “Nnngh,” she grunted, as she reached the end of her chain. The Ghost continued to scoot as much as she could, drawing her body long and lean, to the full length that she could. Margo reached out with her foot, her bare toes inching toward the lock pick. “Nnnrgh …” Margo trunted, watching her progress with wide eyes and gritting teeth. Just a little bit longer …

Finally, Margo’s big toe caught the lock pick! “YES!” Margo let out a long sigh of relief. Then, she pulled back, curling her toes around the lockpick, and sliding it slowly toward her body. Scooting again, Margo got up to a seated position. She took the pick between her toes, and tried not to think about it as she bent over, and slid her lips over the pick. Margo tried not to balk too hard at the taste of dirt in her mouth. This was too important to worry about that, now!

With the pick in her teeth, Margo went to work on the first manacle. It took several tries for the young crime fighter to get the pick into the lock, but eventually it went. The Ghost struggled to keep herself under control, as she worked the pick in. Gently, she used the instrument to explore the interior of the lock, until finally, at long last, she heard the thing click!

Margo let out a sob of relief, as the metal manacle slipped off of her shoulder. She stretched her arm, weak from inactivity, before she got to work on the second manacle. This one took just as long, her trembling hands making things harder, but soon enough the Gossamer Ghost was free!

Margo fell back, lying down for a moment. She didn’t have long to rest, but she needed it. The Ghost looked around her room. She was in a sorry state; her tools and weapons were gone. She was tired, malnourished. She had no idea where Layla and Kimi were, if they’d even been taken like she had. And her costume had been picked apart, reducing her to lying in the dirt in nothing but her mask and panties. “Rough night,” Margo said, trying to laugh.

Finally, when she was ready, Margo stood up. Her legs were wobbly at first, and the heroine was forced to brace herself against the wall before dropping to the dirt again. Margo sighed. A few steps, though, and she had her footing back. Quietly, the Ghost got to work on the door, sliding the pick in and working the lock until finally, it gave way.

Margo pushed the door open slowly and silently. She looked out and about, seeing a massive hallway stretching out ahead of her. Margo crept along silently, wishing she hadn’t ruined her stockings back in her cell. The air was cool on her skin, and there weren’t quite as many shadows to hide in here as she would have liked. Still, there was no room to doubt herself. She had to keep moving.

The hallway was lined with cell doors, like the one she’d been living behind. At each one, Margo would peek into a small barred window, but saw no one behind them. If Layla and Kimi were here, or had been here, they weren’t any longer. Margo cursed, hoping she wouldn’t be forced to come back for them. On the other hand, she mused, at least they wouldn’t see her “dressed” like this …

Margo stopped herself when, rounding the corner, one of the women of Shaitan’s Harem was standing. She had her back to the Ghost, meaning she had to act quickly! Margo crept up swiftly, wrapped her hand around the woman’s veiled mouth and her arm around the woman’s waist. Margo’s ample chest compressed warmly against the woman’s bare back. Margo twisted at the hip, swinging her target backward and slamming her head against the wall! The woman went limp upon impact, unconscious.

Margo gently lay her out on the floor, back in the empty hallway. Margo couldn’t help but worry. If what Shaitan had told her was true, was this woman just as much a victim as Margo? Could she really have been brainwashed into such a state of devout servitude? Margo steeled her nerves, promising herself that she would come back, ready to take this bastard down.

Taking a moment to herself, the Ghost unfastened the sash around the dancer’s waist, and tied it off around her chest. It was a narrow fit, the slender-hipped dancer being a few sizes below Margo’s buxom frame, but it was better than skulking around nearly naked. Margo considered a more complete disguise for a moment, but just couldn’t bring herself to do it. At least leave this poor woman with some dignity, she decided.

After some creeping, the Ghost found herself an exit, a small spiral staircase leading upward. What she found, however, was not the run to safety she’d expected. Margo’s eyes widened as she looked out into the night, and saw a cliffside plummet that lead out into churning waters! She’d been held on an island, with no sign of other land in sight!

“N-no! No, dammit!” Margo said, fingers running through her hair in panic and frustration.

“I’m afraid you’ll find those waters most inhospitable, Ghost,” Shaitan said, his voice coming from just a few yards behind the Ghost.

“You … you were waiting for me, weren’t you?” the Ghost said, staring daggers at her captor. To his left, Margo saw the woman who had “snuck” the lock pick into her cell. Frustrated, Margo fought back a choking sob.

“I told you escape would be impossible, Ghost,” Shaitan said, “but it’s usually best for my guests to find that out for themselves. That sinking feeling? That heartbreak? That is what awaits you whenever you think you’re making your escape. Do you understand me?”

“Son of a …” Margo shook her head. Two of the Harem girls began to make their way to her, arms outstretched to recapture her. Grinding her teeth, Margo realized she couldn’t let that happen!

Margo took the first girl by the hand, yanked her in. Perhaps the Harem girls weren’t expecting resistance, but it was easy for Margo to drive a knee into her belly, winding her and knocking the fight right out of her. The other reached for Margo’s hair, but the Ghost was able to pivot on her heel, and swing the struggling woman in her grip into her second attacker! Both women let out a grunt of pain, and fell to the ground in a pile.

“Beat that bitch with another bitch,” Margo said, voice tinged with anger. She turned to Shaitan. “Pretty cocky if you think you only needed the two of them up here. Took six of them to bring me down, before. And I wasn’t nearly as angry back then!”

“Hm,” Shaitan said, stepping forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “You were better dressed then, as well.” The masked man lunged forward then, aiming a thrust kick at Margo’s head. The crimefighter ducked to one side, feeling more than ready for this fight. She was still weak from being kept in a hole, but desperate adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

The Ghost shot forward with punches, delivering a hard right and then a left, right to Shaitan’s core! He was a toned man, but he still fell back under Margo’s blows. Shaitan returned with an elbow, that caught and rocked Margo by the side of her head.

