In the middle of the old sports arena where the wags had been prepared, the women were gathered and then stripped naked, their ragged clothes examined for any weapons they may conceal. The sec men conducted the cavity searches, Baron Al joining in this part of the search, which he saw as a bit of extra fun for him and his men.
Except when it came to Ayesha. She was stripped like the others, but because she was Baron Al’s daughter, and the prize of the merchandise because of her virginity, none of the sec men assembled were willing to conduct the cavity searches, particularly in front of Baron Al himself. One wrong word, one wrong move—the slightest touch of blood proving that she had been despoiled, and thus taking the prize cachet away, and the sec men knew that Baron Al was likely to come down hard on them. So when it was her turn to be searched bodily, Baron Al stepped forward himself.
Knowing that Hutter would test her immediately by screwing her as the exchange took place, Jourgensen was aware that no blood coming from the sexual encounter would convince Hutter that she was no virgin, and the deal would be off. So Baron Al trod carefully.
“You better not be trying to shit me, girl,” he whispered as he approached her.
“Why would I do that?” she answered, barely able to keep the contempt from her voice.
“You know,” he said simply. “I’m just gonna have to trust that you’ve got nothing up your pussy—or that you never have,” he added. “But I can still see.”
And before the girl had a chance to move, he bent her over and thrust his fingers up her anal passage, probing as his sec men had with the other women to see if there were any weapons concealed.
Although she was empty in that orifice, Ayesha clenched the muscles in her pelvic floor and prayed that he wouldn’t be able to feel the knife she had concealed in herself before leaving his palace. It was a slim, mother-of-pearl-handled knife with a rapier thin blade that she had honed until it drew blood from her fingertips with the slightest of pressure. It would be a formidable weapon in an enclosed space, where the sec men would be unwilling to use their blasters. The only thing she had to worry about was whether it would open involuntarily before she could remove it. With an air of resignation, it dawned on her that even if it did open, the internal hemorrhaging would probably cause her to buy the farm, so she wouldn’t have much to worry about in that event.
Baron Al had withdrawn his fingers. “I dunno whether or not to be disappointed in you,” he said softly. “You ain’t causing trouble, but I’d expect it from any daughter of mine.”
“Glad I let you down, then,” she said with a sneer, not betraying her triumph at deceiving him. She’d keep that pleasure to herself.
And now she was aboard the wag as it rolled across the rutted, churned-up desert, shifting ever more uncomfortably on the bench seat, and hoping that the motion of the wag wouldn’t cause the knife to open. She had to get it out soon, but quite how was another matter.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the sec man on the machine blaster snapped with irritation, watching her move.
“I need to piss,” she snapped back.
“Shit, you pick your fucking moments, don’t you?” the sec man replied with exasperation. “We’re not going to stop the wag and let you out behind a rock, no matter who you are,” he continued with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “You’ll have to do it as best you can in the corner.” He pointed to a slops bucket in the corner of the wag, near the bolted rear doors. He felt safe offering her this, as the wag was in the middle of the convoy, and even if she felt inclined to try to risk her luck diving out of the rear door, there would be a wag on their tail that would pick her up—if it didn’t chill her first by running her over. Ayesha stood unsteadily, her legs numb from the journey, and her balance unsure as the wag swung across the rutted desert. As she steadied herself, she took the opportunity to look around at the other women in the wag. Most of them looked as though they were already beaten and defeated before any fight had even begun. One she recognized, and this woman was typical of them all. A tall, broad woman with a large bust and wide hips, her sharp-nosed face and prominent teeth were framed by a shock of blond hair that fell in a mane over her shoulders and down her back. Despite the lack of food that had plagued Charity, she had still kept a lot of meat on her bones, and the same basic shape that she had always had. And yet, if you looked closely, you could see the folds of loose skin beginning around her neck and shoulders, and the sag of her bosom where the flesh was falling off, leaving baggy, empty skin behind. She was looking down—had been for most of the journey—and only looked up on hearing Ayesha move.