PROLOGUE

This story deals with the adventures of a multi-national team of heroines called the Global Protectors.  It is a ‘tidied-up’ version of a series of Superstories.com Addventures I wrote, carrying on from an initial idea and take on the Global Protectors by ‘24’.  There doesn’t seem to be an ‘official’ history for this band of heroines and this story is an amalgamation of information from Doc Droid and Lady Tania’s site at Superstories.com, the take on their work by ‘24’ also at Superstories.com and my own ideas.

I have made some changes though:

1) I have moved the GPs back in time to before the global disaster and based them in New York.
2) This adventure is set early in the GP’s career.
3) I have made changes to/invented the origins of some of the heroines.
4) The intro to the story has been expanded to give some of the heroines a bigger part.
5) Added a bit more description viz. costume and appearance.
6) Removed countless spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and one section I must have written in my sleep.

UNOFFICIAL BACKGROUND

This thread deals with the adventures of a multi-national all-woman team of heroes.  They are based in New York City and wear tight little costumes based on the flags of their country of origin.  A costume basically consists of knee high boots (high heels), a sleeveless leotard, almost elbow length gloves and a domino mask.

Their secret identities are as exchange students at Empire State University; girls living and studying together and learning about America.  They live in a nice old house in a student area of the city a little way from the university itself.  It looks like any other sorority house but in the basement is a sophisticated headquarters for the world’s greatest, female, super-team!

In order of their selection the members of the Global Protectors are:

Maple Leaf: this redheaded Canadian is the leader of the Global Protectors.  Her real name is Jillian Havre and she was a prosecution lawyer in Toronto for many years.  She met her ‘death’ at the hands of mobsters, who cut her down as she entered court one day.  For her cover she has enrolled as a law student.  After Doctor Boyd’s treatment she doesn’t look much older than the other Global Protectors.  As the oldest member and leader she fusses over the other like the mother some of them no longer have.  Despite the manner of her death Jillian believes fervently in the rule of law and expects her team to abide by it.

Maple Leaf is the clean-cut ‘face’ of the Global Protectors that is presented to politicians and conservative pressure groups.

Tigress: this Kenyan is the radical conscience of the team.  Her real name is Kanika Ngala, and she is the former head of the African Congress on Women.  For many years she was a doctor in her native Kenya and she ‘died’ whilst working in a remote bush clinic during a civil war.  She is vocal about her support of environmental concerns and clashes with the rest of the team about racism (she thinks she would be leader if she weren’t the only black woman) and sexism (pointing out the inequalities they face as young superheroines).  Her concerns may very well be legitimate but her abrasive tone sometimes leaves her going one way and the team going another.  She has a bad relationship with Diamond; the ‘settler’ white African.  She takes courses in environmental studies, women’s issues and minority studies.  She is from Nairobi.
 

Valkyrie: this tall, platinum-blonde, blue-eyed Norwegian is the scientist of the group.  Her real name is Kristin Janssen from Oslo.  Before her ‘death’ she was a stereotypical nerdy student, who spent all her time either with her head in a book, at a computer or in a lab.  She is interested in all science and takes a very dim view of ‘new age’ thinking.  It was during Kristin’s final year of her Doctorate at Oxford that her roommate, who was studying design, convinced her to take part as a model in a student fashion show for a favour.  The show was attacked by animal rights activists and a fire started.  When they pulled Kristin out of the hall the doctors pronounced her ‘dead’.

Kristin is a bit of a neatness freak and finds Aussie Girl, La Sola and Shamrock’s relaxed attitude impossible to put up with sometimes.  The Global Protectors know the laboratory area under International House is her domain.
Aussie Girl: this Australian has blonde hair and is the friendliest and most out-going of the group.  Her real name is Erin Bucke, and she is an engineering student.  She is the most outgoing of the girls and a bit of a tomboy.  If the girls need someone’s help at anytime the chances are it’s Erin who finds a friend.  She is from Perth.  She met her ‘death’ whilst swimming in the ocean; a vicious undercurrent dragged her underwater and far away from land.  When the coastguard picked her up it was too late.

Aussie Girl looks after and pilots the Global Flyer; the Global Protectors very own aircraft.  It is normally used when the team have to travel across America or to another country in a hurry or with equipment.

La Sola: this Argentinean has long, brown hair and is the artist of the group.  Her name is Carmen Mendez, and she is an arts student from Buenos Aires.  Her father was a left wing activist, who spent most of his life in exile, and travelled the world in fear for his life and that of his family.  As a result Carmen has been exposed to many cultures and is the most cosmopolitan member of the group.  Returning to Argentina, after the fall of another dictatorship, Carmen’s father settled in Buenos Aires, where Carmen finished her education.  However, he still had many enemies and a group of them kidnapped Carmen to force him into helping them assassinate the new president.  The villains underestimated Carmen’s parents, who went after them to rescue their daughter.  They almost succeeded, fleeing through the streets of the capitol in a car, but the villains had friends in the police and military and had the car riddled with bullets at a checkpoint.  No one survived.

Shamrock: this fiery redhead from Ireland is the hothead of the group.  Shamrock is fast and crafty, but tends to get the team into more trouble than they can handle.  Her real name is Shannon Fitzpatrick, and she is an English student from Tipperary.  In her first year at Dublin University she witnessed an IRA gang gun down a Real IRA gang over a racketeering feud.  Fleeing the scene she went home and spent a sleepless night wondering what to do.  In the morning she decided to go to the GARDA (police).  Getting in her Mini she started the engine and was blown up.  The thugs had tracked her down and left a ‘present’ under the vehicle.  Luckily Doctor Boyd was in Dublin at that time and was there to pick up the pieces.

Like all the Global Protectors, her costume is based on the flag of her country but it also has a shamrock motif on the sides of her boots and down the left-hand side of the front of her leotard.

Star Maiden: this blonde, green-eyed American is the strongest and most fit member of the group.  Her real name is Cindy Neal, and she is from a small town in the Midwest.  She is the ‘host’ of the team, and is head cheerleader at Empire State University.  She is a Phys Ed major.  She is also not very bright and rather self-centred.

There was growing pressure from the press and public being put on Doctor Boyd and the current line up of heroines for an America girl to join them.  The fact that no suitable candidate had survived (or more technically ‘revived from’) the treatment did not matter.  Cindy had been the prettiest girl in her home town (to be honest she was probably the prettiest girls in her state!) and had excelled in all sports.  Unfortunately she had also fallen in with ‘the wrong crowd’ and joined a gang who terrorised the town.  Although nothing was ever proven, the local police believed she was involved with several crimes.  She ‘died’ in a car, driven by her current ‘beau’ in an illegal race, which skidded and crashed (someone had ‘fixed’ the car).  Desperate for an American heroine the doctor took her and transformed her into Star Maiden.

Cindy is secretive about her past (afraid of blackmail or prosecution) and has spent a great deal of effort in promoting Star Maiden and the Global Protectors image with an eye on making money.  Cindy is smart enough to realise that this is her chance to fulfil her childhood dream of being someone rich and powerful and will go to great lengths to ensure her image and that of the Global Protectors is not tarnished.  Cindy shouldn’t be seen as being mercenary, she just realises nothing lasts and the standard superhero pension plan sucks; in this respect she is more perceptive than any of the others.

Diamond: this South African is the detective of the group.  Her real name is Brooke van der Wyk and she is an Afrikaner with short sandy-blonde hair and hazel eyes.  She is a theatre student at Empire State University.  She is from Pretoria.  The inclusion of Brooke as a Global Protector was extremely controversial and almost split the team.  It is the one act that Kanika finds it impossible to forgive Doctor Boyd for.

Brooke was a police cadet under the old apartheid regime of South Africa and brought up in the ‘white culture’ of those times.  Noticed by her peers for her great detective skills and loyalty she was rushed through formal training (which she easily mastered) and put on the front line; patrolling the border of a township that was almost in open revolt.  One night her team rushed to a remote farmstead that was under attack from the township.  During the raid she was speared.  Rushed to hospital she was pronounced DOA.  That would have been the end of Brooke if fate hadn’t stepped in.  A sinister far-right group snatched her body from the morgue and placed it in suspended animation in a secret facility in South Africa.  Their reasons for doing this remains a secret to this day.  Years later Doctor Boyd obtained the body under mysterious circumstances and revived Brooke.  Why he did this is also a mystery, for he must have known the problems it would cause.  If he didn’t he soon did when Brooke chose the flag she would use for her costume!  This instigated the first catfight in the International House.  Brooke’s costume is still based on the old South African flag.

Brooke is the loner of the team.  Kanika and Cindy keep their distance from her for political and financial reasons respectively, whilst the rest are neutral.  Over the few adventures they have had together the ice has thawed a little on both sides but the mystery surrounding Brooke’s revival and her personal beliefs make Jillian and Kanika fear betrayal at some time.  Her police training and detective skills have helped the Global Protectors solve some of their more cerebral cases.

Rising Sun: this Japanese girl is the computer expert of the team.  Her name is Kisume Hiro, and she is a computer student from Tokyo.  The most recent member to join, she is honoured to take her place as a Global Protector.  Kisume was a brilliant computer student, expert at software development and understanding of hardware, who studied at Tokyo’s leading university.  One evening, whilst studying late, several men broke in and disturbed her.  Believing they were only after valuable equipment she attacked them using knowledge of martial arts passed down through her family.  Unfortunately she was wrong, the men wanted to kidnap her to be sold to North Korea as a teacher.  Outnumbered, outmatched and realising the fate in store for her, Kisume chose a traditional way to defeat her attackers – she plunged her fists into exposed circuitry and electrocuted herself and two of the attackers.  The story of this brave, young girl reached Doctor Boyd and he hurriedly sort permission from her family for Kisume to become the latest Global Protector.

Kisume is a little younger than the other Global Protectors and Shannon, the next youngest, has taken her under her wing.  They are firm friends even though their personalities are like chalk and cheese.  She is still rather naïve and a little too trusting.  She does not like to think bad of anyone.

Doctor Salvador Boyd: he is not technically a member of the Global Protectors but the man who selected these young women from around the world and gave them their super powers.  The transformation effects physical and mental changes on its female recipients.  They become the epitome of feminine beauty and at the same time become overconfident with regard to their powers and their ability to handle any situation.  His treatment also gave the girls the ability to fly, heightened senses, as well as increased strength, agility, dexterity and considerable resistance to heat, cold and other types of damage.  However, the girls can lose their powers from time to time.  They are particularly vulnerable when they are sexually aroused as they can become weakened physically and mentally.  Perversely the process has increased their libido making them easily stimulated sexually and forget almost anything to then satisfy their needs.

