Game Set and Match

“About six months ago I was hired by the Omanis to train some of their, let us say, more discrete correctional institutes.”

Gudrun let a small laugh escape at her use of the euphemistic approach to her explanation.

“After completing that overhaul of two institutes I was asked by the chief of the Dubai Punitive Establishment to help them with similar problems in one of their correctional establishments,” she continued.

“I don’t understand...” said Fazia. “I mean what has this got to do with Abdhel?”

“My dear girl, you really are just a little naive, are you not? If you ask one of the senior officers of the Dubai fifth directorate to help you solve a personal problem and if that person consents, then your personal matter becomes more than just a private problem!”

Fazia gulped as she realised that her idea to have Sally Freeman abducted for a couple of days and then released just before the match was starting to get beyond her control. If indeed it had ever really been in her control!

“Where are we going then?” asked Fazia.

“To the little establishment that I have been organising for the last few months. It is there that you will meet a couple of acquaintances of yours, because decisions have to be made about their future.”

Through the darkened windows of the limousine Fazia could see that they were heading out of the city area of Dubai and were heading into the desert hinterland that stretched for hundreds of miles to the west of the city.

For ten minutes there was silence as Fazia tried to weigh up her companion. With her slight tan and the insignificant touches of makeup she could be taken for perhaps an Iranian or Eastern Arab woman, especially as she wore both khim?r and hijab. Otherwise there was no sign, but the single dull metal ring on her ring finger and the obvious care of the manicure that adorned her finger tips with black and silver.

On the other hand, Gudrun knew all about the small girl who sat opposite her. She had read both the files and the cuttings and knew that Fazia represented what the authorities feared most of all in a woman. Successful, driven, temperamental and unlikely to be subdued and obedient like a woman of the Emirates should be. Worst of all she was intensely popular in the world outside the Gulf States. That made her an object of pride as well as an object of apprehension.

“How far into the desert are we going?”

“Just far enough!” replied Gudrun.

Another ten minutes and the car turned into what appeared to be one of the extensive date farms that were scattered in the outer parts of the vast desert that makes up the Arabian peninsula.

Then a check point, a raised gate, a short gated tunnel and the car was in a dusty compound surrounded by high walls and forbidding walkways.
“This is not exactly Al Aweer jail,” said Fazia as the door of the car opened and she stepped into the intense light that bounced off the walls of the compound.

“Al Aweer jail is the public face of Dubai,” said Gudrun as she adjusted her veil and stepped out of the car. “It is the modern correction and retraining side of the state system. This is where personal enemies of the state and those who have upset the rich and powerful end up, when they have to fade from public view.”

“You mean that Sally Freeman and Dave have ended up in this dusty compound?”

“Absolutely. What is more, they can never leave the system once they have entered it!”

“But the match? I have to play her!”

“Fazia, Fazia,” said Gudrun. “Don’t be so naive! Once the two unbelieving foreigners arrived here, under the supervision of the correctional police, they have become the property of the state. Or perhaps it is better to say that they now belong to whomsoever the state chooses to be their guardian!”

“Why have you brought me here to see this then?”

“Follow me!”

*** Chapter 5. First Service.

The dusty outside of the buildings did not betray a hint of the up to date decor inside. The doors with their cracked glass windows opened onto the dusty little office with rusting grilles and furniture. Once admitted past the office with a camera-check the two women opened the door onto another world. Here was a stark modernity. A tiled corridor led them into a door where they had to wait for two minutes for their identity to be confirmed again.

“Actually the checks are done in Dubai City,” said Gudrun. “That way there is no local establishment to threaten or bribe.”

Fazia just nodded and wondered what she was doing here. After all once she knew about a place like this then she was forever under threat.

Gudrun looked down at her and knew what she was thinking. “You are being shown this for a reason. It is a lesson. Learn well and draw the correct conclusions!”

“The only lesson is that, at the moment, I am on the correct side of the bars. It could be otherwise!”

“Well done,” came the reply.

At that moment the gate clicked and Gudrun opened the bars.

“We are now in the part of the prison where you do not wish to be acting the role of prisoner!” said Gudrun as she led Fazia into a corridor lined with doors with small glass windows set at eyelevel.

Fazia could feel a nervousness overcome her. A slight weakness in the knees and a light-headedness that left her a little breathless.

The German woman, still in the long robe but with the silk black headscarf around her shoulders, paused by one of the doors and glanced into the window.

“Good, very good. They really know how to organise a proper environment for training here,” muttered Gudrun as she turned from the darkened glass and continued.

Fazia took a quick peek through the glass into the cell beyond. She caught a glimpse of a man wearing a hood lying curled up on the floor asleep. His body criss crossed with bruises and livid stripes that showed where he had been whipped or caned.

Two steps, and she had caught up with Gudrun who was just fitting a key into the next door along.

The door swung to reveal a cell like the previous one, but this one at least had a small bed, a cabinet and a couple of pictures on the wall.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Sally Freeman.

