Alif (24)
"I just couldn't enjoy doing that!" Ana insisted. "It's obscene! Vulgar! Disgusting!" She stood up abruptly. "Turn it off! Just turn it off! I don't want to see any more. I've seen enough. That's enough!" "Surely not, m'dear!" the Director laughed, lighting another cigarette. "There's so much more to see! You can't leave us now." He smiled cruelly, letting a cloud of cigarette smoke rise slowly from his nostrils and followed it up with a gaze. He then looked directly into Ana's eyes causing her to blink with fear and trepidation. "Jadida and Bezaffa aren't the only two girls we've filmed at work. No way! We have film of Zabba, Ketaba, even darling Khedra here. It's totally routine you know. Every working girl is filmed at work. In fact, there's so much recorded on video that of course we never get the opportunity to see more than the smallest fraction of it. Just what we might be interested in. Compiling export tapes is quite a tiring job I can tell you - and I'm glad it's a duty that has never fallen to me." The Director sucked in on his cigarette holder, the embers sparking at his inhalation. "As I say, every working girl's every working moment is recorded and stored, even if it may never get seen. Khedra and I, we usually only get to see them when an export tape has been compiled or if we have particular reasons to review the performance of any individual girl. Khedra m'dear, show a video which will especially interest Ana. One that features a girl whose performance has recently caused us considerable concern as a result of some rather less than complimentary comments from her clients." Ana drew her breath in. She had a very good idea who this girl might be, but she hoped - so much! - that it wasn't. But as the video was inserted and began, she could see that her fears were confirmed. The girl receiving the frequent and rhythmic pelvic thrusts of the paunchy middle-aged man with a large bald spot in his hair and responding with occasional gasps and cries, was immediately distinguishable from all the other prostitutes she'd seen on video in that she wore no clothes at all. Her long hair, the dark green eyes and the face, occasionally obscured by the body of the man lying on top of her, could only belong to Binta. At first Ana tried convincing herself that it was someone else: another person in the Brothel who looked like her, but Ana knew Binta too well. She knew every small detail of her lover's body. And this was clearly, indubitably and horrifyingly, Binta. "So, m'dear," sneered the Director, "this is your dyke friend. Or is she a dyke? She doesn't seem to mind it so much, does she? I'd say she was actually enjoying it, wouldn't you? And look! She's giving the client just what he wants with her mouth. Look at that tongue! Look at those active fingers! Just what were those clients complaining about, I wonder. Binta's not a girl who shies from her duty, eh? And listen to those cries. They certainly suggest to me someone who's having a good time. Maybe she's not such a dyke after all!" Ana stared in wordless and silent horror. It was Binta! It really was! And maybe she was enjoying it. Maybe she was pretending to, just to persuade the man to finish as soon as possible. But it appeared that she was enjoying it. That horrid, disgusting man, and his filthy misshapen appendage! Could it be that Binta really did enjoy her work? The video switched to a scene of another man, quite skinny and gaunt, enjoying her in much the same way as the first, with Binta lying on top of him, her mouth hidden as her fingers worked at his trouser top but her head bobbing up and down, suggesting attention the thought of which left a very unpleasant taste in Ana's mouth. She turned her gaze away and looked into Bezaffa's eyes which were fixed on her. "Is Binta really enjoying it?" She whispered. Bezaffa grinned broadly. "It's impossible to say, cherry. She's a professional. She's got to look like she enjoys it. But I'd say, yes. She does seem to be enjoying it. Those are pretty genuine little cries of passion, don't you think?" Ana turned her head back to the screen. Binta did seem to be making rather a lot of noise. And it did seem to come bit by bit to a climax, the sound of which was so familiar, so achingly familiar, and one which until now she had unreservedly believed her own property and the fruit of her own endeavour. And all that strange viscous liquid that engorged itself all over Binta's face and breasts. If Binta enjoyed it, perhaps Ana could do so too. What meaning was there to her fidelity to Binta, if her lover felt free to express her passion so freely and promiscuously? Ana's eyes swelled with tears and her cheeks smarted as they seeped soundlessly onto her face. "Crying are we, m'dear?" Laughed the Director. "Find the truth a little difficult to accept, do you? Don't worry, we have more to show. Much more. You see, the camera doesn't merely record when Binta is working. Oh no! There's no such discretion in the Brothel, - though of course generally there's precious little of the remotest interest to see most of the time when a girl is off-duty. Washing her hair; reading books; chatting to friends; sleeping: none of these are activities which could interest us nor, it need be said, any of our potential export market. And anyway with a fixed mirror, so much is out of frame. Everything that is, except what goes on