Mystery surrounds the good doctor and the source of his knowledge.  He has connections with many governments round the world and other organisations.  He certainly believes himself to be a ‘ladies’ man and does nothing to discourage the attentions lavished upon him by Jillian and Kanika.  As yet he has had no luck in a threesome nor has he caught the fancy of any of the other Global Protectors in the same way.  This strong affection from the first two recipients might be due to some random factor in the revival process as the Global Protectors’ main weakness shows there is a sexual element to their powers.

Jillian walked along the cool marble corridor that ran along the back of the palace of Sheikh Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain from the servants’ staircase to the first floor stateroom, dwelling on the past week’s events and how the mission was going.  Idly she scanned a clipboard she was carrying and ticked off several tasks she knew had been done to prepare for the coming banquet.

Jillian Havre was a tall, slender redhead who appeared to be in her mid-twenties.  She wore a smart business suit comprising of a light, ivory jacket and matching short skirt.  Her shoes were of a slightly darker colour, court style, with thin, high heels.  The heels made a satisfying and vaguely hypnotic clicking sound as she walked on the marble floor.  Her blouse was white and she wore a thin, gold chain around her neck.  She looked the very model of the ‘trophy’ business assistant, which was the role she and her companions were deliberately playing, but in reality she was Maple Leaf the leader of the superheroine group known as the Global Protectors!

***

It had been a week ago that Doctor Boyd, the Global Protector’s mentor, had taken Jillian aside along with two of her companions: Erin Bucke and Carmen Mendez, better known as Aussie Girl and La Sola.  He had a very special mission for them in Saudi Arabia.

It wasn’t a world threatening menace they would face he explained but a corrupt sheikh, involved in smuggling and gun running, and the mission itself was just to spy on a meeting between the sheikh and some seedy European customers.  Given the low-key assignment and lack of adventure, Doctor Boyd had expected some difficulty selling the mission but the fact that it was the first overseas mission for the Global Protectors was enough for the three women to eagerly agree to do it.  Indeed they needed some calming down before the end of the briefing to prevent the other Global Protectors from feeling slighted!  Despite Doctor Boyd’s best efforts though, for the next three days the team was clearly divided into those who were going and those who weren’t; even the normally mild and polite Kisume was affected.

Whilst Jillian, Erin and Carmen tried to cram as much knowledge as they could about Sheikh Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain, his criminal empire, his clients and how they would carry out their mission, the other young women seemed to find time off from their own university studies to party or watch TV very loudly.  The second day was the worst when one of Kristin’s chemistry experiments ‘accidentally’ escaped from her hermetically sealed lab and billowed through the house, causing the house to be evacuated for several houses, quickly followed by someone, Jillian suspected Cindy – hell everyone suspected Cindy, starting a rumour that an extra place would be made available; it wasn’t.  How a fight didn’t break out Doctor Boyd couldn’t fathom but on the third day he gathered the three young women, intact, for a final briefing deep underneath the ‘student digs’ the heroines use as their cover.

“Erin, perhaps you could start by telling us something about the sheikh?” Doctor Boyd started the briefing by saying.

“He’s a bloody perv and a right bludger to boot!” Erin said forcefully.

“Would you care to…expand on that a little, Erin?” Doctor Boyd asked a little perplexed.

“Well…he’s a bludger…a sponger…he lives off the dowries he’s received from his wives families.  That’s wives plural, because he seems to have dozens of them and some of them seem to be related to fairly important people over there.  But it’s hard to get any real facts…it’s just rumours.  We’re sure that’s how he got involved in oil though.

“And he’s a perv because he’s got lots of wives locked away in a desert palace and is always on the lookout for more.”

“It’s not illegal in the Middle East to have multiple wives and some of them may only be concubines,” Carmen pointed out in her sexy-smooth voice.

Erin mouthed, “Well excuse me.  Some of them may only be concubines.”

“But I am also concerned”, continued Carmen ignoring Erin, “about the lack of information on the sheikh.  How did he become a sheikh, where did he get his fortune to start his criminal life; illegal arms deals and drugs trafficking are costly to set up.  Are the rumours about his women just that?  If he’s a nobody how could he marry the important women it’s rumoured he has married?  But if he’s not a nobody why is there no information about his past?  Why is all information about his marriages suppressed by the Saudi government?”
“Besides who’d want to wake up to this mug every day,” butted in Erin, waving a glossy photo of a fat middle-aged Arab.  “He’s got this ugly, straggly beard and podgy hands and face…”

“That’s enough, Erin!” Jillian chided.  “The man’s a mystery, Salvador, but that isn’t our problem.  Our problem is gaining access to his reclusive palace whilst a high-powered arms deal is going through between several European terrorist groups and the sheikh.  We don’t look like the locals, we can’t blend in as staff, servants or, Heaven forbid, wives so what have you come up with, Salvador?  Is there a global, militant-feminist terror group for us to go as?”

“No, Jillian.  Not that I’m aware of anyway but you are wrong.  The sheikh’s guests are high ranking terrorist members from Europe and he has little experience in entertaining Westerners.  It seems he has put out feelers to find someone who can.  Now who could be better than three, pretty, Western ladies?”

Doctor Boyd settled back with a broad grin across his face.  Erin bit her lip; she owed this man her life and her superpowers but sometimes she felt just a little queasy around him…how Jillian and Kanika could fawn over him she couldn’t understand – after all they weren’t that much older than her!  Jillian eyes widened a little as she took in her beloved’s smile; her heart beat a little faster.  It was Carmen who spoke, “How do you know all this?  Do you have contacts in Saudi Arabia we can use?”

Doctor Boyd looked away from Jillian a bit distracted.  “What? Oh…yes and no.  There is a very secret pan-Arabian organisation called A3V the Arabic Alliance Against Villainy.  It was they who alerted me to the sheikh and the meeting.  Unfortunately they sent in an agent a little while ago and haven’t heard from her since.  Their head of operations in Riyadh believes there could be a leak in his organisation so it would be best not to contact them on arrival.  The only other contact I had with him was to find out who’d won the contract and get an initial introduction.  All other arrangements have been between me and that firm.

“You will pose as specialists flown in from the West.  The firm will inform the sheikh that this is standard, as Western trends and etiquette often changes.  On arrival you will contact Mr Amir bin-Hussein, President of the El-Haji Entertainments Corporation.  He believes you are spies working for the CIA.  He will introduce you to his staff and brief you about the banquet and your responsibilities regarding it.  This will get you access to the palace and the meeting hall.  How you overhear the meeting I leave to you.  You won’t be able to bug the room and you may be searched but I have every confidence in you.”

Doctor Boyd eyed Jillian again and moved his hips a little forward on his chair, spreading his knees wider as he did.

“Looks like we’ll be catching a later flight,” sighed Erin to herself.

Two days later Jillian, Carmen and Erin found themselves in Riyadh as guests of their host, Mr Hussein, and his charming wife, Fadilah, at their suburban home.  Inside it was cool in stark contrast to the baking heat outside.  Amir, as Mr Hussein insisted he be called, was a perfect host and insisted the three ladies stay the night.  For, he argued, they had much to discuss before tomorrow and his home was as secure as anywhere.  After the evening meal, Fadilah left them to talk their business and went to prepare the ‘spare’ room.  Amir boasted a little about how his daughter, Gayda, had got a place at a university in Dubai and her room would be empty for a few weeks still.  He pointed out a photo in a gilt frame of a smiling, pretty girl, dressed traditionally but with her scarf falling free of her face.  Jillian politely asked what she was reading and what she hoped to do after university.  If they hadn’t been so relaxed by the friendly greeting and pleasant time spent with the Husseins, the Global Protectors might have noticed him fumble over his answers or the change in emotion in his voice but the moment passed and they turned to the tasks ahead; discussing what Amir’s staff were preparing, what the sequence of events would be tomorrow regarding the preparation and execution of the banquet and the correct etiquette around a sheikh’s palace.  This, Amir impressed upon them, was of utmost importance.

Eventually they called it quits and Amir led them to his daughter’s room.  Fadilah had not returned and Amir excused her by explaining she had probably gone to bed as she had to get to the market early the next day.  The three heroines thanked their host and wished him good night.

The bed was made and blankets and a pillow were laid out on a rug by a bay window too.  The three young women looked round the room twice before realising that two of them were expected to share the bed.  Carmen argued that maybe two of them, i.e. Jillian and Erin, were expected to share the rug but Jillian didn’t like that idea and eventually Erin had the rug to herself and the other two shared the narrow bed.

The next morning the heroines decided not to wear their costumes to the palace, not only were they skin tight but it also meant they would have to ‘cover up’; something none of them fancied, considering they were travelling further into the sweltering Arabian Desert.  Instead they donned their alternate disguises of ‘trophy’ businesswomen consisting of ‘fuck me’ shoes and skirts, and blouses and jackets that veritably offered their cleavage to all and sundry.

Breakfast with Amir and his modestly dressed wife, Fadilah, was a study in embarrassment.  Jillian continually felt like explaining she didn’t dress this way normally but that she was in disguise.  She knew she mustn’t and could only feel sorry for Amir who had brought them home to his wife, stayed up late with them after she had gone to bed, put them up in her daughter’s bedroom (which Fadilah had had to prepare!), paraded them in front of her at breakfast dressed like western tarts and would soon leave with them for most of the day.

“Oh, Amir,” she though sadly, “you are so, so, so going to suffer tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow.”

Surprisingly Fadilah was very polite to them and her husband over breakfast, showing no sign of anger or resentment, though she was concerned that they should not be late.

***

Jillian stepped through an exquisitely carved arched doorway and into an equally beautiful room that would act as a reception area for the sheikh’s guests.  In the centre a small raised fountain played and tumbled into a shallow marble bowl and next to it was Carmen talking with a group from the corporation.  Jillian hung back and watched Carmen in her element: directing a grand social occasion.  The group split up and scuttled away to carry out their respective tasks.  Carmen stayed by the cool fountain and Jillian joined her.

“The guests will be arriving within the hour, Carmen, how are we doing?”

“The room is ready.  The only problem is the music.”

“You don’t like it?” Jillian asked surprised.

“Of course I like it.  I have even tried to find out who’s playing it or even a track title but without any luck.  But I don’t think it will impress hardened European terrorists.  For them it would be better for the banquet to have no accompaniment.”