She was wearing a short summer dress that was a luminous orange colour like the uniforms in American prisons. Around her neck was a plain metal collar, her feet were bare and there was no sign of the engagement ring that she had been wearing for the past few months.

Sally looked up and there was clear surprise when she saw Fazia looking into her cell.

“Fazia, what the fuck?” she said in shock.

“Mind your manners,” retorted Gudrun and raised her hand a little as though she was considering slapping Sally’s face. “Fazia is here to help decide your ultimate fate so it might just be a little politic to help her come to a decision that is in your interest as well!”

Fazia could see a tear gathering in the corner of Sally’s eye and her compressed lips showed that she was almost at the point of tears.

“As far as I am concerned Miss Sally Freeman should never play tennis again. Otherwise I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to the slut,” said Fazia. “It is Dave Sharparov that I want to get my hands on!”

Sally looked up at Fazia and then at Gudrun.

“What happens to me now?”

Gudrun reached out and patted Sally on the head in an almost proprietary way. Her fingers pushed a few strands of hair back and then drifted down Sally’s cheek to end cupping her chin.

“My dear girl, I have had so many requests for you that I may well have a problem deciding exactly where you are to go next. At any rate you will soon find out who is the lucky man or woman who will be your owner.”

A small shiver past through Sally’s frame and the tear finally loosened and ran free down her cheek.

“Don’t cry little Sally! Don’t cry! If you are lucky you will find yourself a good owner who will look after you and see to all your needs.”

Fazia was taken aback. She had imagined that this was only a temporary situation, nothing like this had ever entered her head when she had spoken to Abdhel about the possibility of making sure that Sally missed the semi-final of the tennis open. Suddenly Sally had disappeared into a parallel universe and Dave was sure to be here too.

Worst of all were the hints that this could be her fate if she failed in some way to please the government or who ever it was that controlled these prisons.

Sitting abject on a bed that was screwed to the floor.

Waiting for a fate over which there was no control.

A fate that was sealed by others.

Others like this German bitch, Gudrun.

Who knew what destiny would bring?

Gudrun glanced at the shocked face of the young woman who had accompanied her to this well lit dark place. ‘Most satisfactory,’ she thought as she soaked in the fear that emanated from both women.

In one the fear of what the future would bring. The fear of being trained, of being broken and recreated in the mould of a servile, obedient slave.

The other had the same fear, but the uncertainty that the high life could suddenly invert due to some unintended slight, some misspoken word, some unguarded action. Then she would be the one in the collar, the one who feared the evil lash of Gudrun’s tender loving care.

*** Chapter 6. News Update.

“The latest headlines from CNN news service, brought to you by our award winning presenter Ivan Smirnovin Washington.”

“We go over live to our correspondent in Kuwait, Jim Devenier. Is there any new news from the Emirates about Sally Freeman, Jim?”

“Well, Ivan, the crisis with Iran has really put this story on the back burner, but with Sally’s parents arriving at Dubai yesterday the story has regained some traction.”

“Relations between the USA, NATO and Dubai may well hinge on the result of this investigation, it really is that important. But, Jim, we are hearing rumours that the Americans have requested that an FBI team of investigators be allowed to carry out an investigation on Emirates soil.”

“That’s right, Ivan, an American Air Force C5 landed here in Kuwait just a few hours ago. It’s being said that they are waiting for permission to fly up to the Emirates and that there are some CIA, FBI investigators and two of America’s best translators on board. But, at this stage, Jim, I have to say that these are not official facts but speculation based on the fact that the plane is known to have come from the Ramstein base in Germany, matching a flight from the USA that is known to have CIA markings. So it’s all just speculation at the moment, Ivan, but we think that there might be some more breaking news from Dubai.”

“What’s the latest breaking news from Dubai, Jim?”

“A news conference held by the most senior of the police anti terrorist squad has announced that there is some evidence that al-Qaeda are involved, apparently the Yemen is the source of this new intelligence. Sally’s parents have greeted the intervention of the American government as a positive sign and they have begged the terrorists to, at least list their demands and make it plain what must be done to free their daughter.”

“Sounds like there is a little movement there, Jim. What’s the reaction from the Ukrainian government? After all Dave Sharparov is being held as well.”

“Quite muted, Ivan. Quite muted. The government of the Ukraine is pretty quiet about all this because they fully occupied with the cutting of the gas line to Kiev by Russian energy giant Gazprom after they failed to agree to the price hike last week. They don’t want to provoke the Gulf States at all because of their imports of liquid gas from Oman.”

“It’s a pretty tangled web then Jim. Let’s all hope that Sally Freeman can be found soon. She is one of America’s greatest athletes.”

“Well the tennis goes on. Just four days after Sally Freeman disappeared Fazia Muta looks certain to take one of the top prizes in women’s tennis. The Dubai Open. She faces the number fifteen seed, Sonia Angelovna tomorrow, but most of those in the know are saying that Fazia has never played better than she is at the moment. Still... we are all the more focused on the plight of Sally Freeman at this time.”