Stumbling, Margo’s feet found the edge of the cliff. She could hear the rolling waters below. She shook her head, and came back with a stomp to Shaitan’s boot, forcing him to back off and making him vulnerable to a hard palm strike to his jaw!

The Ghost kept laying in, knowing she had to keep her momentum. The Ghost took Shaitan’s arm as he fell back, taking advantage of his off-balance stance to flip him over, slamming him into the ground. Fueled by anger, Margo twisted the arm, hearing the shoulder pop out of place! Margo drove her bare foot into the man’s head, hearing the loud groan he made as he went limp.

“That’s what you get,” she panted, “sick bastard!” Margo released the arm, and walked away to survey her surroundings. There had to be some way off the island, didn’t there? They got here, after all. But Margo didn’t even know where ‘here’ was, let alone how she could get back home, especially in her current state …

“I knew you had promise,” Shaitan said, getting back up to his feet.

“Eek! What?” Margo spun around, wide-eyed. She could have sworn she’d taken him down! Margo put on a tough front, pulling her hands up into a fighting stance. “Do you really want your ass kicked again that badly?”

“Hm,” Shaitan said, reaching forward again. This time, he lunged like a snake, his hand moving right between Margo’s hands before she could stop him! He grabbed Margo by her makeshift top, pulling her body forward.

“Wait!” Margo cried out, eyes widening. She looked up just in time to see the fist coming for her face, a second before it slammed right between her eyes! “Uughn!” Tears came pouring through Margo’s eyes as she tried lifting her hands to her stinging face.

Shaitan spun Margo around by her top, pulling her in so that he could deliver an inescapable kick. “AAAARRRGH!” Margo screamed, as Shaitan’s leg slammed up between her legs, sending waves of pain through the young heroine’s body. Margo would have collapsed, but Shaitan held her aloft by her top.

“Do you see it now, Ghost?” Shaitan asked, while she groaned and squirmed in his grip, “The impossibility? Every time you think you’ve won, you haven’t. You’re mine, now, ready to be molded into something better. Something more useful. Just accept it.”

“N-never … ba-bastard …!”

Shaitan sighed. “Of course, there will need to be some punishment, first.” With a sharp jerk of his hand, Shaitan whipped Margo down. There was a rip of fabric as the sash split, and Margo’s near-naked body went tumbling to the ground. Trembling on the ground, Margo tried to crawl away, but the sharp pain between her legs would hardly allow her to move. Instead, Shaitan grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head up. He reached out with his other hand, and grabbed Margo’s mask, the last real scrap of her identity as the Gossamer Ghost.

“No! Please, don’t-!” Margo sobbed, shaking her head. Her plea was ignored, as Shaitan ripped the mask from her face, exposing Margo’s tear-strained face. Margo felt small, somehow even more exposed, and totally powerless in her captor’s grip.

Shaitan thrust downward, then, slamming Margo’s weeping face into the ground. It was a hard slam, and enough to rock her. Margo rolled away, now that she’d been released. She almost wished the blow had knocked her out. What was the point of continuing to fight, now? Shaitan looked down, staring intently at her eyes. Margo could almost feel the moment that the hope in them died …

Then, he planted a boot on Margo’s chest. She felt the pressure as he pressed on, squeezing the life out of the defeated heroine. Margo tried to take her final humiliation in silence, the villain posing over her like a trophy hunter. Slowly, things went dark. Margo’s eyelids went heavy, and her chest heaved with her final, desperate breaths. Margo thought of her friends, who she had completely and utterly failed. Pain and wooziness were overcoming her senses. In the end, the last bits of struggle went out of her. Margo was beaten. Now, slipping into unconsciousness, she was broken.

Shaitan snapped his fingers. On the other side of the trap door that had led out to the island’s surface, the two Harem girls had been watching their master intently, seeing him break down the Ghost in single combat. Now beckoned, they walked over to take the Ghost by each arm. Following their master, the two dragged Margo back toward the dungeon door. Now, the real work- and her real misery- would begin.




TO BE CONTINUED …

[bobcashman]

Nice....a very promising start to what appears to be a great story. Can't wait for the next chapter!

[BettyDreadful]

((Coming back to finally conclude this story. It was a weird one, and I'd like to thank anyone that took/takes the time to read it through. As always, any advice or pointers for revision would be welcome, as well as any questions/comments concerns. Thanks for reading!))

SLAVES OF THE SULTAN, Part Two
A Gossamer Ghost Peril



Margo Fox, the young woman known to the nightly news as the Gossamer Ghost, lay back in total, abject defeat. The heroine, the scourge of the criminal underworld, was laid low. On her back, bound and gagged, helpless in the face of a peril that threatened her mind, body and soul.

The Gossamer Ghost had been targeted on what she naively thought was a routine case. A stolen artifact, abuse of power, a simple matter of finding the evidence and turning it over. Instead, the unwitting heroine was lured into the trap of a villain called Shaitan the Sultan. International criminal mastermind, sadist, and collector and breaker of women like the Gossamer Ghost.

After an unknown time bound in a small, featureless dungeon, with no idea of the fates of the friends whom Shaitan had also had attacked, Margo was taken into a new, and more terrifying room. Shaitan’s assistants, his Haram Harem, had dragged the Ghost’s limp and weakened body to a chamber of horrors.

The room was arrayed like a torture museum. Sadistic implements from throughout history and around the globe lined the musty floors. Vats of oil, wax and other liquids were spread around, kept heated for sick purposes. It was here, Margo had been told, that she could expect Shaitan to truly get about his work of breaking down the suffering heroine.

It was the Haram Harem that sent the biggest chills down Margo’s spine, however; the women who had initially attacked- and handily defeated- her, the Haram Harem were women that Shaitan described as ‘like her,’ former heroines of various backgrounds who had tried to take him down, only to wind up his broken, unquestioning servants. Margo looked into their blank expressions, and wondered if there was anything left of the women they were, behind them.