“Then let’s leave it on.  By the way, Erin wants you in the kitchens.  Says you’ve made some odd changes to the menu without telling her.”

Carmen rolled her eyes, “Ai, ai, ai.  What could be wrong now?  I haven’t made any changes.  Okay I will see to it.  Have you had any ideas how we can monitor the banquet.”

“No.  Only the corporations specially selected women will be allowed to serve the food and provide entertainment.  I shudder to think what that will be.  I overheard two of the sheikh’s household discussing security.  There will be guards on that door,” she pointed to the double doors that lead into the banqueting hall, “on the balcony outside the hall and on the stairs leading from the kitchens to the ‘hidden’ servants’ entrance inside.  The only thing I can think of is to get the sheikh to permit us access on the pretext of ensuring the service is correct.  It’s a long shot but I figured it might come to it so that’s why we’re dressed this way.”

As a response Carmen pressed her right foot lightly on Jillian’s left and quickly whispered, “Incoming on you six.”

Jillian’s sensitive hearing had already picked up the sounds of several people entering the room through the same arch that she had.  Turning she saw the sheikh, he looked shorter than his picture made him, and several maidens approaching.  The girls were dressed as if from an old Arabian tale in expensive jewellery and colourful sheer veils; their lower faces covered but barely hidden by the requisite mask.  Two, one on each arm, beautiful beyond telling looked with adoration on the sheikh, whilst three more walked behind him and kept their eyes scanning the surroundings; almost like bodyguards.  As they got nearer, Carmen and Jillian noted these women were armed with small pistols.  The heroines curtsied and the sheikh motioned that they might stand.

“Ah, the lovely ladies from the West.  Jillian and…Carmen, is it not?  Yes!  I wish to talk with you about today’s events.  Everything is going well I hear; the food is prepared, the drink also and Miss Carmen has done a wonderful job in selecting suitable girls to act as servants.”

“Your highness is too kind,” murmured Carmen and curtsied again.

“No, no.  Praise where it is due.  But, Miss Jillian, can you assure me that everything will go like a clock?  I would not want an incident to ruin the day.”

“Your highness, El-Haji Entertainments selects only the best staff to work for it and from these we would only bring the cream of the crop to superintend a banquet of such importance so you need not be concerned.”
Jillian smiled her most charming smile and curtsied again but lower, exposing as much cleavage as she dared.

“Take the bait, you greasy bastard, take the bait,” she willed; seeing his greedy eyes rove all over her body.

“However, I have not got where I am by leaving things to chance.  Would it be too much to ask if you and your charming companions might stay and oversee the ceremonies?  I realise you expected to leave today but I will more than compensate you for the trouble.”

Jillian looked at the sheikh as he licked his lips and blatantly eyed her and Carmen up; even the two girls hanging on his arms looked them over whilst batting their eyelids and smiling through their thin veils.

“Got you!  You arrogant pig,” thought Jillian.  “Now let’s make you sweat a little.”

“I am afraid, your highness, that we are booked on a flight back to America very early in the morning.  All three of us are required to help organise a celebrity Hollywood wedding.”

“Ah!  Hollywood.  You would get much reward for such a display, no?  But you would rather reconsider and accept my request as a personal favour to me, I think,” the sheikh leered at the girls.

“Of course, we would love to stay and oversee the ceremonies”, Jillian immediately capitulated, adding, “but we would have to have access to the main banqueting hall to ensure everything goes smoothly.”

“I would have you nowhere else, Miss Jillian, Miss Carmen.  However, you must dress and act accordingly to custom.  Are you aware of the correct customs, ladies?”

The two heroines shook their heads.

“Then let this girl take you to a room and await me there.  I shall instruct you personally.  In the mean time this charming creature will dress you more appropriately so that you will feel comfortable as you carry out your duties.

“But I am so remiss!” the sheikh suddenly exclaimed.  “Where is Miss Erin?  She is the most desirable of creatures I am sure you agree and it would not be right for her not to be present too.”

Jillian and Carmen first looked at the slip of a girl the sheikh released from his right arm and couldn’t help but warm to the charming stance she took; looking coyly at them through her long eyelashes.  Carmen answered the sheikh’s question, remembering her own need to see Erin; a need that had suddenly become more urgent.

“Your highness, Miss Erin is in the kitchens.  I was just on my way to her.  I would be happy to send her to you.”

“No.  Please do not bother yourself.  I am keen to talk with her myself.  Do as I have instructed and I shall send Miss Erin to you.”

Carmen relaxed, not realising just how eager she had been to see Erin again.

“I shall see you soon, ladies.  Please be ready for your duties.”

With that the sheikh turned and left.

“Well”, muttered Carmen, “you caved in a bit too eagerly.  He might have suspected.”

“I could hardly deny him when he said it would be a personal favour could I?  Anyway we’re in.”

The two heroines saw the young Arab woman bow and indicate that they should follow her.  Without a moments hesitation they set off still talking.

“Sometimes I almost feel sorry for creeps like the sheikh,” Jillian whispered.  “It’s like taking candy from a baby.”

Turning into a room the Arab woman motioned then to wait.  It was a bedroom.  She closed the door and approached Jillian.  Without asking she started by taking off Jillian’s jacket and laying it on the bed.  Then she undid the buttons on Jillian’s blouse.  Neither heroine batted an eyelid at this, nor when the girl, item by item, stripped them both naked.  Finally she bent down and slipped the stiletto-heeled shoes off both women.

“I wonder how Erin is getting on with him,” Carmen mused, just to make conversation.
“I dread to think what would happen if the sheikh tried something.  She can be un-diplomatic and the kitchen will be very hot and steamy.”

Jillian and Carmen both moved their hips slightly, confused by an all too familiar sensation there but not knowing the cause; which was an image, which flashed through their heads, of Erin all hot and steamy in a kitchen.

With both heroines stark naked, the Arab woman walked around them appraising them.  Moving to a fitted cupboard, she opened the folding doors right back to reveal a rack of clothes almost the width of the room.  From this she began to make her selection.

***

Erin wasn’t happy.  She had sent Jillian to fetch Carman and neither of them had returned.  The blonde, Australian beauty had been unhappy being put in charge of the kitchens to begin with but to find out, indirectly, that ‘Miss Carmen’ had ordered the preparation of certain traditional Arabic meals behind her back had made her angry.  How dare that strutting prima Donna interfere with her kitchen!  She had fumed.

To keep out of the way of the bustling cooks, Erin wandered over to a spot designated as a rest area.  There was a ceiling fan there, which sent a cool breeze past her, and piped in music from one of several loudspeakers dotted around the room, which she found pleasant to listen to.  As she swayed slightly in time to the music Erin heard a commotion at the entrance and turned to give Carmen a broadside of pure antipodean invective.  She almost let fly with it anyway when she saw it was the sheikh himself and an entourage of scantily clad bimbos.  Somewhere on his journey the sheikh had acquired another girl for his right arm.  Work ground to a standstill as all the staff bowed.

“No, no, please carry on,” cried out the sheikh cheerfully.

He and his escort shuffle over to the waiting heroine.

Erin tried to calm herself, before what she knew would be a steam of male chauvinist crap, by reciting a little mantra she had devised in her head.

“I must not rip his arms off,
I must not crush his ‘nads,
I must not smash him in the face,
for that would be so bad.”

“Your highness,” she smiled as she curtsied; her face a mask of happiness.

The sheikh spent a little time studying the young woman in front of him; long blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin, gleaming white teeth and lips he wanted to crush his own against until she squealed in pain.  He felt himself stirring as he ogled her heaving bosom in that tight jacket and blouse; yes he had made the right choice.  He motioned that she might rise.

“Miss Erin,” the sheikh positively drooled over her name.

Erin felt as if she had just received one, long, continuous lick all the way up her spine from this revolting man.  Imperceptibly she tightened her muscles to stop any shudder and repeated her mantra, projecting an image of a scolding Jillian just to keep her from reacting.

“Miss Erin, I see you have been working hard all day in my kitchens.  Hard yet vital work for the success of the banquet but it brings with it great responsibility and tension.  I sense that you are a little stressed.  I am sure that you have found that a little flattery whilst talking with a beautiful woman always makes them more relaxed and friendly but how could only a little flattery do you justice?  Please, I am sincere.  I can only think that your companions kept you down here out of jealousy.  However, if you permit it I shall try.”

Erin unclenched.  It was what she expected and it wasn’t.  He was genuine and concerned about her.

“I’m not used to flattery, your highness.  And I am rather busy with final preparations.  I’m expecting Carmen to be here any minute.”

“Ah, a true professional.  Beauty and devotion all in one.  Let me take you away from all this and go and find Miss Carmen and Miss Jillian, for I have something to tell all of you.  Take my arm and I shall recite you charms as we go.”

The sheikh shrugged off the girl from his right arm and held it out.  Erin took it and squeezed it affectionately; “He’s like a big teddy bear or a funny old uncle”, she thought, “not the lecherous perv I feared.”

“Miss Erin, your eyes are like emeralds glinting in torchlight, your cheeks white and smooth like the dunes of my homeland.  Your lips are like rose petals waiting to be crushed and savoured…”

…and so the sheikh went on and on as they left the kitchens.  Occasionally Erin would shriek at a particularly outrageous or corny simile, sometimes she would bury her head in the folds of the sheikh’s sleeves to stifle a laugh, but not once did she complain or ask him to stop.  The stress of the kitchen drained away and she felt giddy with happiness.  By the time they reached the bedroom Jillian and Carmen were waiting in, Erin found she had not felt this close to anyone in a long time and only the fact that the sheikh never asked prevented her from telling him all about herself.

“Here I must leave you, Dear Erin,” the sheikh told her adding, on seeing her pull a long face, “Just for a short while.  You will find Miss Jillian and Miss Carmen already within this bedroom.

“Would you do me one favour? (She agreed immediately) Let this woman take you inside and dress you in something more suitable for my palace.  No, no questions.  Your friends have already changed and will tell you all you need to know.  Farewell, beautiful lady.”

Erin bobbed forward and kissed him on the cheek.  Her eyes suddenly widened in horror and her hand went straight to her mouth.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry.  Please forgive me, your highness.”

“Tut-tut, Erin.  How have I asked you to call me when we are in private?” scolded the sheikh softly.

“Please forgive me, Master Ali,” she replied coyly.

