The Debt

A word of explanation: This story was written at the request of a Pakistani girl living in England who had fantasies of being taken against her will and sexually and ethnically insulted. I had never before and have never since heard of this particular taste for ethnic degradation, but I gave her what she wanted.

I am not one for political correctness, but racial & ethic slurs seem to be a very taboo area these days. So let me go on record as saying these characterizations are for erotic effect only and in no way reflect the author's sentiments or sensibilities towards any group.

She liked the story very much.

---dr.M.

The Debt

She stood outside the door to the flat knowing she was being watched but reluctant to ring the bell. Her trench coat was belted tight, her head covered in a rain scarf against the thin drizzle that was falling, and she was cold. She had only to put down the valise that held her things and ring the bell, then she could go inside where it would be warm and dry. Warm and dry in another man's flat, and in another man's bed.

"Go on, Dhipa! Go on! What's wrong?" her brother Nazir yelled from the car behind her. Looking back, she could see Bhazir's fat face leering at her through a rain-spattered car window. He was the eldest. He should be the man of the family. He should have kept her from going. But as usual, he did nothing but stare at her with his flat, ;lecherous gaze, making her feel more ashamed than she already felt

But she couldn't back out now, could she? Not after she'd agreed. They were all counting on her now. If she did not ring the bell what would happen to them? They would all be maimed or dead. The Doctor did not fool around, Sheraz had told them. He would not hesitate to make examples of them all. How could she let that happen to them?

And her husband? What would happen to him when he got back? Would he find out what she'd done? She would hardly admit it to herself, but she had no regrets on leaving him. An arranged marriage, there was little affection between them, and even less love. He could find himself another wife.

Sheraz got out of the car impatiently and came over to her. Of the five men in the car, only he was not her brother. Rather he was a "friend" of the family. An advisor. "What is wrong, stupid woman? Ring the bell. Do you want to stand out here all night?"

She shook her head. "I cannot."

"You must." he said angrily.

It was Sheraz who had set this all up. But it was Sheraz who had gotten her into this trouble in the first place. Sheraz and his private bookmakers who had encouraged her reckless brothers in their stupid gambling. Bets on football matches and horse races insane wagers which they never seemed to win. And it was Sheraz who had arranged for the loans with which to keep them gambling and losing as they sank deeper and deeper into debt. And the more they lost, the more they borrowed, until one day the loans suddenly stopped.

The debts were called in, but of course her family could not pay. Large, evil looking men came by to collect, and to harass her brothers. The way these men looked at her made her skin crawl, but what they threatened to do to her brothers was far worse.

Then one evening as she walked home, lost in worry about what to do, she became of a large black limousine creeping along the street beside her, the windows blacked out so she could not see inside. She quickened her pace, trying not to look at it because she was afraid of what she would see, but the limousine kept pace with her.

As she hurried across the street, the limousine suddenly shot in front of her, cutting her off and stopping right in her path. The door opened, and out came a man she recognized as one of the hoodlums harassing her family, the one who went by the name of Roddy.

He smiled menacingly at her. "Hello, Dhipa. On the way home are you?"

She stopped cold. Roddy was big, with a prizefighter's nose, dressed in a gangster's suit, blue and slightly shiny and cheap. She thought for a moment that they were going to kidnap her then and there, but Roddy just gestured for her to come closer.

"C'mere, love. I won't hurt you. A gentleman here wants to meet you is all. Just have a look at you. No harm in that, is there? Pretty little girl like yourself must get looked at plenty, eh? He wants to help you. Help your brother, know what I mean?"

She shook her head. But she did know what he meant.

"Come on." Roddy said. "You don't want your brothers messed up, do you love? Well this is the Doctor. He can help. He won't bite."

Cautiously she approached the car. She could not see through the smoked glass windows, but through the open passenger door she could see a man in the back seat of the limo. He wore a dark suit, dark glasses, and had a neatly trimmed beard flecked with gray, as was the thick hair at his temples. The inside of the limo was dark and cool and looked very inviting.