The room, the Crucible, as Shaitan had called it, was circular. Margo was tied to a cross, there, on a hinge that would allow it to lie back flat or set her body upright while she was bound to it. It was there that the torture began.

In her initial battle with the Harem, Margo’s costume was halfway cut off her body, leaving her humiliated and exposed. Now, she’d been stripped to nothing but her panties, a lacy thong that did nothing to protect her from the cold of the dungeon. Her quivering, naked flesh was exposed, and she felt incredibly vulnerable to the predations of the Sultan. Strangely, however, the villain had allowed Margo her mask, as she came into the chamber. A strange gesture, and one Margo could only speculate as to the motivations of.

“Nnnnnnnghh!” Margo groaned, as a bronze decanter dripped hot wax onto her naked flesh. It seemed that particular evening’s torture was ready to being, with the wax. Margo hissed as the hot liquid splashed onto her bare flesh, and trickled down her body. The frame of the torture “bed” was such that Margo’s body was stretched long and lean, presenting a broad canvas for Shaitan’s sadistic pleasure.

“We’re only starting, girl,” Shaitan said, his British accent echoing through the golden mask he wore, “and by the end of the night, this will seem like child’s play.”

“S-sick … sick bastard!” Margo hissed, defiantly.

“I love that vigor,” Shaitan said, his voice oozing condescension. The villain had treated Margo like a plaything ever since her attempt at escaped had failed so utterly. He knew it wounded Margo’s spirit to get so close to freedom, only to find it impossible. And still, he held the fates of her friends Layla and Kimi a secret, dangling over her head like so many of his torture implements. “I can’t wait to see it fade away …”

Margo winced and writhed in agony as thin rivulets of wax burned across her body. To her misery, she knew that Shaitan was hardly exaggerating about this being only the beginning. The sadistic criminal had made her body his plaything for several nights, now, utilizing more cruel instruments of horror than Margo cared to remember.

When the decanter had finally emptied on Margo’s suffering body, the Sultan relaxed a moment. Margo was panting, sweating from the heat and the effort of choking back her own screams. Every night, she swore to herself she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. And every night, she felt the humiliation of failing.

“Nnnngh,” Margo groaned, as rivulets of hot wax dripped across her breasts, running down her soft flesh, burning her. She writhed under the pain, but her hands and feet were solidly manacled to her torture bed. The Sultan had kept her there for days, only pulling her off when she finally succumbed to the night’s torture and passed out. Then, she was told, it was the duty of the Harem to take her down, wash her body, feed her and strap her up again, where she would await the next day’s session. Margo had no idea, at this point, how long this had been going on. Only that with each day, she could feel her body weaken. Each day, her screams came earlier and earlier. For now, though, there was only her body shivering in the dark. Shaitan reached for a shelf behind Margo, for something she couldn’t see but was already dreading.

“Hmm,” he said, “looks as though you’re not entirely hating this … You see, I don’t have to be a cruel master, Ghost. All of the other women who have come through here have loved me, in the end. Just follow their lead …”

“Uuhnn,” Margo gasped, trembling, unable to hold back. Margo grimaced, unable to deny he was right. She could feel her nipples stiffening, her breasts swelling as the unique sensation of cool air and hot wax on her body took its toll on her. Bound, Margo writhed in misery, while she could feel Shaitan’s cold, expressionless mask leering over her body. Usually, the Gossamer Ghost was comfortable enough in herself to not mind stares- in her skimpy costume, she preferred it. Right now, however, with a villain who had defeated her so thoroughly, she felt exposed and painfully weak. Small. Vulnerable. She was totally at his mercy.

“Nnnnoo,’ Margo groaned, as Shaitan’s hand cupped her ample, slightly swollen breast. He rubbed and manipulated her soft, sensitive flesh, molesting the heroine while she was helpless to do anything about it. He peeled the cooled wax from her skin, letting it fall off in flakes. Margo winced and grimaced, tried to bite back a moan. “Uh-unhand … ooh, God …”

“Not sounding terribly heroic at the moment, are we?” Shaitan said, as he other hand began to work over Margo’s other blushing breast. The young woman squirmed beneath his hands, but she could get nowhere. She could only lie back, groaning, her young body helplessly reduced to the villain’s sick plaything!

“Ooohhh, God, just stop! Uhn, you bastard, let me go!” Margo shook her head, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks, now, as the villain continued to torture her. Margo’s protests were cut short with a sudden backhand across her face, causing her to cry out, then fall silent.

“Hm, not ready to admit how much you’re in my grip then?” Shaitan asked. “Not ready to confess that every part of you- your body, your identity, even your own feelings are no longer your own? Fine, then. To be expected. I suppose we shall return to the way of pain.”

Margo’s eyes widened as the Sultan pulled the leather lash from behind her. Margo’s sensitive breasts were still tender and tingling from the wax and rough handling, and were now “primed” for her captor’s dark purposes. With a hard crack, he brought the lash down across Margo’s chest.

“Aaaagghh!” Margo screamed, her will finally breaking, the same as it had every night of her torture. This time, so much quicker than before.

CRACK!

“Aaaaow!” Margo wept openly, now. The heroine who had faced down horrible criminals now reduced to a weeping, sobbing mess by the abuses of the Sultan.

SNAP!

“Aaah! Nnnngh! Noo!” Margo shook her head, her chest heaving as she gasped for air between shrieks of agony. Shaitan’s implacable, emotionless face looming over her made the entire situation more menacing. Not even the look of anger or hatred that came with the usual attempts on the Gossamer Ghost’s life. Only cold, implacable violence, coming down again and again on Margo’s helpless body!

CRACK!

“Aaargh!” Margo’s spine arched as the lash slashed across her breast. She looked down in horror as her soft flesh jiggled at the impact, a red slash forming clearly across her chest. “Aaaaowwww,” Margo whined, head falling backward as she let out another body-wracking sob.