The sheikh smiled, “That is much better.  I forgive you but ever with the hope that more lapses in decorum will follow.”

They both laughed and Erin curtsied again.

“Farewell, Master Ali.”

The sheikh turned and he and his escort swept away.  Erin stood and watched him until he turned a corner.  Then the Australian woman faced the Arab girl.

“Lead on, Mac Duff,” she giggled still giddy from her fun time with the sheikh.

The girl opened the bedroom door and ushered Erin inside.  When Erin saw her two companions, Jillian sat on the edge of the bed and Carman lounging on a box seat at the window, her eyes almost jumped out of their sockets.

“Strewth!  What have you been up to?  Do you know what you look like?”

Jillian and Carmen were dressed in diaphanous, harem girl’s clothing.  Jillian’s material was predominantly white, with gold trim.  She wore a wafer thin veil across her face, after the Arab style, fastened to a tiara-cum-headband.  Her feet were bare and round her wrists and ankles were golden clasps with attached bells.  The sheer sleeves were slit along their lengths and were attached to a very short jacket of the same material.  Around her waist she wore the obligatory coin belt and her pants were slit along both legs and, unbeknownst to Erin, between the legs too.  Carmen was dressed in a similar vein; only the predominant colour was green with gold trim.  However, it wasn’t the fact that they had changed clothes or even the style but the transparency that shocked Erin.  She could see everything!

Jillian, unconsciously looked over Erin, before replying in a confused voice, “What do you mean?  There’s nothing wrong with these clothes.  I think you’ll find there just the thing for later on.  Isn’t that right, Carmen?”

The leader of the Global Protectors stood up and gave a few graceful twirls trying to demonstrate some useful aspect of her dress that clearly eluded Erin; “Oh the feeling of cool air rushing over you and the ease of movement is divine!”

“I can’t wait to see you change into yours, Erin,” added Carmen as she positioned herself to watch the blonde being undressed.

“But why have you changed at all?” asked a bemused Erin as she helped the serving girl take her jacket off.

Jillian stopped spinning and answered, “Because we can only get into the banqueting hall dressed like this.”

Carmen slithered off the widow seat and settled by the foot of the bed, staring wide-eyed at Erin’s breasts.  She couldn’t believe how sexy Erin looked being undressed by anther woman; “If only I was that woman”, she dreamed.

“Yes.  You should have seen the sheikh around Jillian, Erin.  His eyes were all over her.  She had him wrapped round her little finger.  He wanted her so much he couldn’t help but fall for the plan.”

“I think you’ll find it’s me he really wants,” Erin replied a bit petulantly.

“I can quite understand that,” said Jillian huskily as she loomed up from behind Erin and gently ran a finger down the Australian’s left arm.  Erin was about to say something to Jillian about her demeanour but the tugging of her panties by the serving girl distracted her.

Jillian went to the window seat and sat down.  Maybe it was the heat, or the fact that this was the first time she’d see Erin naked outside of the nutrient tube Doctor Boyd had revived her in, but she suddenly realised how drawn, sexually, she was to the girl.  She looked at Carmen, a glamorous, Latin American, femme fatale, and felt absolutely nothing.

“But what does that prove,” Jillian reasoned.  “Carmen is no Erin!  Maybe it’s true what they say about every woman being a little bi- and it only taking the right woman.  And if ever there was a right woman it’s Erin.  What will I say to Salvador?

“What can I say to Erin…before Carmen beats me to it!” she added realising just how intently the dusky Argentine beauty was looking Erin over.

She decided to re-impose some of her authority as team leader and said in the most business like voice she could muster, “After you have changed the sheikh will come to tell us of some customs we need to be aware of and follow.  After that we will have total access to the banqueting hall during the meeting.  We will have to carry out certain duties to ensure the banquet goes well but that shouldn’t be a hindrance to us getting what we want.”

Erin let the girl finish dressing her.  The Arab girl brushed the blonde’s hair out and fixed it up into a long ponytail using a black ribbon to show off her slender neck.  The ribbon had two small bells attached that tinkled as Erin moved.  Stepping back she bowed to indicate her work was done.  Erin turned and looked at herself in a wall length mirror.

“Wow!”

She checked out her rear.

“Oh wow!”

Her general dress was different to Jillian’s and Carmen’s.  The main colour was a deep red and the trim black.  The pants still had the three slits and her sleeves and veil were of the same sheer silk but, unlike her friends who wore delicate bands of gold and bells around the ankles and wrists, she wore wide, black-leather straps.  Delicate silver chains looped around the straps on her ankles and along those on her wrists.  Another significant difference was the material, no flimsy silks for her!  Her pants and short jacket were of embroidered velvet leaving to the imagination what Jillian and Carmen flagrantly displayed.

Carmen started to slink off the bed and head towards Erin.  Jillian sprang to her feet to lunge at the brunette before she could ruin any chance Jillian might have herself with Erin with a passionate but clumsy overture, when the door opened again and the sheikh made a grand entrance.  Erin turned round and immediately made a deep bow; her eyes sparkled with delight at seeing him again; really having to fight to prevent herself from running and hugging him for the wonderful clothes she now wore.  Carmen’s eyes flashed angrily as she took in the man who had disturbed her as she stalked her hearts desire.  Being a more passionate creature, she hadn’t questioned her sudden surge of desire towards Erin half as much as Jillian had, but even so she had only just screwed up enough courage to make a move when the sheikh’s entrance ruined the moment.  Jillian simply tried to regain her composure.  Somehow, since entering the bedroom, she felt things had slipped a little.  The sheikh indicated that Erin’s servant should leave and close the door behind her.  Turning her surveyed the three women before him.

“Ladies, now is the time for you to receive your instruction on how to behave…” his sentence trailed off as he caught sight of Carmen’s scowl.
 
 
 

He glanced at Jillian and Erin.  They seemed fine.  Puzzled the sheikh continued, “The gentlemen you will be entertaining are not good Muslim men or modern, Western liberals but old fashioned European males.  They are not bad men.  It is just the way they act around ladies: touching them or stealing a kiss maybe or even a more intimate encounter not considered acceptable in certain circles.  But you three are all very professional ladies and realise that these acts are just their way of showing…appreciation of your work and beauty and will accept such advances like the heartfelt compliments they are.  You should not find them offensive, quit the opposite in fact.  After all, beautiful ladies, like yourselves, ought to be complimented.”

“So, your highness,” Jillian interjected during the slight pause, “we can measure how well the banquet is going by how much we’re groped?”

She didn’t sound outraged; it was more a matter of clarification.

“You should not use the word groped.  It is the wrong word.  No, you can measure your success by how often and how intimately you are…complimented and how important you benefactor is.  As you might expect those closest to me are nearest to me in importance.  Does that make sense?”

The three heroines nodded.

“Your highness, it was nice of you to take us aside and voice your concerns”, Jillian replied, “but really there was no need to worry.  I only hope they might notice me when Erin is in the room.”

“Some hope!” muttered Carmen.

“There is one matter though,” the sheikh continued delicately, “as their host I cannot make my guests feel embarrassed by highlighting their behaviour with my abstinence.  I apologise in advance but I will have to join in with them.  I can only say that my actions will be an honest refection of my esteem for you.”

“We understand, your highness, don’t we?” Erin spoke up quickly to reassure the sheikh.

Carmen and Jillian agreed and thanked the sheikh again for his integrity and candour.

“Then I shall see more of you later.”

The sheikh chuckled and left.

***

The banqueting hall was filled with the noise of conversations in several languages, laughter and music, from discreetly placed loudspeakers.  The sheikh and his guests, close to twenty men, sat on cushions on the floor whilst food and drink was placed on mats or little wooden tables in front of them by a bevy of serving girls.  Amongst these girls and working as hard as any of them were Jillian, Carmen and Erin.

It didn’t take the guests long to start to paw at the servants and make lewd suggestions.  On of the terrorists grabbed Carmen’s rear and squeezed.  Carmen shot him a surprised look.  A neighbouring criminal said something in German that set a group of them laughing.  Carmen didn’t understand the joke but joined in anyway.  She smiled her appreciation to her molester and moved on.  On the other side of the room Jillian laboured under similar circumstances.  As she bent to pour out a drink, a man lunged for her breasts.  Jillian, seeing what he was after, steadied herself and offered them to him.  The man took them both in his hands, held them for a little while, and then buried his head in her cleavage.  Another roar of laughter rose up.  When the criminal finally let go of her, Jillian staggered back flush with all the attention heaped on her.

Jillian looked around the room to see how Carmen and Erin, especially, were coping.  Carmen was having her slender legs stroked by a couple of Basque Separatists. A Number of the other servants were also being ‘appreciated’ as Jillian thought it.  One in particular was flat on her back giving one terrorist a blow job whilst another fucked her!  Jillian craned her neck to see who it was and was absolutely amazed to find out it wasn’t Erin!  The redheaded heroine looked around and spotted Erin near the sheikh.  The Australian was offering a silver platter with four small bowls of fruit on it to several of the guests.  Each in turn simply took one piece.  Jillian’s jaw dropped in amazement and she felt a surge of outrage.  “How could those men be so rude!” she fumed to herself.  “Not even a caress of her hips or legs or even a smile.”
 

The only explanation she could come up with was that they were gay.  However, her train of thought was suddenly interrupted when she felt something bump against the back of her thighs.  Jillian looked behind her and found an over-excited Irishman trying to crawl between her legs.  As she spread her legs to accommodate him, Jillian felt embarrassment for the first time since entering the room.  Here she was being feted to the rooftops, whilst the most beautiful woman in the world was being callously ignored.  As the burly Irishman struggled to get his broad shoulders through the gap Jillian had produced, causing her to sway all over the place and almost drop her tray of drinks, Jillian watched Erin’s progress round the room with growing anger; for no one would give her the slightest compliment, even some Jillian knew had felt her up several times!  Looking back at the ‘gay’ band, she saw one of them grab hold of a dark-haired serving girl by the wrist and wrestle her playfully to the ground.  Jillian slipped off the Irishman’s shoulders just as he tried to pick her up on his back and carry her away, much to the delight of his friends.  Something was very wrong Jillian realised but couldn’t think what she could do about it without spoiling the banquet.  Not that infiltrating the banquet had turned out to be the covert operations success Doctor Boyd had hoped.  None of the conversation she had overheard had been about arms or terrorism.  Jillian held onto one last hope; that the real horse-trading would occur after the main banquet and all she and the others needed to do was to hang on.