The bearded man took off his dark glasses and smiled at her. He seemed friendly. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He said, "How do you do, Dhipa. I hope we haven't upset you. My driver likes to play dramatic tricks like this. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Mabeuse. I am a friend of your family's. I'd like to be your friend as well."

She stared at him as if transfixed. He was obviously wealthy. Very wealthy. He was also involved with these men who had threatened to do serious harm to her brothers. He was evidently their boss. He was no friend of hers.

She suddenly turned and ran, full out, away from the limousine.

She heard Roddy swear behind her "Fucking Paki cunt! C'mere bitch!"

The voice of the Doctor cut him off. "Let her go, Roddy! I've seen enough. She'll do. I'll arrange things."

It was only days later that she found out what the Doctor had meant. Again Sheraz brought the news. The Doctor wished them no harm, he only wanted them pay their debt. However, he was a reasonable man.

If they didn't have the money he was willing to take Dhipa instead.

He was losing money on the deal, Sheraz told them, but he had no desire to hurt them, only to collect what was his.

On the other hand, if they did not accept his offer, very bad things would happen to them. The Doctor's men had told Sheraz this themselves, and the Doctor was a man of his word, Sheraz assured them. He would hurt them badly. Possibly kill them to set an example of what happened to debtors who refused to honor their loans. And he would get away with it. The Doctor had that kind of power and influence.

Sheraz, very much afraid himself that, as his clients, some of their guilt would rub off on him, urged them to make the deal.

What could she do. There was no choice.

She had sat silent in her own home while her brothers sat in the front room and made a big show of debating this offer. Even so, the debate didn't last long. All her life her brothers had treated her as their property, ordering her this way and that, choosing her friends, deciding what she could and couldn't do. Even now, with her life and her honor at stake, she had little doubt as to what her fate would be. The discussion was just to ease their consciences. They had decided long ago that she was their property and they would not hesitate now to sell her cheap to save their own miserable skins. Their concern, the arguments, were all for show.

Dhipa was not foolish. She was no longer a girl but a well developed woman with long black hair, dark eyes, and a body that caused men to stop and stare at her as she walked down the street, tall and proud despite the racial slurs and epithets she had hurled at her. She knew what would happen to her at the Doctor's, even if her brothers would not speak of it openly. But she supposed she had no choice. What was worth more: her self respect or her brothers lives?

There were some uncomfortable details, such as the fact that she had a husband, a very jealous husband who would not countenance the shame and disgrace this would bring to him. Luckily he was abroad right now, in Germany on business. It would not be difficult to convince him that Dhipa had been sent away after they had caught her with another man. They'd sent her back to Pakistan to be punished by her family and to avoid bringing any further shame on her husband. He would be shocked, angry, but he would accept it. Wives were often treated this way in their community, and brothers would naturally send an adulterous sister away to avoid a worse fate at her husband's hands.

In any case, it had to work. There was no other choice. If the husband protested too much, Sheraz assured them, the Doctor would shut his mouth.

So it was decided just like that. There was not much time, Sheraz told them. The Doctor was showing extraordinary mercy; they must take advantage of it immediately. Hasan, her youngest brother, wanted to take her over immediately. Kamil wanted to go to the police, but Nazir, the hot head, the second eldest called him a fool, and they began to shout. She hated these shouting matches. Bhazir sat by placidly, looking at her with his obscene eyes. There was no doubt in her mind what Bhazir would like to do with her if he ever got the chance.

Suddenly she was sick of the whole argument, sick of her brothers pretending to be concerned about her when all they had ever cared about was their own ass and their stupid family "honor". She was sick of this charade and of the grim prison that was her life. It was obvious to everyone that they had decided she was going. All her brothers were doing now was scrambling to make themselves look blameless in their own eyes.

She stood up, unnoticed in the quarrel, and went to her room. Her pride was up, and she decided that if she were going to be a whore, she would show the world what a whore she could be.