SNAP!

CRACK!

Again and again Margo’s body was put to the lash, suffering beneath the blows as welts formed across her tender flesh. Margo’s eyes grew heavy as she screamed and sobbed, tears mixing with sweat as she took lash after lash. Until finally, woozy from the abuse she was suffering from, her eyes began to droop and close, slowly. Her mouth hung open in a lazy “o,” soft pink tongue lulling out the corner of her mouth.

“That’s it,” Shaitan said, grabbing a fistful of Margo’s hair, “that’s the look I’m after. The end is in sight, Ghost. Every night, it takes me less time to break you. Soon, you’ll be ready to take your place at my side. More dignity than being my victim … not that you’ll know.”

Margo had no response to that. There was no fight left in her, and she’d screamed herself raw at this point. Now, all that was left for the fallen heroine was to let her eyes roll back, let her tongue lull out of her mouth, and slowly descend into the darkness. While trying not to think of what tortures tomorrow would bring …

+++++


The city of Paris, the famed City of Lights, had more than its share of darkness. In the darkest moments, however, hopeful citizens could be fortunate to find a light. A steady blade against the darkness, a smiling face beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

Miss Musketeer, known to few as Chloe Petit, was the third woman to bear that mantle. Clad daringly in a blue and white tunic that proudly bore the fluer-de-lis, a wide-brimmed, plumed hat, short black pants with wide-brimmed boots and white opera gloves, the young heroine was an unexpected enemy to Paris’ criminal element. The first Miss Musketeer fought Nazi occupiers during the War; the second, international spy networks and mad global villains. The current young woman had found herself lifting her blade against even more theatrical crime, costumed criminal masterminds such as Abbot Noir, or the Felonious Monk. Tonight, however, the young crime fighter would find herself against new, unfamiliar opponents.

Miss Musketeer was perched between some gargoyles, resting a moment between capers. She smiled, looking out over her beloved city. She breathed in deep, grinning to herself, until she was startled by she sound of a soft foot gently scraping stone. Chloe put her hat back over her short red bobbed hair, and spun around. Her hand was on her blade.

“Who goes?” she asked, hurriedly. Slowly, the intruder emerged from between stone chimneys. She was dressed like a dancing girl, in shimmering, sheer pants, with a gold-coin laden top and a veil that concealed her features.

“My God, you frightened me,” Miss Musketeer said, “how rude of me. You’re here, so I assume you know me. I do not have your name, however …?” The woman was silent, but as she drew two hooked knives from the back of her belt, Miss Musketeer knew her intent well enough. The fencer drew her own blade, and shifted one foot back into a ready stance.

“I see, then,” Chloe said, her smile dropping a bit. “You look to make a name for yourself, then. Disappointing. I warn you, better have tried. So, on guard, then, let us settle this!” With that, Chloe raised her blade to the ready, and took some testing thrusts at the dancer. Readily, she took a few steps back, letting the tip of Chloe’s blade dance well away from her face. She returned by closing the distance, taking two swift swipes with her blades. Each missed the red-headed Parisian by inches, as the Musketeer stepped back.

“Fast!” Chloe said, grin returning, “Your reasons may be banal, but perhaps this bout will amuse me, yet!” Throughout the Parisian underworld, Miss Musketeer’s glib tongue was known and reviled. Beneath her veil, however, the dancing assassin showed no reaction. Stepping through, she brought her blades down in two arcs, increasingly tight. The first was sidestepped; the second glanced off of Miss Musketeer’s blade, redirected just enough to miss the bare flesh the side of her bold costume exposed.

Chloe threw herself into the duel, as she always did. So much so that she didn’t notice the other two dancers stepping out of the shadows, each one holding a long, wooden cudgel …

The first dancer swung down hard, committing herself fully to a slash of her blade that could have been the end of Miss Musketeer, if she hadn’t been able to step back. Then, springing forth off her back foot, Miss Musketeer lunged forward and delivered a thrust that sank her blade deep into the shoulder of her attacker!

“Aaargh!” she screamed, dropping her blade and falling to her knees. Miss Musketeer loomed over her, smiling triumphantly.

“Point to me,” Chloe smiled. “Now, perhaps we parlay? I kn-AAH!” Miss Musketeer’s cocky demeanor collapsed the moment the first cudgel came down on her petite head. Shocked and frightened, the heroine stumbled forward. “N-no …” she gasped, turning around just in time to see the second cudgel come in and crack her across the jaw!

“OOOFF!” Chloe cried out, as the blow rocked her, knocked her off her boots and sent her sprawling. Her blade clattered, as he bounced across the roof. She looked up in wide-eyed fear at her new attacker. “N-no, wait,” she begged, “please …”

Chloe’s protests were cut short as the cudgels came down again and again, knocking her fimly into unconsciousness. Laid out, spread eagle and flat on her back, France’s pert young defender was laid low. The women turned to their downed companion, who nursed her injured arm. They said nothing. The two pulled Chloe’s limp body off the cool ground, while their sister in arms collected the fallen blades. They would return to the lair of their master in silence, never addressing the fate that awaited the woman who had nearly failed in their objective …


+++++


Margo was awoken by the creak of the dungeon door. Moaning, she lifted her head to see Shaitan step silently into the room. Her body went tense, biting her lip. Margo thought back to their previous sessions, the vicious tortured inflicted on her helpless body. Margo was sore and straining, struggling to keep herself going.

Worst of all, however, was the less expected reaction of her body. Margo’s abs tensed, in anticipation. She could feel her heart pounding beneath her chest, her breath catching in her throat. Blushing slightly, Margo lowered her face, hoping the darkness of the room would hide her shame. Margo’s eyes narrowed; at home, she was a heroine, a feared crime-fighter, a savior to the downtrodden. Here, she was reduced to the plaything of a madman, her body subjected to his every whim, powerless against him. What was she now?