Erin was shaking with emotion by now and almost about to burst into tears.  Desperately she tried to get the guests she served to touch her; leaning in close, thrusting forward her breasts, bending slightly as she turned away so that her tight arse swung tantalisingly in front of them, smiling and making complimentary noises about them but nothing worked.  By now Jillian wasn’t the only one to notice this strange behaviour, Carmen had caught Jillian’s eye and had a quizzical look on her face.  Jillian shrugged her shoulders.  In her current state of mind part of the Canadian wanted to stride boldly over to Erin, wrap the blonde in her arms and kiss her passionately, just to let her friend know how much she was appreciated and teach these European creeps something about manners, but her professionalism stopped her.  Jillian noted with some pride that Carmen, who clearly wanted to do something similar, restrained herself too.

The sheikh motioned for Erin to bring him a drink.  Perking up a little, Erin approached him.  Surely her friend Ali would say or do something about her poor treatment, hoped the confused girl.  As the blonde Australian placed a glass of iced, rose-scented water on a little table beside the sheikh, he rubbed a hand up her inner thigh.

“Oh Erin, how can these savages ignore true beauty,” he whispered in her ear.  Erin felt a hot flush throughout her body.  Ali, her Ali had come through for her.  She blinked away the tears and smiled down at him sweetly.

“Master Ali, thank you.  I was feeling so awful,” she whispered back.

“When guests misbehave it is up to the host to make things right.  Normally it would be a costly chore and done only out of a sense of duty but tonight, Erin, I thank Allah himself that I have such boorish guests; for now I can shower you with the attention you crave and deserve.  Something, I must admit, I have longed to do ever since seeing you,” and with those words her whipped back his robe to reveal his erect penis pointing up at her.  Erin’s eyes widened and her face lit up with wonder; like a child’s entering Santa’s grotto.  The blonde shot Jillian a quick glace.  Jillian hadn’t been party to the conversation but she had seen the sheikh’s initial moves and approved.

“At last someone is going to show her some appreciation,” she though with relief.

Now, seeing the childlike expectation in Erin’s eyes, Jillian simply smiled and gently nodded her head, as a mother would to her daughter who had been offered a gift in order to say ‘Yes you my take it’.  With no more hesitation, Erin dropped to her knees and took the proffered penis in her mouth.  She moaned quietly as she tried to get as much of the still swelling member past her tongue.  The sheikh grabbed hold of her silky, blonde ponytail and guided her head into his lap.  Erin’s ponytail bobbed and jingled as she ran her tongue all over the head of the sheikh’s penis covering it with her own saliva.  Before she brought him to climax she popped off the top and started down the shaft, alternately sucking and licking it all the way down.  When she reached the bottom she started on his balls, felling the sheikh buck as she played will his most sensitive area.  Unable to take any more the sheikh pulled Erin’s hair up.  Erin responded to this direction immediately and rose.  One look at the sheikh’s face told her what to do next.  Pulling open the central slit in her trousers she guided his penis deep into her.  In unison they emitted a sigh as the sheikh drove his pole further into her eager young body and soon she was bouncing on his cock and emitting little squeals of glee.

“Fuck me, Master Ali!” she moaned with each thrust.  The sheikh tore open her costume and fondled her large, white breasts and finally let out a triumphant bellow as he filled her with his cum.

The sheikh fell back amongst the cushions with a sigh as Erin slipped of him and got to her feet unsteadily.  Jillian and Carmen just looked on in awe and a little jealousy at the demonstration.  Recovering a little from the encounter the sheikh propped himself up on one elbow and looked round the room.  Almost everyone was looking back at him.

“Miss Erin,” he said, starting the next phase of his plan.  “How can you stand before me covered in sweat and cum.  You must be cleaned up!  You must let Miss Carmen lick you clean.”
“Yes,” replied Erin looking down in distress at her dishevelled body.  “Carmen…” she began to say but got no further.  The Argentinean beauty was on her in a flash, smothering her in a long, deep French kiss.  Carmen’s hands roamed over Erin’s body as she lowered her companion to the floor.  Ending the kiss Carmen moved down to Erin’s vagina.  Erin looked with dawning realisation at Carmen’s lust filled face.  “My God!  She’s a lesbian!  I never knew and now she’s going to eat me out!” her mind screamed.  Erin closed her eyes and arched her back as she felt the touch of Carmen’s sensuous lips on her again.

Jillian’s face looked like thunder.  It was hard enough seeing ‘her’ Erin being taken by the sheikh but she at least understood the reasons behind that.  However, to see another woman beat her into having sex with the only woman she truly wanted was too much.

“That South American hussy has had her eyes on Erin since the bedroom”, fumed Jillian, “and now she’s taking advantage of Erin’s unfortunate predicament!  Well, when we get back to the International House I’ll make sure she’s out of the team for good.  She’s not going to ruin my chances with Erin ever again!”

The sheikh looked at Jillian’s reaction with concern; something was clearly wrong, first Carmen and now Jillian hadn’t act as he expected.  Were Jillian and one of the others lovers he wondered?  He needed to do something.  He snapped his fingers.

“Miss Jillian, attend me!”

Jillian dashed to his side immediately.  “Yes, your highness?”

“It is very obvious that Miss Erin and Miss Carmen are not having as much fun as you might think.  It looks like a very inept sexual encounter.”

Now that the sheikh mentioned it, Jillian had to agree that that was the case.  Her own emotions had obviously clouded her perceptions and judgment she decided.

“Why by the end of it Erin will never talk to Carmen again,” she thought with considerable satisfaction.  The sheikh noticed the change in Jillian’s demeanour and took a gamble.

“You should show them how a real woman gives pleasure, Miss Jillian.  Show them by licking me clean.”

With a smile on her face, Jillian eagerly dropped to her knees and started to lick his cock from the base upwards; using all the intimate little tricks she knew Salvador just loved.  The sheikh let out a contented sigh.

“Oh you certainly know how to suck cock.  Better than a $1,000 Parisian whore”, the sheikh added, “but I have heard that’s the case when you are had by a Global Protector!”

The three girls froze then looked in astonishment at the sheikh.

“Have you finished with your floor show then?” he sneered then clapped his hands once.  Suddenly the terrorists were all over them.  Erin, severely weakened after the sex, was easily wrestled to the ground by three men but Erin and Carmen had not been weakened as much and continued to struggle.  Terrorists flew across the room only to be replaced by the El-Haji serving girls who also piled on to the heroines.

The sheikh yawned with disinterest, “There really is no point in you struggling.  We have captured you.”

Jillian and Carmen stopped to assess the situation.  They were surrounded and many of the terrorists they had cast about the room were getting up and selecting guns that some of the El-Haji serving girls rushed into the room.  Other terrorists and girls clung to them like limpets.  Jillian didn’t fear for herself or Carmen if they started shooting, but the serving girls could be killed (and until she understood their involvement that was a problem) and Erin in her weakened state was also vulnerable.  She shot a sideways glance at Carmen and relaxed.  Carmen followed suit.

“Okay, Sheikh, you’ve got us but you’ve gone to a lot of trouble for three entertainment advisors.”

The sheikh didn’t reply.  His leer widened and he clapped his hands twice quickly.  Immediately, three Arab girls ran into the room with bundles in their hands.  They bowed to the sheikh and then, with a snap of the wrists, unfurled the bundles.  They were the three heroine’s costumes!

“Where did you get those?” Carmen demanded angrily.

Jillian, more thoughtfully, looked at the girl holding her costume.  She looked familiar.

“Gayda!” she spoke in disbelief then turned to spit at the sheikh, “What have you done to Amir’s daughter, you bastard?”

The sheikh let out a long peal of laughter.  “Nothing she has not begged me to do I assure you.  However, I would not worry about what I have done but rather about what I want.”

“W…what do you want?” Carmen asked with growing trepidation.

“Why you three of course”, the Sheikh laughed, “as fanatical followers of Islam!”

Jillian spat back defiantly, ‘And what makes you think that will happen, creep?”

“What?” replied the sheikh in a soft, evil voice.  “Why did your blonde friend let me fuck her just now?  Or you eagerly lick my cock clean?  Or the charming Brunette, with lust-filled eyes, eat out her friend?  Because I wished it!”

The sheikh clapped his hands again and serving girls appeared with trays of traditional Arab food and drink, which they placed in front of him.

“Please, Ladies, I am not a man of violence by nature.  I am a religious man who merely wishes to help the world.  Sit with me and eat, let me talk to you and explain my view.  Is that too much to ask?”

The three young women look at each other.  Jillian, their leader, looked at the food.  She felt hungry and if a fight could be avoided…

“Okay”, she said cautiously, “we’ll listen to what you have to say and then we’ll leave…and no one had better stop us!”

The captors released the heroines who promptly sat down before the sheikh.  al-Sakkuain smirked, “Truly I am misunderstood.  Do you wish to know why three young women, such as yourselves, were so eager to enact such acts?  No Muslim woman would act thus, with a strange man in front of other men.  No!  Our laws are shaped that such an event could not happen.  When a Muslim woman goes forth she covers herself to protect that which is hers and her husband’s alone.  Not so the western woman, who shamelessly cavorts like a prostitute through the streets.  Our ways protect the woman from evil glances and the man from stray thoughts.  But the west puts an evil twist on this simple act.  It tells its women to be brazen and to revel in that state, to defend the right to be whores and bitches and less than women.  And so you are whores and bitches and less than women, your own acts betray you.  And it is no surprise that any good Muslim man should treat you as you are and take you if he wishes; and so it is our law.  No Muslim man would treat a Muslim woman like that for she is pure and deserves respect…for she shows respect for he husband.”

The heroines sat listening to this rabid tirade, their eyes a little glazed, not making a move to interrupt.  The sheikh noticed this and pressed on.

“I wish that all women could be given the respect all Muslim women are given by Muslims…is that too much to ask?  You have lived in the West all your lives and have been conditioned to believe our ways are oppressive…evil even, but how can they be?  Can your own actions today be considered good by any god?  Our ways come from the one God, of whom Mohammed is the prophet.

“I talk too much and you are hungry please eat a little of our food.”

Jillian, Erin and Carmen looked at the food before them: sheep’s eyeballs and brains.  Jillian slowly stretched out a hand and picked up an eyeball.  It looked at her.  Carmen took a spoonful of brains and Erin another eyeball.

“I believe you will find it surprisingly good,” the sheikh said.

Jillian popped the eye in her mouth and chewed.

