Part 1 can be found here.

Megan looked back at the scores of faces lined up at the VIP Lounge window, not one of them belonged to Ahmed. She wasn’t surprised, he had made it clear that any public goodbyes would be unseemly and she had agreed wholeheartedly. But all the same she felt a sense of loss at his absence and it was hard for her not to cry.

Nevertheless, he had left his mark on her, body and soul. The ache in her bottom just would not quit and it wasn’t only where her skin chaffed the cotton of her lightweight skirt that she was sore. Megan blushed, she hadn’t been able to put on panties that morning and sitting down in the taxi to the airport had not been an option. She had opted for half-kneeling and hoped the driver wouldn’t see. It was anybody’s guess how she was going to cope sitting during the long flight to London.

She smiled. Okay so he wasn’t seeing her off, but he was still very much with her, she thought ruefully as she surreptitiously rubbed her rear end. But she had a hunch he would be with her for a very long time and not just figuratively. After the adventure she had had she just didn’t mind, or wouldn’t once she could sit down again.

London would be a good place to recuperate and adjust back to her old life while she filed her story, but what then? LA and another assignment, somehow that thought left her empty. Megan frowned. As she stepped onto the plane she suddenly felt like little girl lost and as she ran her hand through her shorn pixie blonde cut she felt boyish and clumsy rather than cool.

“This way please,” a pleasant voice cut in to her thoughts.

A stunning air steward with warm brown eyes guided Megan right to the deluxe class rather than into the business section.

“The government has given you an upgrade, both seats are yours,” the woman informed her with a bow. “There are some complimentary items too, from his excellency…” she consulted her notes before rattling off Ahmed’s full name.

There was no smirk or knowing look on the stewardess’s face but Megan blushed. The double seat was pretty much a partitioned compartment and on the main seat were a ring cushion and an ice bag ready for use.

“Once we are in flight there is a robe for the shower for your exclusive use,” the woman told her. Then without guile or hint of mockery she added, “And you might find the seat extended into bed mode is just as comfortable to lie face down on as to sit in.”

Megan wanted the floor to open and she almost died.

*

The New York skyline stood in contrast to the desert of memory and to Megan there was now something alien about it. Once she would have been impressed with the apartment but now that too seemed to lack something. Still she had been lucky to get this interview and so far it was going well.

It had been months since Megan had returned to LA and the soullessness of the city had led her to one quit job and an escape to New York. Her last story had given her something of a rep for expertise on the other side of sand and oil. This and other budding interests had inspired Megan to write a book.

Coffee cups dancing noisily on the set-down tray took Megan’s attention back to her host.

“Oh my God,” the woman gushed enthusiastically as she sat down to continue her tale, adding in a conspiratorial tone, “I was so nervous.”

The young woman, one Theresa Paget, was an Australian. She had served as a private nurse in various Middle Eastern countries and was now recounting quite a story.

“So your employer took this upon himself did he? I mean this wasn’t official?” Megan pressed Ms Paget.

“Christ, no, it wasn’t official, but I did get the feeling it was no big deal. I mean I was only 22 back then and as green as grass,” Theresa explained.

“What did you think when he told you that he would… what did he use by the way?” Megan asked.

She thought about the flogging she had received and something clawed at her belly. But behind it she remembered Ahmed and her last spanking, this left her belly tight and firmly damp further down.

“Oh he used an old cane,” Theresa rolled her eyes; “He said that they had bigger ones down at the police station, but if he handled it then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Megan nodded and made a note, although the tape got every word.

“I knew that one of the maids had been caned by him for theft and he had done her a big favour not going to the police. She accepted it well enough but the marks were shocking. Not that she made a big deal out of it. That is one of the things about going to a strange culture isn’t it? It makes you see things in a different light.” Theresa scared drew breath before pressing on with, “I mean I did try to be shocked, but truthfully I wasn’t.”

“But you were only caught drinking weren’t you?” Megan asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. I mean I knew I wasn’t supposed to, so I guess I deserved what I got, but man it hurt,” Theresa said.

“Now I have tried to get some figures on this, I even wrote to the consulate and told them it was for my book, but no joy… just how often do you think this sort of thing happened?” Megan put in.

“Oh man, the local girls and the Asian ones got it all the time. That’s no secret. But western girls are a bit more circumspect. I mean to say it’s an unfashionable approach, but I bet quite a few girls have got some stick across their arse and not made a fuss,” Theresa grinned.

Megan realised that she would fall into that camp and blushed.

“Can you say exactly what happened?” she asked to cover herself.

“Yeah,” Theresa winced and leaned in conspiratorially. “I had to take my… you know… things off…”

“He caned your bare bottom?” Megan helped her.

“Sure. I had to bend over this bench thing in the room next to the kitchen. It was a sort of storage and utility room, but big, not like the one here,” Theresa explained casually. “I had my head down and my bum sticking right up, I was scared and a bit shy, what with him being a bloke and all…”

“H-how many…?” Megan shifted in her seat.

“Too bloody many if you ask me, I didn’t count, bloody loads though… maybe 20 or 30 strokes. Hurt like buggery. I yelled my head off.” Theresa laughed. “I couldn’t sit down for a week, hell, I could hardly walk for some of the time.”

“So what do you feel now?” Megan said her pen poised.

Theresa shrugged. “Those Thai girls were right I reckon, it was no biggie.”

*

Theresa checked her watch and sighed. She had dozens of interviews with women like Theresa, it would make quite a book, she thought, but I must get more details I suppose. Discipline of the Desert, she posed, wondering about a title. Even if it didn’t get published, it would be fun to write it.

A taxi swept by and Megan startled and belated shot up a hand. Looking up and down the street she couldn’t see another and cursed her inattentiveness. The prospect of the subway beckoned and she hefted her laptop bag and wondered what time she would get home.

She didn’t see the car until it pulled up. It was black and screened with smoke-frosted glass. For a moment Megan wondered if it was a taxi, but a smiling man in a grey suit and big sunglasses got out and grinned more broadly.

“My master would like to discuss your book,” he said as he approached.

His smile did not vanish even as Megan was seized from behind. A hand pressed over her mouth to press a chemical stinking handkerchief to her lips. By the time she had been bundled inside the car the world had begun to dim and spin away from her.

“I hear you like the desert,” the man said, still grinning, “Perhaps you should see it again.”

Then the world went black.

To be continued…