Instead of the lashing she was expecting, however, the two women reached for Margo’s wrists, and untied her from the cross. They were hardly gentle about it, twisting her arms the second they were free. The curvy heroine was forced to the ground, her chest hitting the dirt as they bent her over.

“Wh-what?” Margo gasped, “What are you doing?”

“Tonight, we have something different for you, Ghost,” the Sultan said, a sneer in his voice beneath the impassive mask. “A trial. To see how ready you are.” Margo didn’t question him further, as she was dragged back to her feet and led out of the Sultan’s torture room. “By the end of this, you’ll understand the power I have, and the fact that your life is in my hands …”


+++++


Margo’s body was dumped into the dirt again in an open area. Looking around, she couldn’t help but wonder how large this place was. Shaitan had taken his leave of the three women, Margo and the two that were dragging her body down the halls, and now the two were leaving the fallen heroine there alone, in the dirt.

Margo coughed, as she pushed herself up to her knees. She looked around the room, taking a deep breath while sizing up the room. It was a circular chamber, with a balcony looming above. Naturally, that was where Shaitan had taken a seat, flanked by more of his Haram Harem.
The fallen heroine got up onto wobbly legs, taking a wide stance. The open room left her feeling exposed, vulnerable. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere she could make a break for. Not that she could, in her current state: standing up, Margo almost fell down again immediately, barely supported by wobbly legs.

“Wh-what is this?” Margo asked, her voice barely strong enough to reach Shaitan on his balcony.

“Your test, girl,” Shaitan said, his voice cold and dismissive. “The moment you succumb to me, and accept my power over life and death. Now, bring the second!”

Across the chamber from Margo, a steel door swung open. Three figures entered the chamber, two more Harem girls dragging a young, svelte redheaded girl. Margo gasped, seeing the third girl dressed in the same humiliating fashion that she was: a tiny thong, and a tight yet skimpy cloth binding her breasts- which were a bit smaller and perkier than Margo’s own, possibly making her more comfortable, but no less exposed.

“Gossamer Ghost,” Shaitan said, “meet Miss Musketeer. In her home Paris, Chloe is a celebrated heroine, a masked crime fighter upholding a legacy that goes back to the French Maquis resistance of World War II. Here, however, tonight … she is another mongrel, just like you. A woman who will kill you now, in personal combat, at my behest … Or be slain by you, marking your final transition to my Haram Harem, having abandoned your ideals to accept my absolute control over your fate!”

Margo was bewildered, looking at the poor girl. Her face looked hazy, like she was barely registering what was happening. Still, at least Shaitan hadn’t wrapped Kimi or Layla into this …

“Why would we do this?” Margo asked. “What makes you think she’s so ready to kill me?”

“Poor Miss Musketeer doesn’t have much say in the matter.” Shaitan said. “I haven’t had the time to groom her, but the drugs I have served her will more than suffice. Once she comes to and realizes she’s already killed me- if she ever comes to, of course- then it will break her spirit to know that she’s already killed for me. So, at least, you can go into this knowing you’re my favorite, my little Ghost.”

“You can keep that compliment,” Margo muttered. That comment made her skin crawl, as she watched Miss Musketeer get released into the chamber. Margo’s legs twitched, but there was no way she could close the distance between herself and the opposite door as the Harem girls slipped through it, and closed it shut behind them. So now here she was, trapped in this sick arena with a girl drugged out of her mind, and seemingly only one, horrible way out.

Miss Musketeer stumbled toward her. The French heroine looked at Margo with a look of mania, aggression building in her eyes. Margo could tell she was barely cognizant, however, only responding to a drug-induced instinct to lash out. Margo pulled her aching body into a defensive stance, knowing that subduing this girl was going to take everything she had.

“You don’t have to do this,” Margo said, voice wavering, “we can get out of this! You don’t have to play this sick bastard’s game!” It was a long shot, this Miss Musketeer didn’t even seem to be recognizing where she was, let alone the words she was saying. The fallen French heroine simply stalked toward Margo, looking ready for a fight.

Meanwhile, Shaitan sat on his throne, a glass of wine in his hand as he waited to see how this might play out. Margo saw him out of the corner of her eye, and couldn’t help but sneer. Unfortunately, the distraction would cost her, as the French girl lunged forward, tackling Margo to the dirt!

“Aaaagh!” Margo cried, as the two women’s bodies hit the ground. Chloe was on top of her, straddling the Ghost’s belly with her toned thighs. Margo writhed beneath her, trying to buck the maddened girl off of her. Margo ignored the effort, instead wrapping her hands around Margo’s throat!

“Hhhhkk!!” Margo grunted, as Chloe’s slender fingers clamped downed and threatened to crush her wind pipe. Margo’s eyes began to roll back, her tongue popping out of her mouth. She’d endured so much abuse helplessly at Shaitan’s hands, now she was trying to get herself back in the mindset to fight! Margo’s hands flailed helplessly to either side as she panicked, body writhing beneath Chloe, pawing in the dirt as Margo fought against fear. Desperate, Margo closed her hands around some of the dirt that composed this arena floor, grabbing a clump and hurling it into Chloe’s eyes.

“AAaaieee!!” Chloe cried out, releasing Margo’s throat to try wiping the dirt and grime out of her eyes. Margo was easily able to buck the pert little redhead off, in her current state. Rolling onto her side, Margo massaged her aching throat, hating herself for having to resort to such underhanded tactics against a girl who truly didn’t deserve it.

Margo was able to get up to her feet before Chloe, giving her an opening. Margo grabbed Chloe by the arm, flipping the girl down to the dirt hard, knocking the wind out of her. Margo raised a leg, then stomped it down hard into Chloe’s toned belly to keep her down a moment. Margo backed off, massaging her thigh and wincing. Getting into a fight like this, after the ordeals she’d endured at Shaitan’s hands, was difficult. Still, she had no choice. As Margo’s aching throat reminded her, Miss Musketeer was in no state to hold back, and Margo was fighting for her life!