“That’s right Jim, the yellow ribbons are out for Sally all over the USA. Right now, after this commercial announcement from the holiday paradise of Israel, we move to Tuvalu for the world hula-hoop championships where the American team is in with more than a great chance of carrying off the trophy for the fifteenth year in a row...”

*** Chapter 7. Winners and Losers.

The music was loud, in fact not just loud, over the dance floor it was deafening. That was not going to stop the celebration that had taken over the private club. It was like petrol on the flames.

In this place, far from the stiff mores and morals of the official Dubai, a party was underway that would run until the sun was up again and perhaps longer. The alcohol and other more potent substances were imbibed, and locals and foreigners who were in the know and on the list joined to celebrate the local girl’s victory.

A victory just a little overshadowed by the disappearance of Sally Freeman. On the other hand there were at least five people in the room who knew where Sally was, or at least had a good idea of what the future held for the American bitch who had had the nerve to come into conflict with Fazia Muta and then dared to play her in Dubai.

And Fazia herself?

Well, she was dancing with the crowd to the throb of the electronic pulse that raced through her body with every beat of that music. Her face was ecstatic. Her mind was filled with the power that she had gained, the respect that was hers.

Her mind buzzed with the fear of that revelation...

When she had found out that Dave Sharparov was the figure curled in the cell next to Sally she had almost orgasmed with delight.

Fazia had entered the cell and run her fingertips over the stripes of the cane that covered him from his powerful prick to his broad shoulders.

“Have him if you want!” was the offer from Gudrun. “No one else has any interest in him. It is Sally Freeman who will have no trouble finding an appreciative owner!”

“I would own him?”

Gudrun smiled and explained the details to Fazia. “Of course, if you like I will help you with him. The first one can be so difficult to get right.”

Fazia had agreed, what else could she do but agree to the proposals of this German lamia?

“But what about Sally?” she asked. “What happen to her?”

Gudrun smiled slyly.

“It just so happens that a sort of friend, or rather an acquaintance of mine is her in Dubai on business. She is always looking for young ladies of quality to add to the harems and seraglios, her business and pleasure nicely compliments my own interests...”

“God, have you sold her?”

“My dear Fazia, I prefer to use the term ‘offered her a new viewpoint on life’; it sounds so much more consensual!”

“Who is she, this friend?”

“Do you wish to meet her?”

“None of this has turned out like I expected,” mumbled Fazia as she realised that the help that she had called in to enable her to win tennis match had turned into something quite different.

“I know!” said Gudrun as she placed a comforting arm around the tennis star as though they were long friends. “Things never do turn out like we expect. The trouble is that you started a ball rolling that no one had any interest in stopping! For instance you contacted Abdhel and the ball was no longer on your side of the court.”

Fazia sighed and wished that she was anywhere but in the grip of this German woman who seemed so in control of events.

“To answer your question, the woman who has asked to be allowed to take possession of Sally Freeman is one of the most proficient preparers of women for the harems of the Gulf States, Tasnim, or to call her by her honoured title, Sheikha Tasnim.”

“I thought that seraglios and harems were banned now...”

“Ahh, that is a mistake that many make when they see the laws that are passed and imagine that they are binding on the prices and sheikhs who control these small kingdoms. If that were the case there would be little need for people like myself or the Sheikha!”

“I am not sure that I wish to meet her after all...”

“That’s probably just as well my dear. She is, shall we say, more than formidable and a redoubtable business competitor of mine because her contact in this part of the world are so much deeper than mine are! She might take a shine to you and where would you be then?”

The arm on Fazia’s shoulders tightened to force her to look up into the taller woman’s eyes as she spoke.

“I think that you might well find yourself in that stainless steel room where I have seen her train men and women in the accepted ritual of submission. I have never seen a woman wield a cane with more subtlety than Tasnam, it kisses the flesh with lips of anguish and yet the pleasure is irresistible.”

Fazia shuddered, a small quiver of fear and excitement.

“So I think that you really do not want to meet Sheikha Tasnim, do you?”

Fazia shook her head.

“But, what do I do about Dave?”

“That’s more like it! You have plenty of money don’t you?”

“Of course, but?” answered Fazia.

“What is money for if you cannot use it to enjoy yourself? Use that power, you will find that money is not about things, possessions and belongings. Money is all about power.”

“So I need to find someone?”

“Exactly that! Of course it is so much more satisfactory to do these things yourself. You know, if you want something doing well, do it yourself!”

“Can you help me? I mean, I really want to learn.”

“I really haven’t time, my dear. But, I can send someone who will help you and that you can trust.”

“What will it cost?”

“You’ll never know until you’re finished, but you can be sure the cost is high but the corresponding pleasure is almost unbounded!”

That had been then; this was now, in the discotheque...

Fazia’s body thrummed to the heavy beat and gyrated to the music in imitation of a slow fuck. A sliding, thrusting of the hips and a smooth up and down motion that suggested that the tennis star was fucking an intangible partner.

That was it!

She was.