in the bed." Mr Madir smirked. "Show Ana one of our unofficial recordings, Khedra m'dear." Khedra nodded. "If you think it's for the best..." "It is! It is!" Ana's boss assented. Khedra ejected the video tape while Ana wrapped herself around Bezaffa, the most comforting object in the room. How could Binta enjoy all those horrid men? Was she enjoying what they were doing to her? And what she was doing to them? Bezaffa gently stroked Ana's back, as her tears soaked into her dressing gown and dampened her ear as it pressed hard against the breast. Khedra pushed in another video tape and Ana watched out of the corner of her eye as it jerked into action. It was then that she got another very horrid shock. There was Binta again: quite clearly enjoying the sexual attention of another person. But that other person, seen from such a strange angle, and quite as active in lovemaking as Binta herself: it was someone very familiar, but curiously not familiar at all. Ana had never seen a film of herself before, except in the video screens of security cameras in the malls of Blad. And in those cases, she'd been fully clothed and really doing nothing more than walking past, looking to one side of the camera, as the screen would be in a quite different location to the lens. Here though was that same curious sensation of self-recognition, but this time in positions and poses that she'd only briefly viewed in the same mirror which had recorded her in her sexual play. She breathed in deeply, her eyes swelling with shock and fear. "I need not tell you, m'dear, how the law of this land views such sexual transgressions as this. It's a serious offence, punishable as you know by imprisonment or, if you are very lucky, penal servitude in the same august institution where you currently earn a living. As you can see, Khedra and I have here rather undeniable evidence of your criminal activity. That is you, isn't it, enjoying yourself in such a disgusting if rather titillating way. And dear me! There really doesn't appear to be any evidence of any reluctance on your part, m'dear. You really do seem to be a willing party to all this behaviour. My goodness! Just look at that! Don't the two of you seem to be having such a good time! What have you got to say, m'dear? It is you there, isn't it?" The naked Ana on the video tape chose this moment to look directly into the mirror, her head emerging from between Binta's legs with a strange wild expression that the Ana in Bezaffa's living room had never seen on herself before. Seen like this there really seemed no difference between this Ana and the women she'd seen making love to men on the other video tapes. Ana nodded, looking towards the video, squeezing Bezaffa's chubby white hand so tightly that blue marks rose on the soft white skin. "What are you going to do?" She asked through a voice that emerged from deep inside a hollow breast. Her heart pounded hard inside her chest and her stomach fluttered with a fear that promised to erupt into a fresh outpouring of vomit from her raw punished throat. "Are you going to have me arrested?" The Director smiled grimly and triumphantly. "In a court of law this would be pretty well conclusive evidence - wouldn't you say? - of misdemeanours which attract quite harsh penalties. Not just for you, of course, although I daresay your main concern is quite understandably yourself. What would an unsympathetic judge and jury think of someone indulging in such filthy behaviour with a known lesbian? But it is also of concern, of course, to your dyke friend, Binta. She would not be let off easily. A second offence committed while serving a sentence for the first. She may never again emerge a free woman. Dearie me! That would be sad, wouldn't it, m'dear?" "What do you want me to do?" "I'd have thought that was fairly obvious from all the hard work that dear Khedra has been putting in on your behalf. The administration of the Brothel - Khedra and myself - is quite willing to turn a blind eye on your criminal transgressions, if you are ready to show yourself willing to compromise on our behalf. And Khedra has already spelt out the great advantages of working part-time in such a capacity. You really have nothing to lose by taking up our generous offer. And I really do not need to spell out the penalty of non-cooperation." "You mean I have to work as a prostitute? A whore? Have strange men see me every day?" The Director smirked. He pulled a cigarette out of his cigarette case and tapped it a few times on the silver exterior. "Describe it how you like, m'dear. But essentially, yes. A little bit of effort on your behalf and we'll never mention your criminal acts to anyone." Ana leaned forward, tears gushing from her eyes and her mouth forming such ugly shapes as she confronted her helplessness. "What shall I do? What can I do? Can't anybody help me?" Bezaffa stroked Ana comfortingly on the back, and then bent her head down and nuzzled it against Ana's own. "You know the answers, sweetest. You really do not have any choice. Not really! And it's not such a bad choice. Not a bad choice at all! Either imprisonment and stigma for you (and worse for sweet little Binta!) on the one hand; and riches and rewards for such little pain on the other. You really have no choice. Just say yes! Sign the forms darling Khedra has provided and you need worry no more." Ana looked closely into