In her bedroom she gathered her things and showered, taking time to shave her entire body clean. She dried and powdered herself, and calmly arranged her hair atop her head to show off her graceful neck. She kept some special clothes hidden beneath her mattress, and she retrieved them now. She put on the expensive black silky knickers she had bought but never worn, and a black half-cup bra that left her nipples daringly exposed. She covered herself with her best blouse of a lovely lavender silk, and noticed with approval how her nipples were visible through the sheer fabric. She pulled on a pair of black stockings with elastic tops, and then a black miniskirt of kidskin leather, as soft as a baby's bottom. Then she sat down and did her face, wanting to look beautiful, but not cheap.

She put on her rings, the one for luck, the one for happiness, and the one for love. This one she looked at ruefully for a moment before sliding it down her finger. It hadn't done her much good up to this point in her life. She selected her black Italian pumps, the ones her brothers never allowed her to wear because they said they made her look like a whore. Well they couldn't object now, could they?

She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach. The woman who looked back at her was beautiful, proud and very sexy. In the mini skirt and soft blouse she felt more naked than dressed. She had never appeared like this in front of any man's eyes, not even her husband's. He no doubt would have been outraged and beaten her then and there. Now the thought that she would soon be showing herself like this to a stranger's eyes made her nervous and strangely excited.

Taking a small suitcase, she threw in her jewelry and makeup and a few of her best things. She looked at the picture on her dressing table showing her and her brothers standing together outside the flat. She looked at the girl standing between them in the photograph, with no chest, no shape, her body and hair covered in a heavy robe despite the springtime blossoms in the picture. She was the only one smiling.

She turned the picture face down on the dresser and turned to the closet.

Wrapping herself in her long trench coat and covering her hair with a plastic scarf, she picked up the suitcase and strode into the front room where the men were still quarreling.

"Stop your arguing." she announced. "I'm ready. Let's go."

And now she stood in the mist while Sheraz harangued her. She noticed that he refused to ring the bell himself. Apparently he was afraid of the Doctor as well and didn't want to be responsible for disturbing him.

"Bitch! Ring the bell! There is no going back now. I won't drive you home, you'll have to walk back like a slut in the rain. What's wrong with you? Do you want your brothers to be killed? Go in, go in! You should be honored to save your family like this."

But it was the look on Bhasir's face that did it, that stupid leer. All the way over here he had been finding excuses to touch her, rub up against her breast, brush his greasy fingers across her thighs. She simply couldn't stand to go back to that. What could possibly be worse?

She put down the valise and rang the bell.

As soon as she had pressed the bell, Sheraz's eyes widened as if he really hadn't believed she would actually do it. He quickly turned and fled, jumped into the car and sped away, taking her brothers with him, leaving her alone in the rain. No one looked back at her. The last thing she saw was the back of Bhasir's greasy head as the car turned a corner and vanished.

"Yes?" The voice on the intercom was tinny and remote, but she didn't think it was the Doctor's.

"Who is it?"

She pressed the button under the speaker grill. She noticed the name plate that said "Dr. C. Mabeuse"

"It's Dhipa Assad."

Silence from the intercom. Then, "What's your business, please?"

"The Doctor asked that I call. I think he's expecting me."

"Just a moment, please."

She waited. The flat loomed over her head, soft yellow light spilling from the windows into the mist. This was a very exclusive neighborhood, the buildings old and refurbished, surrounded by high iron fences, ivy clinging to the walls.

"I'll buzz you in, Miss Assad."

And the buzzer went off, opening the front door.

She stepped into a hallway and climbed richly carpeted stairs to the second floor, where the door was opened by a man with a shaved head, dressed all in white.

Dhipa's legs were trembling as she climbed the stairs, but she still was proud, and hid her nervousness as best she could.

She stepped into the foyer of a magnificent and sumptuous apartment, expensively yet tastefully done. It was a place of Persian carpets, crystal chandeliers and rich antiques, protected from the outside world by thick velvet curtains over the windows. The very light in the rooms seemed to speak of wealth.

The man took her coat, and she felt his eyes on her as she stepped out of it and revealed her cheap and revealing outfit. But he only said, "This way, Miss." and led her down a dark carpeted hallway, stopped outside a door.

"The Doctor is in. You may knock and enter, Miss" he said and left.