“Hnngh,” Chloe groaned, clutching her belly as she rolled up to her knees. Margo tried to plan a next move, but that plan went out the window when Chloe lunged at her!

“No!” Margo cried out, as Chloe tackled her. The French redhead was in a frenzy, attacking heedlessly, despite the steps Margo had taken to break her down. Now, with drug-induced strength, Chloe squeezed on the Gossamer Ghost’s body, squeezing the life out of her with a bear hug.

“Nnooo~” Margo groaned, as Chloe lifted her up. The French girl was the smaller of the two, but it seemed whatever drugs Shaitan had pumped into her body were giving her a frenzied strength. Margo could feel her ribs grinding, creaking, as her body was compressed painfully by her enemy. Margo wrapped her thighs around Chloe’s slender body, which didn’t give her much advantage. Margo’s ample chest nearly spilled out of her flimsy covering as her body was compressed, Chloe shoving her face into her bust as she ground the heroine down. Gasping for air, Margo looked around desperately for whatever escape she could find.

As she writhed in Chloe’s maddened grip, Margo looked up to see Shaitan looking down at them. Despite the villain’s impassive mask, she could almost feel the deep pleasure radiating off of him, and it made her sick. Down here, in the darkness, the life of the Gossamer Ghost could be ending, just for this sick bastard’s pleasure. It was humiliating to be reduced to this, a plaything for the madman’s pleasure, but what choice did she have? She could fight for her life, even kill this other heroine, and succumb to his dark game … Or she could accept her fate, die here, naked and alone, for his perverse voyeurism. Margo’s body began to weaken, her eyelids growing heavy, as the bleakness of her situation settled in on her shoulders.

Not only was she getting killed, Margo thought to herself, but she was doing so as part of some sick bastard’s power trip. Margo’s arms slumped to her sides, and her head lulled back. Shaitan leaned forward, watching with great interest as Margo bit her lip.

“N-not … not like this …” Margo groaned, shaking her head in protest. Inentionally or not, Chloe was killing her. Margo had no doubt that if she slipped into unconsciousness, as her body was wanting to do more with every passing moment, it was over. Her life would be forfeit, and Kimi and Layla, as maybe even everyone back home, would be in Shaitan’s hands. Margo’s hands began to reach up, as the fallen heroine reached up for her last ditch effort. Without much other recourse and less concern for her vaunted identity and dignity, the heroine made one “hail mary” effort at countering the hold.

“Rrrrgh!” Margo groaned, as she wrapped her arms around Chloe’s head and pressed it hard between her ample breasts. She flexed, bust mushrooming against Chloe’s face until her face and mouth were utterly smothered. The French girl tried squeezing harder, drawing some more pained moans from the Ghost, but couldn’t shake her off.

On the balcony, Shaitan’s arms had left his knees and he rose from his throne. The masked man planted his hands on the edge of the balcony, looming over the women fighting for their lives beneath him. Margo could feel his leering gaze though that steel mask, making her skin crawl all over again, deepening her shame at the lengths she was going to, to win this fight. Still, she couldn’t back down now.

Slowly, Chloe staggered, went weak at the knees, and fell. She held tight to Margo’s body as well as she could, until that grip slackened as well. Soon, the French heroine lost all consciousness, collapsing into Margo’s warm bosom and falling asleep.

Margo released the slumbering girl, dropping her body to the ground. She gasped for air as soon as she was able to, chest heaving against her flimsy, drool-stained top. Hands on her knees, the Ghost turned her head back up toward Shaitan.

“It’s … it’s over, you bastard!” Margo said, between pants. “Nobody’s dead, nobody has to die. You lose, you impotent bastard. I won’t kill for you.”

“Hmm,” Shaitan said, impassively, “a thrilling scrap. I can’t wait to see how you do for me, when I’ve rebuilt you. First, however, finish the deed.
Finish the deed, or die here in this hole.” Shaitan drew a long, wickedly curved dagger from his belt, and dropped it into the dirt. The tip hit earth, standing on its edge, beckoning Margo.

“It’s somewhat regrettable, the young Musketeer had promise,” Shaitan said, “but one of you lives. One of you dies, that is how it is.”
Margo fell to her knees, body and spirit feeling spent. She looked at the dagger, and sobbed.

“You realize it now,” Shaitan said, “how I control your life? How I control the lives of your friends? Look around you, Ghost. You’re not in your city. You’re not fighting murderous dwarfs or bimbo mob princesses. You’re facing me in my kingdom, where I hold the cards. You have nothing. Strike that girl down, and accept what your life of ‘heroism’ and ‘adventure’ has been reduced to.”

Margo got up. On weak legs, she walked to the dagger, and pulled it out of the ground. Shaitan locked eyes with her. He saw no defiance, no energy. The tears on her face had completely dried, and she didn’t have the energy left in her for new ones. Margo bent over, and pulled the dagger from the ground.

Shaitan watched Margo’s slow, steady walk to the fallen body of Chloe, still face-down in the dirt. Using her foot, Margo pushed the girl over, her limp and lifeless-looking body flopping onto her back. Margo straddled her, wrapping her thick thighs around the girls waist. With a heaving sigh, Margo raised wrapped both hands around the dagger, and leaned over the girl, looking down at her face.

“Yes,” Shaitan said, “there it is. Do it, and be mine, Ghost …”

Margo leaned over, collapsing with the dagger point first. She shuddered as she sank her body into Chloe’s, driving the dagger downward. Margo’s shoulders betrayed a few sobs, Shaitan grinning beneath his mask as he witnessed the death of Margo’s ideals, and her identity, with that cruel act.

“Collect her,” Shaitan said, “have her dressed and bring the broken heroine to my chambers. Dispose of the French girl at your leisure.” Standing, he left with a confident stride.