 “Oh my god, this is terrific!” Jillian spluttered with her mouth full.  “Carmen, you have got to try one.”

“Mmmfff…let me finish these brains they’re amazing…Erin don’t scoff all those eyeballs!”

“Ah, you see at last.  Our ways seem strange, even repugnant on the surface but in truth and deep down are they not sublime?  Oh girls I am not your enemy.  I care for you and wish to save you from the indignities of the West.  Consider me the apple of wisdom and let me open your eyes as Eve’s were made aware of her nakedness.”
“Okay, Sheik al-Sakkuain,” replied Jillian receptively.  “Just what are you proposing?”

Jillian was surprised at the sheikh.  His observations seemed so accurate and his arguments reasonable, but where did the three of them fit in?

“Just that I see three lost souls who no longer wish to be Western whores and bitches…”

The girls nodded slightly in the pause warming to this kind old man.

“…and I, Sheikh Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain, wish to raise you from the gutter you are in and put you on the path of righteousness.”

“But how, how can we be saved?” pressed Jillian; the other heroines nodding support.

“By accepting the faith, infidels!  By obeying its law, your husband and you sheikh.  For I, Sheikh Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain, out of the love I have for you three will take you to my harem.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Erin, here eyes moist.  Jillian looked at her and then at Carmen and finally back to the sheikh.

“My Lord, the honour is so great we fear to accept it, for surely three worthless infidels would poison your house and reputation.”

“Worthless infidels you are but need not remain, recite the Shahadah, renounce the West and become my Muslim concubines.  As it is written in our laws, only this way can you save yourselves.  Will you accept and become true believers?”

Jillian was amazed…there was still hope for her.  The sheikh would take her in and guide her on the path to salvation.

The women bowed, touching their heads to the floor, and said in unison, “We accept, oh lord and master, our lives our thought are yours to command.”

“Kneel then, raise you index fingers beside your head and repeat after me.”

Dutifully the women did as the sheikh said and repeated, “There is no god by Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.”

The sheikh smiled, “Fetch suitable clothing for these fine Muslim women and the Kadi to draw up the contracts.”

There was a bustle of activity as some serving girls ran to get the Kadi and clothes and others set to to tidy up the room.  In all the commotion no one notices a serving girl leave.  It was surprising that this tall, slender beauty had not caught the eye of the sheikh, but he was so focussed on the three superheroines that the woman was spared his attention.  Like a ghost she slipped from the palace and into the gardens.  Her name was Scheherezade a.k.a. the Desert Scorpion, a member of the Arabic Alliance Against Villainy; the secret network of law enforcement that ran from Morocco to Pakistan.  She had heard of this sheikh’s activities whilst on assignment in Cairo and had dropped everything to investigate – for there was a personal reason…a very personal reason.

She climbed to the roof of one of the garden pavilions and unrolled an old rug.  Sitting on it she whispered, “Fly me to Riyadh, I am in need of haste.”

At once the carpet rose and headed east.

It was evening at the International House and, for once, no menace was apparent but neither was there any sign of social life for that matter.  Even pretend students have to pretend to cram to pass pretend exams to keep their cover intact and so Kristin and Kisume were in the kitchen flipping through computer books, debugging code and eating pizza, Shannon sat in front of the TV ‘researching’ American-English and Kanika was in the secret base beneath the house ostensibly on monitor duty, but in reality preparing flyers for a rally the next day.  Cindy was still at the sports centre and wouldn’t be back for some time, as it was a warm, light night.  Brooke was on the porch reading a book on forensics.

Only Brooke’s trained detective eyes with their super-powered enhancement noticed a shadow slip over the fence and head towards her.  As she wasn’t in her Global Protectors’ uniform she simply stood up and shouted, “Whose there?” loud enough for those in the house to hear.  A shadow detached itself from the gloom and walked slowly towards her, “I mean no harm.  I need to speak with the Global Protectors.  Can you help me?”

“Whoa!”  Brooke thought.  “Are we blown?  Who is this woman with a slight Syrian accent?  The others should be alerted by now so I’d better get her in the house rather than do anything out here.”

“I’m sure I can help if you come inside,” Brooke beamed back cheerfully.

Brooke and the Syrian woman entered the house to find the other Protectors waiting for them in their uniforms.

“All right, Miss, who are you and what do you want?” snapped the Tigress.

“I am the Desert Scorpion,” replied Scheherezade, throwing back her hood and cloak to reveal her own costume; it was sandy brown in colour and seemed to consist of a hardened-leather, sleeveless tunic that zipped up the front, gauntlets that came partway up her arms, baggy, white-cotton trousers and low, soft boots.  Her lower face was covered by a thin veil.  Her long, raven-black hair flowed free.

“It has taken me two weeks to get here undetected, but I come to warn you that your friends are in danger and may already be lost!  Sheikh Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain has bent them to his will and no doubt added them to his secret desert harem by now.  You must rescue them and I must come with you.”

“Rubbish!  Maple Leaf has been in regular contact with us and has reported nothing odd.  Furthermore she has sent back useful intel’.”

“I do not doubt it.  That is his way, to allay any suspicion, but it will stop and your friends lost.  I know because that is how I lost my younger sister Dunyazad.”

Desert Scorpion broke down in tears, “Please, she and I are agents of the A3V.  We work for peace in the Middle-East and North Africa.  She was sent to investigate the sheikh and was lost.  I must find her.  You must help me.”

Brooke spoke up, “I have heard of A3V and their work.  I should be able to check her credentials.”

“Okay”, said Kanika slightly less gruffly, “and you can sit down and tell us all you know about our three friends.  How did it happen?”

The Desert Scorpion sat on the sofa and the remaining girls settled around her.  Shamrock turned off the TV.
 

“It was by chance I saw your friends.  They had been in the palace longer than I and I found then serving the sheikh and his guests during the main meal.  It quickly became apparent that they were not themselves and the sheikh was controlling them somehow.  I watched as he unmasked them.  At first they struggled but then he began an unholy tirade using a perversion of my faith as its basis.  A tirade your friends embraced wholeheartedly.  I left seeing that there was nothing I could do.”

“You abandoned our friends to that perv!” shouted Shamrock.

“I could do nothing there, they were so quickly overcome but I was not, though for some reason I did feel subdued…weak…I knew I had to leave.”

“It was a wise move,” Rising Sun said glancing at Shamrock.  “If you had been taken too who would have warned us?”

“I am more interested in how he did it,” put in the Valkyrie.  “Did they eat anything; was it his voice, mind control, hypnosis, a ray gun, a gas?”

“I did not see them eat anything and they did struggle at first albeit half heartedly…as though they too were weak…may be there is a gas, but I do not think so as the halls of the palace are large and none are airtight.  There was no ray fired nor did they look into his eyes,” replied Desert Scorpion.

“I hate mind control,” mumbled Shamrock.

“So it could be his voice or mind,” concluded the Tigress.

“…or something else,” added the Valkyrie.

Suddenly Brooke ran into the room, “Her story checks out and Maple Leaf called to say they are coming home.”

“Have they defeated the sheikh already?  Their reports weren’t that optimistic,” Tigress asked.

“No.  In fact Maple Leaf said that’s why they’re returning,” answered Brooke.

“Don’t you see,” implored the Desert Scorpion.  “He has got to them and now they are coming for you.”

The Tigress looked round at her sister Global Protectors, “So what do you suggest, Scorpion?  These are our team-mates and, as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong!  Has the data they set ever been any good?  Do your friends normally give up so easily?”

“The data has had little impact on the sheikh himself”, Rising Sun said, “but some other crime lords have been put out of action.”

The Tigress looked at her Asian companion, “I didn’t know that.  Okay, assuming you’re right, we’re going to need a plan to deal with three rouge Global Protectors.”

The girls all sat in silence looking at each other.

Just then Cindy came through the front door, back from training.  Turning off her portable CD player, she asked, “What’s up?  And who’s she?” indicating the Desert Scorpion.

“A friend, I think, with bad news.  The others are coming back and they may be under the influence of the sheikh,” said the Tigress.

“What again!  We don’t need secret prison cells in the basement we need secret deprogramming rooms.  Anyway no prob’ we can take them at the airport, they won’t suspect a thing.”

The Kenyan heroine closed her eyes and groaned.  The last thing the Global Protectors needed was another media disaster and a cat fight amongst the group at an international airport…

“No, Star Maiden, we can’t have that nor can we subdue them here it would risk our cover.”

The Valkyrie smiled, “Only if we use force.  We could drug them.  Spike their drink when they come home.”

Desert Scorpion butted in, “They will no longer touch alcohol.”

“Aussie Girl not touch alcohol,” giggled Shamrock.  “This I have to see.”

“Then we’ll spike everything else, coffee, fruit juice, milk, water… the lot.  Valkyrie, Rising Sun, I want something that will knock one of us out in seconds that’s undetectable in any drink.”

“You don’t ask for much,” Valkyrie added coolly.

“…and I want it for tomorrow.  So git girls.”

The tall, blonde Norwegian and the raven-haired oriental looked at each other and headed for the labs.

“Shamrock, go to the basement and warm up three stasis pods.  Diamond hit the books; everything on de-programming and mind control.”

Brooke’s jaw dropped, “Everything!  And all Shamrock has to do is warm up three pods!”

“From each according to their means,” quoted the acting team leader.

“Hay!” cried Shamrock.  “I heard that.”

“Scoot!” bellowed the Tigress.

“And what of me?” asked Cindy.

“Keep our guest company.  Close company, just in case.  Nothing personal, Scorpion.”

“I am not offended,” the Desert Scorpion replied politely.

“Damn!” though the Tigress.

***

The Global Protectors worked through the night, Kanika visiting them all in turn to make sure there were no problems.  The only surprise she got was finding Kisume asleep in the lab.

“We had to test the Mickey Finn,” Kristin explained.  “It is almost instantaneous.”

“It had better do the job.  I don’t want to face Maple Leaf, La Sola and Aussie Girl if their mad.”

“Amen to that,” agreed the blonde Kristin.

***

The time of arrival was almost upon them.  The three returning heroines were taking a taxi from the airport.  Jillian had been a little surprised no one had come to meet them but Kanika had told her over the phone that they had had to keep to their cover of revision and this seemed to satisfy the redheaded Canadian.

“Cindy, Scheherezade, I want you two out of sight when they arrive.  You’ll be our ace in the hole if anything goes wrong.”

Scheherezade swirled her cloak about her and disappeared.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Cindy.  “She’s invisible.”