She didn't hesitate now. She rapped on the door.

"Come" said a voice within.

She opened the door to find herself in a large carpeted study. The Doctor sat at a massive oak desk, smoking a cigar working over figures in a ledger. He looked up at her as she entered and his look chilled her. Not even her brother Bhazir looked at her like that. It was the look of an appraiser of flesh, estimating the length of her legs, size of her breasts, the width of her mouth.

After he had looked her up and down he sat back in his chair. "You are Dhipa Assad?"

"Yes." she said.

"Do you know why you're here?"

She felt as if she'd been called before her head master at school. "Yes." she said. "To pay off my family's debt."

He looked her in the eye and she looked back at him. She would not let him intimidate her. But she wished now she had worn more clothes. She felt naked and defenseless before him wearing such a provocative outfit.

He seemed to be enjoying this game, and why not? He sat in the comfort of his own flat, dressed in his shirt sleeves, while she stood nervously in front of him, his to command. The helplessness of her position seemed to trigger something inside of her and she felt herself blush slightly. When he looked her over she felt something stir in her.

"And do you know how you are going to pay off their debts, Ms. Assad?"

"I'm not a child." she said. "Do I look like one?"

He smiled again.

"I just want to make sure we both know what's involved here, and what's expected of you. I'm aware that in Pakistani families such things are not discussed with the female family members." He blew out a plume of cigar smoke. "I have several Pakistani and Indian women working for me, and most have come to me the same way you have. Because their families got into debt and couldn't pay me back.

"The trouble is, most of you wogs make lousy whores. You don't know how to fuck, and you've never had a cock in your mouth in your life, so they end up in the basement turning ten-dollar tricks. That's not how I get my money back. Pretty sad for a culture that gave us the Kama Sutra, wouldn't you say? Don't you people read it over there?"

At the sound of his obscene language Dhipa felt as if she'd been slapped and she fought to conceal her shock. But the meaning of his words was even more outrageous and chilling. He didn't intend to use her for his own pleasure, but was going to pimp her out as a common whore. It wasn't her he wanted, it was the money she could make for him. How could she have been so stupid not to realize this herself?

She had a sudden urge to turn and run. This was not the deal she had imagined. She had been prepared to debase herself for one man if it meant getting her family out of debt. Her self-respect was a fair enough price to pay. But to become a common whore, a streetwalker, letting men use her body in dirty hotel rooms and back alleys, she was not prepared for this. She was not prepared to give up her future, her entire life for her worthless brothers.

And had they known? Had her brothers known the fate in store for her? Of course they did. But they didn't care. What was she to them but just another asset, a property to be sold off when funds were needed.

"Miss Assad? Are you all right? You look pale." The Doctor came out from behind his desk and gently took her arm, led her to an arm chair and sat her down.

He went to the sideboard and poured a splash of brandy into a glass and brought it to her.

"Do you drink alcohol?" he asked, suddenly solicitous.

Without answering she took the glass from him. She gulped down the brandy. It burned terribly and brought tears to her eyes but she drank it. She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. Seeing this, the Doctor moved a box of tissues to the table by her chair. She took some and blotted the tears from her eyes.

The Doctor leaned on his desk and watched her critically.

"You're shocked." he said to her. "Outraged. You didn't expect such a thing, did you? You see, that is just what I mean. You people are like children when it comes to sex. You haven't a clue. How can I send someone like you to a client who's paid me a good sum of money to be entertained by a skilled woman, a woman who knows how to please a man?

"Or are you different, Dhipa?" he asked. "You're a very attractive woman. You have fine legs and nice breasts, the kind men like. Are you by any chance still a virgin?"

Although she knew why she was here, and she was dressed like a tart, the question still shocked her. "I'm a married woman."

"Oh yes, that's right. I'd forgotten. And your husband is out of the country on business, isn't he? Well, that's going to be interesting when he comes back and finds out his wife has disappeared. But this is common among you people. Wives are always disappearing. Your men don't seem to have any idea of how to treat a woman. He'll adjust to it I expect."