++++++


Shaitan returned to his quarters with his head high and his shoulders back. He stepped into the room alone, and lit a candle. Looking up, he saw Kimi Li and Layla Sabri hanging, bound and gagged from the ceiling, their arms high over their heads. Beneath his mask, he grinned.

“So, I did not need you for my final stage, after all,” he said. He softly brushed his fingers along Kimi’s trembling chin, staring at her through his impassive mask. “Of course, you’ll still serve some purpose. With your Ghost now a part of my harem, siccing her on you could be that last, final straw that snuffs out her former identity. Or, at the very least, an entertaining evening for me …”

Layla thrashed a bit in her restraints, and Shaitan watched her body writhe in its restraints. As he’d done for some time now, since he’d taken these women for his own. Finally, when he’d had enough, he brought the back of his gloved hand across Layla’s face with a slap, that rendered the young woman still and silent.

“That will be enough, I’m afraid. More than enough. Tonight, I celebrate. I enjoy the fall of another heroine, the expansion of my Harem, and the next conquest of my empire. You’re lucky to have witnessed as much of my glory as you have, but everyone’s luck runs out at some point. And now-”
Shaitan’s rant was cut short by the creak of the steel door. He turned to see Margo Fox, still stripped of her costume, now wearing the garb of one of the Haram Harem. Kimi Li’s eyes widened, seeing her friend for the first time in some time, dressed like this. Margo sashayed into the room with a veil over her face, her ample bust squeezed into a coin-bedecked white bra, with a silken sash wrapped around her waist and flowing, sheer billowy pants. She looked every bit the member of Shaitan’s Haram Harem, with the same blank look on her face.

Kimi gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. Shaitan beckoned to his newest woman, then pointed to the floor at his feet. Margo walked to up him, then went obediently to her knees. A chuckle echoed beneath Shaitan’s mask, as he wrapped his hand around the back of Margo’s head.


+++++


The three women of the Haram Harem walked down to where Margo lay, atop Chloe. Wordlessly, one reached down and took Margo by her hair. Without mercy, she yanked the Ghost’s head up … to see no blood, no piercing anywhere on Chloe’s limp body!

“Hah!” Margo hissed, slicing the arm of the Harem woman and fending her off. Lunging, the Ghost stabbed another of them, clean through the shoulder. The Ghost knew she had only one chance at this fight, against opponents who had humiliated her before. She had to make each swing count!

The stabbed Harem woman went down, clutching her shoulder. The one Margo sliced reached for her own dagger, allowing Margo to lock her wrist with her free hand, before striking a blow against her temple that left the woman crumpling unconscious, to the floor.

The third and final assassin had reached her own dagger, and was ready to plunge it into Margo’s back. The Ghost dived, the slice of the knife sailing through her hair as she tumbled forward. The Harem woman raised her blade again, only to catch a face full of arena dirt for her trouble, allowing Margo to drive the hilt of the blade hard into her solar plexus, incapacitating her.

Margo knew she had little time; Shaitan was likely expecting her soon, and would be checking on her. Fortunately, his lofty vantage point had been enough to hide her actions from him, sliding the dagger between Chloe’s ribs and arm, harmlessly into the dirt. Desperate, but the Sultan’s arrogance paid off for her.

Margo quickly got to work; using the sashes of the women, she bound and gagged them. Reluctantly, she left Miss Musketeer on the ground. The French girl was out a long time for a simple smother, likely sleeping off the drugs. Waking her now, before her system could process them (if indeed it would, Margo worried) might be … undesirable. Instead, Margo focused on how she could press her advantage, before it was too late.


+++++


Shaitan wrapped a gloved hand around the back of Margo’s head, and pulled her close. Taking the life of an innocent woman was, in his experience, the ultimate test of breaking his victim’s will. Over the next few months, he would rebuild Margo, train her into the well-oiled killing machine that he felt embodied the rest of his Harem. For now, though, there was his favorite way to break the new members …

Margo inched in, under his control. Until she wasn’t. Shaitan stopped, realizing that he was suddenly meeting resistance. He looked down, and Margo saw the whites of his eyes through the shadow of his mask. In a single, fluid motion the Ghost drew the dagger from her sash, and sliced the Sultan’s leg!

“Eeeyaaaaagh!” the villain screamed, his voice a mix of shock and rage. He reeled back on instinct, shifting his weight to his good leg as he laid into Margo’s face with a backhand slap! Margo went sprawling, in no position to dodge the blow, and was laid out across the marble floor. Still, the Sultan had been the one to catch the worst of the exchange. Margo shook her head, and pushed herself up to one knee, dagger still clenched hard in her hand.

“H-how?” Shaitan gasped, “My torture has broken better, stronger women than you! How could you have resisted? How could some stupid, half-naked ‘crime fighter’ be the one to …?”

“Because, you sick bastard,” Margo said, getting up to her feet, “you think I’ve never been beaten before? You think I’ve never lost a fight? Been humiliated? Tortured? And yet, I’m still standing, which is more than I can say for you, in a minute!”

Margo lunged again, aiming the dagger for Shaitan’s shoulder. The masked man sidestepped, his grunt echoing against his mask as his weight went onto his wounded leg. Margo followed up with an elbow strike, connecting with Shaitan’s chest and sending him staggering backward. The Ghost knew her movements were slower, weaker than usual, but Shaitan was losing blood. That first strike had done the damage she needed. She now only had to last a bit longer …

She stood, and Shatain took a swing. A feint, as his jab sailed past her face … right before a left hook sank into Margo’s belly.

“Hooofff!” Margo groaned, doubling over. Shaitan followed up, leveling her slender jaw with an uppercut that sent the Ghost sailing backward.

“Agh!” Margo grunted, as her back hit the cool floor. Margo’s ample chest heaved as she gasped for air, blinking back the pain. She was so spent from the torture and malnutrition, she was barely holding it together. Still, she clung to the dagger … even as Shaitan pressed his boot onto her forearm, trapping her.