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” Scheherezade’s disembodied voice said.

“No,” replied Kanika recovering.  “Now you two go hide.”

“There here!” cried Shannon from the window.

Cindy dashed upstairs, hoping Scheherezade was following, whilst the rest took up their position in the living room.  Kanika opened the door.

“Welcome home, Girls,” she shouted and hugged the three of them in turn.  Shannon, Brooke and Kristin came forward and there was the usual jumble of greetings and hugs.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  Kanika started to worry.  “Best get it over with,” she thought and said, “You must be thirsty after the trip do you want a drink?”

“That would be lovely,” answered Jillian.  “A fruit juice, orange or lemon and lime would be nice.”

“Orange for me”, shouted Erin across the gaggle of girls, “and make it big.”

“Carmen?” Brooke enquired.

“Coffee, the usual.”

“Kisume, Shannon, get the drinks.  I’ll have vodka and orange with ice,” ordered Kanika.

“Shannon, don’t go,” Jillian suddenly said.

Kanika stiffened.

Shannon yelped as if she had been burned, “Jillian, what do you want?  The drinks…”

Brooke stepped passed her, “I’ll help Kisume, Shannon.”

Kanika whispered a silent prayer of thanks that Brooke was the cool, South-African, white bitch that she was.

Jillian held out a rag doll dressed as a belly dancer.

“Just a present from our travels for your collection.”

Shannon took it off Jillian rather gingerly.  Kanika gritted her teeth.  “Don’t blow it, Girl!” her mind screamed.

Jillian misinterpreted Shannon’s tentativeness.

“You won’t break it.  Now let me sit down and have a drink and you can tell me what’s been happening here.”

“A toast to a successful mission,” Kisume proclaimed bringing in a tray of assorted drinks.

They all drank the toast and Jillian, Carmen and Erin fell to the floor.

“Phew!”  Kanika sighed flopping into a chair.  “How long will they be out?”

“Ten to fifteen minutes,” Kristin replied.

“We’d better hustle then.  Cindy, Scheherezade get down here we’ve got lifting to do.”

The Remaining Protectors carried their friends down to the basement and put them in the stasis pods.

“Good work, but now what?  Brooke, did you find anything out from the books?”

“Not much in so short a time”, the South African answered icily, “but some things we can assume.  One (she counted out on her fingers) they weren’t sent to drag us back kicking and screaming – otherwise they would have attacked at once.  Two, discounting one, means they must have brought some means to capture or enslave us with them, as none of them have such powers.”

“Couldn’t the sheikh have given them some?” asked Shannon.

“According to my research, no.  Mind controllers don’t tend to give such powers to their victims, at least not permanent powers.  They may send their victims away with replicas of their own power though but with limited use.  We should search their bags for drugs, sprays, electronics, recordings and magic”

“Magic!” shrieked Cindy.  “How do we check for that?”

“I may be of some use there,” interjected Scheherezade.  “It is said the blood of Efreet runs in our family and the female line of my ancestors has passed some mystic knowledge down through the centuries.”

“Kristin, I want you to check their stuff.  Kisume and Brooke dig up everything on this sheikh.  Shannon and Cindy fend off visitors and awkward calls from the university.  Scorpion, I’d be grateful if you would give the luggage the once over before letting Kristin at it.  Then could you help Brooke and Kisume.”

The group agreed the plan and headed off.

***
 

Kristin looked at the pile of upturned luggage on the laboratory table.  All around her in this basement room was one of the most compact and sophisticated laboratories money could buy.  She was dressed in low heels, a short grey skirt and white, short-sleeved blouse.  The top few buttons of the blouse were open showing her perfect cleavage and around her neck a thin silver chain and cross.  As usual her long blonde hair was worn up, revealing a shapely neck.  Her piercing icy-blue eyes surveyed the assortment of items she would have to check and clear, lotions, make-up, radios, CD players, CDs, books, magazines, food, drink, even clothes and, on top of the pile, Shannon’s doll.

“I think I will start with you,” she said as she put out a slender pale arm and plucked a lab-coat off a hook and put it on.

Picking up the little rag doll, Kristin accidentally touched a hidden button for, suddenly, some music issued from it.

“Beautiful music,” Kristin thought.  “In fact very beautiful.”

Then, as the short piece of music seemed to build up to a climax, it ended abruptly with a hash hiss and clunk!  Kristin frowned and joggled the doll again.  Again the music started but got no further than before.  The Scandinavian woman’s smile turned to a frown again.  As she jiggled the doll a third time she scanned the lab for something to open it up with to find out what was broken inside.  The music played and ended as before.  Kristin took a scalpel and cut the stitching in the back to get a look at the mechanism.  To her chagrin it wasn’t broken.  The little music disc must only hold a snippet of the tune she deduced.  Taking the disc she looked at the label.  It read Themes on the Verses of Islam: Verse One – Faith.  Kristin put it down carefully and sighed.  The tune had been so lovely; she dearly wanted to hear the rest.  She had never liked Arabian music before; too whiney or alien for her North European tastes but this tune had something about it…sighing again she turned from the doll and disc and looked at the remaining pile of stuff.  Those icy-blue eyes lit on the CDs…“Could it be?” she thought.

She hardly dared hope that the tune was on one of the CDs.  Quickly she scanned them: Themes on the Verses of Islam: Verse Four – Harmony; Verse Five – Acceptance; Verse One – Faith.  Kristin dropped the others back onto the table and put Verse One into one of the CD players.  Fiddling with the headset, she finally let her hair down so that it was snug on her head.  She pressed play nervously, half expecting to hear some other music…but no it was the same beautiful tune!  She relaxed and closed her eyes for a few seconds, drinking in the sublime melody.  The tune passed the point it had broken off before and continued, becoming more entrancing all the while.  Kristin opened her eyes and looked at the pile on the table again.

“I guess the lotions are a good a place as any to start,” she said and, taking some of the tubes of sun cream, inset repellent and face cream, headed to the mini mass spectrometer to check out their chemical composition.  As she worked the tune changed, but she didn’t stop listening; it was just a beautiful as the first.  She found herself first humming and them lilting along with the CD as one by one the chemical results came back negative.

By the time all the lotions had been tested she had heard the whole CD four times.  It was her favourite.  Part way through a female voice, with only a hint of a middle-eastern accent, had started to sing about the virtues of Islam and by the last playing of the CD Kristin knew the words well enough to sing along too.  One point she found surprising was that the Sheik Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain was a direct descendent of the prophet Mohammed and she wondered why Doctor Boyd had sent the Global Protectors to investigate such an obviously holy man as a common criminal.

With the lotions tested and noted as harmless, Kristin returned to the table.  As she rummaged through the items for something else to test she found the second CD in the series.  It was Verse Two – Love and Kristin unhesitatingly put it into the CD player and set it going.  The tunes were different…more sensuous but not the worse for it.  She decided to test the food next; even the Hershey bars that must have been bought waiting for a connecting flight in America.  As she crossed the lab a flash caught her eye; it was the reflection of her little silver cross in a mirror.  She stopped, feeling foolish or naughty.  She went to button up her blouse then stopped and, instead, unclasped the chain and dropped it and the cross into one of the lab coats deep pockets.  She felt relief flood over her and she recited the profession of faith she had learnt from the first CD to calm herself.

“They truly are miraculous words,” she thought and continued with her tests.

A short time later she shrugged off her lab coat and let it fall to the floor, as she found herself too hot.  The music continued and she worked.  Eventually the same female voice started to sing and Kristin listened, hanging on every word.  The songs were of love – the love a woman should have for a man and the type of man a good Muslim woman should love; a holy man.  The final song on the CD told of a pitiful infidel girl who pined for love but could find it nowhere, until she heard of the holy Sheik Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain.  The girl faced many challenges from faith, friends and family but eventually overcame them all to climax in the arms of the Sheik as his lowest serving concubine.
 

Kristin knew she was sexually aroused by now.  She had kicked off her heels to dance between table and lab as she worked and when the little infidel girl climaxed in the arms of the sheik, Kristin’s eyes were moist with emotion.  She played the CD again.  As she searched through the baggage looking for food and drink she came across a covered picture frame.  Uncovering it revealed a photo of a portly, middle-aged Arab, dressed traditionally.  His cheeks were fat and his beard wiry and he leered at the camera.  Kneeling before the man were three white women, dressed as belly dancers with their lower faces covered by thin veils; they were Jillian, Erin and Carmen.  At the bottom of the frame in gold ink was written the name Sheik Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain.  Kristin’s icy-blue eyes snapped back to the man.  So, she thought, this is the highly desirable sheik.   She could understand why the infidel girl in the song had longed for him.  Kristin set the photo up so that the sheik could look on her as she worked and so that she could cast a wistful glace back.  How lucky the others had been to meet him in the flesh…and be taken to his harem.  It struck her that the three must have converted to Islam and she didn’t find it surprising and from that moment on each time she looked on his image she whispered the profession of faith with all her heart.

The CD ended a second time and Kristin was eager to hear the third.  Its title sent a thrill down her damp spine: Verse Three – Devotion!  The young Norwegian decided to take a break from work to listen to this one.  Before she put it on though she phoned out to Kanika to let her know how progress was going.  Kanika asked how long it was going to take as Kristin had been in there for many hours.  The blonde looked at the remaining CDs.

“Oh, this might not end until the early hours, Kanika.  I should have everything for you in the morning,” she replied.

“Hours!  Look we need results now, I’ll send someone to help you,” Kanika snapped.

Kristin was flustered; she didn’t want anyone helping her.  She wanted to work whilst listening to the music, not Kisume or, Allah forbid, Shannon!

“Look, Kanika, if you want results quick then don’t.  You know I work best on my own and I do the best work.  If you send someone down they will just slow me down and the results will not be as good.  We have to do this right.”

Kanika knew this was true and gave way, “Okay, but you can’t work like that for hours.”

“I am taking a break now so don’t think I will get sloppy with overwork, but I would rather not leave the lab…there are some things I don’t want to be far away from.”

She glanced at the photo and mentally recited the profession again and again; it helped her regain focus.

“I will call you later, okay?”  Kristin said.

“Okay then, Kristin.  Take care.”

The blonde superheroine put down the receiver and walked to the photo.  Now it was high on a shelf – it seemed right that she should look up to him.

“We are alone, my lord…my love.  We shall have the whole evening and night together.”