Bezaffa's face which was so close to her: the pretty blue eyes, the smooth round face, the sympathetic smile. A sudden rush of hatred and loathing shook her slender frame, flushing her forehead with an exhilarating heat of passion. "You betrayed me!" She exclaimed with a sudden appalled insight. "Betrayed me!" She pushed herself off Bezaffa, throwing herself down on the length of the sofa, hardly caring as the towel fell off her breasts and revealed herself nearly as naked as the cheerful and ecstatic image of herself on the television engaged so passionately with Binta. Ana didn't care. Her humiliation was nearly as complete as it possibly be. What difference did a little more make? Bezaffa sounded hurt by the accusation. "I didn't betray you, cherry. I didn't. What we have done together..." "I hate you! I hate you! You betrayed me! You used and abused me! You took advantage of me!" "Bezaffa hasn't betrayed you, Ana darling," Khedra remarked, kneeling amongst the video tapes and with a touch of sympathetic emotion in her voice. "If anything, she has compromised herself. She didn't know about these videos any more than you. If anyone betrayed you, it was you. With your naïveté and blatancy. Don't think we didn't notice you and Binta: always together, and you staying overnight in the Brothel. You really could have been a lot more discrete, you know. It was just a matter of time. You know that!" "It's not right! It can't be right! I've done nothing wrong! Nothing! It's love! That's all! Love! We're in love, Binta and I. Why must it be condemned? It can't be right, when something so true and good and pure and wonderful between us ... Waaahhh!" Ana cried in helpless agony, resting her tear-strewn face on her palms, elbows supported on her knees, and the raw red wound of her face and emotions spilling drops of despair onto her breasts and the towel over her thighs. "I've been betrayed! Betrayed!" The Director placed his unlit cigarette into the holder and with a grandiloquent gesture lit it with his lighter. He puffed out a large cloud which ascended into the already smoke-filled air and gradually descended in a grey-blue mist over Ana's bare shoulders. "Talking of betrayal, m'dear," he commented in slow even terms, "there is more that we can show you. Your dyke lover is really no saint - not that anyone has ever accused her of being so. You really should have chosen your friends much more carefully you know." Ana raised her head and glared at the Director. "What are you saying about Binta?" "Show her Khedra!" commanded Mr Madir, leaning back with a contented and malevolent grin on his face. "Show what a little angel Binta can be." Khedra sighed reluctantly, but obediently ejected the video tape of Binta and Ana, and slipped in another. Ana looked at the screen with sore red eyes, a trail of clear salty snot emerging from her left nostril and sneaking into her mouth. She huddled up out of reach from Bezaffa who sat in discomfort at the other end of the sofa. The video whirred and clanked into motion and then the screen flickered into focus. It was Binta again. That Ana was sure. She'd now seen enough of Binta on video tape to be certain that it was her lover. And, again, she was with someone. And this time it wasn't Ana. But she was making love, with the same visible passion that she'd just witnessed in the last video. And she wasn't making love with a client. No client looked like that. Not so slender, young ... or feminine. Or black! There was only one black person in the Brothel. There had, in fact, only been one black person that Ana had seen in her entire time in Blad. Black people were not native to Alif and very few indeed had ever ventured in at any time in its long turbulent history. The woman who was with Binta. And enjoying her caresses. And whose caresses were being enjoyed. This woman was undoubtedly Ferhana. Ana stared and stared. It couldn't be. It must be an illusion. It can't be true. But the black woman's face rose from the garden of Binta's beauty, as Ana's had in the earlier video, and stared directly into the mirror. It was Ferhana. Ana's eyes ached in disbelief and humiliation. Binta. With Ferhana! "Now will you do the right thing, m'dear?" Asked the Director kindly. Ana stared back at the video as Ferhana and Binta stretched out on the long length of that familiar bed, their arms around each other and Ferhana's fingers where Ana believed no other woman should ever intrude. She squeezed shut her eyes. Go away! she whispered to herself. Don't be true! She opened her eyes, and focused through the salty film that had attached to her retina. It was still Ferhana and Binta. Together! "What are you going to do, sweetest?" Khedra asked. "Will you volunteer to a bit of part-time work? It really won't do you any harm." Ana vigorously nodded her head. Her humiliation was complete. She didn't care that her breasts were uncovered or that her face was an ugly contorted tear-stained mess of misery. "Yes!" She announced emphatically and despairingly. "Yes! Yes! I will! I'll do everything you say. Everything!" 