“I’ll break you yet, Ghost,” Shaitan threatened, acid in his voice. “I’ll break you down, tear you apart, make you mine or leave your body for the vultures! I’ll tear down everything you are, you were, and make you mine! And my face will be the last thing you see in this life, before the darkness takes you, slowly!”

Margo grunted and squirmed, unable to free her weapon hand from his boot. So, she redirected, swinging her leg up to sweep his injured limb. His cry of pain echoed in the chamber, as he stumbled off clutching his leg.

“You’re just a man, Shaitan,” Margo said, slowly pushing herself back up to her feet. “A man that’s failed. Give up now, surrender. We’ll get those girls the help they need, and you can pay for your crimes. Otherwise, you’ll just bleed out here …”

“Hahh,” Shaitan laughed, humorlessly, “I haven’t built an empire of nothing, girl. You’re in the seat of my power …” Shaitan stumbled, still nursing his aching leg, toward the wall. He brushed aside a tapestry, revealing a lever, which she threw down with his full weight.

A creaking sounded, a mechanical grind that sent a chill through the women in the room. Beneath where Kimi and Layla’s bodies were hung, the floor began to slide and pull away, revealing an ineffable darkness below. Kimi’s eyes widened in horror, as she looked down. Then, there was a lurch, the bodies of the two women bounced in their restraints, and began to lower.

“I still hold all the cards, Ghost,” Shaitan hissed, “and I still hold your friends’ lives! You resisted me longer than you ever should have been able. Relent, repent, and they will live! Fail, and you will all die, here!”

Margo didn’t think, only acted. She threw the dagger across the expanse, straight into Shaitan’s exposed back! He let out a scream, stumbling backward. Each step drew him closer to the hole, unil finally he fell in. His final outpouring of rage and fear faded with his body, into the darkness.
Margo rushed back to the lever, pushing up on it with all the might she could muster. Her arms screamed at her, her back in agony. She looked back to Kimi and Layla, dangling helplessly, inching lower and lower down the same pit that had claimed Shaitan.

Margo’s legs and belly tensed, and she gave one final, wrenching effort. “Eeeeyaaaaahhh!” she screamed, as finally the lever relented, slipped and went back into position. Margo let out an exhausted gasp as the chain stopped, and the grate closed once more. Exhausted, terrified, but safe, Kimi and Layla hung over the sliding door that now served as tomb to Shaitan the Sultan.


+++++


The Gossamer Ghost and her friends found their way off the island in the form of a small boat, docked nearby. Chloe, the heroine Miss Musketeer, had been vital to their survival in the end, having come to in a panic on board. Once she’d come around, however, her cosmopolitan knowledge of linguistics was the only thing that convinced the folks of the coastal village they found to take them in and provide rest.

More disturbingly, Chloe’s was the only body the women found in the lair of Shaitan. The Ghost had been in no shape for another fight, but the total lack of any of the Haram Harem was a mystery. A mystery that would have to wait for another day, as the heroine and her friends gathered some supplies, found their clothes and found a way to get away from that hellish island.

Housed in a small villa as she was nursed to health, Margo Fox contemplated the future. Of all the villains she’d faced, Shaitan had been something totally new. She shuddered to think of how often she’d nearly submitted to his will, allowed her very being to be rewritten by that monster. Every time, she turned to her friends. Her gratitude that Kimi Li and Layla Sabri had survived, The new friendship she’d eventually find in Miss Musketeer. But still, there was much to think about.

The world of the Gossamer Ghost had opened up, she realized. Gone past the limits of her city. And now, she had to think about what that meant, and how she was going to cope with a much larger world …

[Void]

I'm really late to the party on this one, I apologise. I really enjoy your Gossamer Ghost stories, and this one might just be my new favourite. The scenario you set up was great, and I liked that you explored the longer, slower method the Sultan used to try and wear Margo down, night after night, and the growing implication that she was starting to enjoy it. You're really good at hinting at the dark, enticing things that could befall Margo without explicitly going there. Fun characters and storytelling all around, and I look forward to the next one!

If you ever want to turn the screw a little harder - go a paragraph or two deeper into the peril - I wouldn't object! My mind is racing with what could have happened during some of those nights we didn't see.

[BettyDreadful]

Thanks Void, really appreciate you taking the time to comment! I was trying to make this one more dire than Margo's usual adventures, and the villain she was up against a little more serious than her usual foe. I also appreciate your suggestions about where else I could take things, with Margo's misadventures. I try to keep things within the confines of adventure fiction, albeit a very spicy sort of adventure fiction, but I've been a little more open toward pushing the envelope. So thanks very much for taking the time to respond, I very much appreciate the feedback!

Along those lines, does anyone have any suggestions for ways to do that? Anything they'd like to see befall the Ghost and friends, in future installments? I'm not specifically taking requests, per se, but I would be interested in seeing what might interest readers and where they might like to see things go. Right now, I'm working on something fairly new for the Ghost and her Justice Sorority, but would love to know what readers might fancy seeing.

[Void]

Hurm… A mischievous hypnotist, perhaps? Or some sort of Cthulhuesque cult with a sinister, sensual god? Something to do with dancing... I dunno, like a mesmerizing dancer that beguiles Margo into a seductive dance... to the death? Haha, I don't know - I'm groping for provocative situations that would match the flavour of these stories. In truth, I think you've got a good vision for how to play these tales and I would trust wherever you want to go with it. You've probably got the balance just right to be spicy but not so much that you cross genres - I'm just a degenerate lover of the spice.

If you're wondering how to push the limits without actually crossing any lines, I would consider lingering a little longer on the perils that you are willing to do. You don't need events to progress further than you want them to go, but simply by dragging the peril out longer, with more detail or more dialogue between Margo and her captor, that would turn the temperature up a notch. For example I could read about the Sultan pouring hot wax on to Margo's restrained body and peeling it off while exchanging quiet banter with her as she wavers until the cows come home - and I don't own any cows.