23 Ferhana was as puzzled as anyone by Ana's abrupt change of character and appearance. She no longer dressed in the modest and smart clothes that made her stand out against the general style of the Brothel. Instead, she had taken to wearing a very short skirt, black stockings, torturously high heels and blouses that barely covered her navel and accentuated the lift of her supported breasts. Her hair was tied back and frizzled loose, and her face had become almost unrecognisable under a mass of rouge and mascara. She no longer stayed late in the Brothel, seeking out her friend Binta, and was very rarely seen even in the canteen where Ferhana had often met her together with Binta. When she was seen in the canteen, or even in the corridor, she was always escorted by either Khedra or the Pimple, and very occasionally more favoured prostitutes like Bezaffa. She had seen a similar change in Ana's predecessor, Inta, but Ana's transformation was all the more shocking for its abruptness and how much it contradicted all that Ana represented before. It was rumoured that Ana had started seeing clients, just as Inta had done, something she had sworn so many times and so vehemently that she would never do. Binta never saw Ana anymore. Quite suddenly and with no warning, Ana just never sought her out and even went out of her way to avoid seeing her or as much as catching her eye. Ferhana knew that this unexplained schism in their relationship had troubled Binta immensely: she had withdrawn from sight, spending more and more time by herself or with her plot in the Brothel garden. She was initially just rather annoyed, if resignedly, when the Pimple requested her - really, commanded her - to come to his office for what he termed a bit of extramural entertaining, but she reasoned that these services that she'd supplied on an occasional basis would bit by bit gain her the remission she was seeking. As she reasoned to herself, a little extra humiliation at this stage should result in a shorter overall sentence, and therefore bring much nearer the end of all her suffering. Whatever lies she had barefacedly expressed to Khedra or the Pimple, she had no intention whatsoever of prolonging her stay at the Brothel beyond the absolute minimum required. Ferhana was rather more shocked than irritated when she came into the office to find the Pimple with a frightened Ana, who was sitting uncomfortably on his knee while he crudely molested her breasts. "Good afternoon, m'dear," the Pimple said, with that cruel smile of his that Ferhana had seen so many times before and had learnt to fear. "You know Ana, don't you? You've met her before, I believe." Ferhana nodded. What a stupid question to ask! Although there might be a touch of truth in his sarcasm. Ferhana didn't know Ana as she was now, in her long stockinged legs and the Pimple's hands fondling the nipples underneath her blouse. "Poor little Ana's been doing a sterling job recently," the Director continued, "entertaining clients and myself, and assisting more materially in alleviating our constant employment problem of suitably attractive young ladies. But the poor girl's not happy. Are you, m'dear?" Ana silently and sullenly nodded, showing absolutely no evidence of enjoying her situation on her boss's knee. "And why do you think that is, Ferhana m'dear? Well, my opinion is that the poor child has had so little opportunity to enjoy what she likes most. And do you know what that is, m'dear? You probably can as I know you are no stranger to its pleasures yourself." What the Pimple wanted was for Ana and Ferhana to indulge in what he called 'Sapphic play' in his presence and quite clearly for his own perverse pleasure and enjoyment rather than with respect for Ana's own needs or desires. Ferhana had no choice in the matter, although it troubled her that the Pimple seemed to know about a feature of her own personality that she had thought she had kept fairly well hidden. As she and Ferhana enacted the scenario suggested by the Director, it became even more apparent to her that despite Ana's show of pleasure - clearly learnt from the same induction course that she and every other prostitute had to endure - she was hating every single moment of it. There was a falseness and insincerity about her caresses that was so blatant to her, she wondered whether the Pimple would comment. She looked at the Director, who had kept his trousers and underpants on for a change and puffed indulgently on a cigarette. It was then she realised that the pleasure their pretend lovemaking afforded him was far less to do with satisfying any sexual craving on his part, and more just an opportunity to see Ana humiliated. The very fact that Ana was getting so little pleasure out of the activity, appearing to loathe every part of it, was itself the greatest source of his enjoyment. Ferhana orchestrated the activity to a premature climax, and with a few gestures and sympathetic smiles persuaded Ana to pretend to be similarly satisfied. The Pimple was clearly not convinced, but forbore any comment and allowed the two girls to get dressed. "Well thanks very much, Ferhana m'dear!" The Pimple said, lighting another cigarette. "Who said niggers couldn't do it just as well as anyone else? I daresay the two of you will want to rest now. Why not have an extended lunch, Ana, m'dear? The letters I wanted you to take down can be done some other time." Ferhana and Ana left the Director's office, and closed the door behind them. Ana gave vent to a sigh to express her relief of an ordeal survived, and almost immediately darted away from Ferhana, trotting on her high heels along the corridor.
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