Quickly she padded across to the CD player and started to listen.  It started with a song.  Kristin loved the songs as they moved her so and were so insightful, so full of unsuspected truths.  It sang of how noble the sheik was and how lowly women were in comparison and of how women were vessels of raw sex that needed the firm hand of a man…a great man…the sheik…to control them. Kristin found here heart racing at these words.  She unbuttoned her blouse and started to massage her breasts.  By Allah how this woman knows me, she thought through images of sex.  The songs went on telling of how a good master would put himself out to let a lowly whore of a concubine revel in any sexual activity with him to ease her eternal yearnings.  The once prudish blonde now hand two fingers in her clit, probing and rubbing…learning.  Suddenly she shot up, dashed across the room, took down the photo and pulled it from its frame.

“Forgive me, Master,” she cried as she kissed it repeatedly and then pressed it firmly between her exposed breasts.

She heard beeping – someone was coming through the decontamination room!  In an act of madness she stuffed the photo down her skirt and into her damp panties and buttoned up her blouse. She looked at herself and saw a wild eyed gypsy girl and not the cool scientist of a few hours ago.  She tore off the headphones and pulled the lab coat back on.  She dangled the headphones out of the lab coat pocket. Her shoes she kicked under a laboratory table.  The door started to open.  Kristin glanced round the room, checking if everything was in place.  Her bra was on the floor and the picture frame stood empty!  She had no time, Shannon stepped into the room.

“Hi ya, Kristin.  Kanika told me you were having a break so I though I’d come down and see how you were.  I brought some food and a flask of coffee.”

The young Irish girl beamed her most winning smile and proffered the plate and flask.  Kristin just stood there.  She had suddenly become acutely aware of the photo between her thighs; pressing against her vagina and tort midriff.

“I have a picture of Maple Leaf, Aussie Girl and La Sola pressing against my vagina and my master’s face on my midriff,” she thought suddenly feeling week at the knees with the revelation.  “By all the prophets what if this infidel sees the photo bending my blouse when I move!  What will she think!  What can I do?”

Calming herself with a few recitations, she replied icily, “And didn’t Kanika mention that I was not to be disturbed?  Take the food away.  I need to be alone.”

Crestfallen by these cold words Shannon drooped her head and muttered an apology.  Kristin didn’t hear it as she suddenly realised that Shannon, in lowering her eyes, was now looking right at her blouse!  She had to act.

“I am sorry, Shannon.  I am a little worn out.  That is why I did not want to be disturbed during my break.  Please forgive me.  Would you put the food on the table and go?”

Shannon perked up, “Of course I forgive you, Kristin.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she added as she put the food down.  “There does seem to be a lot still to get through.  Look you’ve drop a bra over there.”

She picked it up a tossed it onto the pile.  “I wouldn’t have thought they would ware anything so conservative looking at the rest of it.  Are you sure I can’t help or just watch?  Kanika’s in one of her moods upstairs.”

“No! No! No!  Now please leave.”

“Can’t I at least take my doll, huh?”

“No!  I have started to test it and it needs to be put back together again.”

“WHAAAT!!!”

“Look!  If I stitch it up will you go?” Kristin almost snapped.  Shannon grinned.

Whilst Shannon turned to the table to look for her dismantled doll, Kristin quickly stepped up next to her.  Each time the photo made a sound as it bent or when she knew her masters image was pressing against her flesh she gritted her teeth and hoped Shannon wouldn’t notice.  She didn’t.

As Kristin worked, Shannon asked innocently, “What have you been listening to?”

“N…  Nothing”, the blonde replied, “nothing you would be interested in.  They are tales in my native language of our myths,” she lied.

Kristin finished stitching up the doll without replacing the musical mechanism.  “I have still to test it,” she explained to the fiery redhead.

When it was done Shannon took it, looked it over, smiled thanks, and left.  As the fresh air from outside hit the blonde she froze in terror – the lab had been musty with the smell of her sweat and sex!  For a moment she thought about following Shannon but dismissed the idea.  For an unbeliever the redhead was honest and always spoke honestly, if she had noticed something, like the bra or the headphones, she would have mentioned it.

Immediately she retrieved the photo from her panties.  No part of the sheik had been damaged but her three companions were stained with sweat and arousal.  Smoothing out the photo Kristin put it back into the frame and placed the frame back in its rightful place high on the shelf.  Her one moment of lust has almost cost her everything, she noted.  She needed to be tamed and she knew by whom.

Time was pressing and she knew Kanika would call again, so she decided to continue working whilst she restarted the interrupted fourth verse.  It was hard work now.  She was in heat and she had little inclination to find evidence against her master but, somehow, her scientific mind kept on going.  At one point she found three, different-sized dildos in the luggage and tried them all, one after the other, whilst lying on the floor with her hips thrusting towards the picture, wishing he was filling her.

After the CD had ended, she lay for a while naked on the cool laboratory floor.  Her mind wandered.  She knew she would leave the Global Protectors – only her master was worth protecting anyway – and seek him out.  She would declare Islam the true faith and herself the lowest whore in the world and beg that he might show her an undeserved kindness by letting her become his concubine.  It was during these musings that she remembered a comment by Shannon about her bra.  Not that it was conservative but that she was surprised any of the other three would ware it.  The young Norwegian realised why.  Getting up she went to the jumble of clothes the girls had come back with.  It looked like a harlot’s bizarre.  Silks and laces intermingled with latex, leather and even rubber.  She fingered the materials, examining the variety of stockings, skirts, bras and panties of her team mates.  Kristin was adamant they had not worn such clothing before they left on their mission.  Clearly, she deduced, this is how the sheik, blessings be upon him, likes his concubines to dress.  She cast her eyes over the make-up she had tested earlier that evening (now the previous day).  Again this had been a surprise.  The process that had turned them all into Global Protectors had left them with perfect bodies.  They rarely used make-up except to cover the odd bruise after a hard fought battle and never needed the bright red lipsticks or dark mascaras that lay on the table.  The blue-eyed blonde tore open a packet of fine black fishnet stockings and put them on.  She rummaged through the clothing, seeing what fitted and what went well.  Eventually she settled for the fishnets, a tight black rubber skirt that had high slits on either side, black leather peep-hole bra with metal studs on it, black fingerless leather gloves and black ankle-books with four inch metal heels.  She fixed her face with red lipstick and dark mascara and finally painted her nails red.  She went to the mirror to brush out her wayward long blonde hair and admire her new look.  Kristin spent a little time posing and came to the conclusion the CD had been correct again about her.  Then she took the hairbrush and gave her rubber-clad rear a sharp smack.  As she expected it was pleasantly stimulating.  She glanced at the photo and returned to the CD player.

There were two CDs left: Verses Four –Harmony and Five – Acceptance.  She slipped the fourth CD into the player and set it going.  Sitting down as the music started she looked at the photo and played with herself – all thought of work, of looking for evidence to blacken her lover gone.  The, now previous, days events seemed so confusing.  Jillian, Erin and Carmen had returned from their visit to take her and the others to the sheik’s harem and, before they had had a chance to explain what an honour this was, they had been drugged and locked up.  If only Kanika had not been so hasty in believing the Desert Scorpion!  After all, the three superheroines had found no evidence against the Sheik.  The songs told of the need for harmony and peace in a master’s household, how there should be no discord or rivalry between the concubines.  This made perfect sense to Kristin.  The songs extolled the beauty of women and their natural eroticism.  Kristin caressed her body more.  If a master, the songs stated, had found a woman sexually desirable and taken her as a concubine, then how could a mere concubine disagree and not too find that woman desirable.  Love bread harmony and as harmony between women was desirable then so was love.  Kristin’s icy-blue eyes slid down the picture of the Sheik to her three companions kneeling in skimpy belly-dancer outfits before him.  Her eyes followed their curves, explored their breasts and thighs and the longing that smouldered in their eyes.  Desire flashed through the young blonde to cover her companions with kisses, licks and caresses.  Kristin staggered up and to the table where she found a pair of lacy red panties.  She pressed them to her face, breathed deeply and kissed them, her tongue pressing into the yielding material.  In her frenzy she ended up pushing it whole into her mouth.  Licking and chewing the panties as if to extract some essence of the woman who had previously worn them.  All the time she had been bringing herself to climax.  She gagged and came and fell amongst the pile of clothes, writhing in ecstasy.  The CD finished.

She extracted the panties and licked her fingers clean savouring the new taste and, making a nest of her companions clothing on the floor, set it going again.  Snuggling down she smelt the scent of her friends, could almost hear their moans of desire and words of encouragement.  She played with their clothing, whose slender leg had filled this stocking?  Whose foot slipped into this shoe?  Whose breasts filled out this bra? and then she realised that all these parts and more lay only a few yards away in the holding cells; waiting for her to set them free, so that she and they could return to their master together and spend their lives in ecstatic servitude.  By the time the CD ended she ached to set them free and flee to her master’s harem…but there was one disc left still.

Though she couldn’t see it from the floor she pictured it in her mind lying on the near empty table.  What secrets did it hold? she thought.  What truths were left for her to know?  Kristin was torn between the disc and freeing her lovers.  The disc won.  It had been sent by her master for a reason and she had to hear what it was.

The topic was Acceptance, which puzzled her as she couldn’t think what was left to accept.  She retuned to her nest of clothes and played it.  There was music but it was in the background, and a man’s voice.  She suspected who it was and lay still, her breathing shallow straining to hear every accented word.
 

“So, slave of my desires, what do you believe now?  Do you not yearn to be my concubine? (Yes thought Kristin) To sate your basest desires as only I see fit? (Oh Yes) Are you worthy of so high an honour? (No) But still you wish it. (Yes) Should not all women wish it? (Yes) If I choose a concubine should anyone, anyone gainsay me? (No) Are not my concubines the most desirable of women? (Yes… Yes) Is not your past a worthless waste and your future mine? (Please let it be so) Do I not supersede the prophet Mohammed in his lineage and so in all things? (You do… you do, here Kristin cried out the declaration of faith but substituted the sheik’s name.  Again and again she chanted it) Are not the things you have learned truths and should not truths be spread? (Yes) And why, base harlot, do you believe it? (because it is the truth, because you are Sheik Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain and you say it is so) You believe because I have brainwashed you to believe!  Now do you understand the lesson of this disc?”

The disc ended and Kristin lay there stunned.

“Brainwashed?” she thought.  “I have been brainwashed?”

She looked at the CD player in her hand and she understood.

“What does it matter if I have been brainwashed to know the truth,” she thought.  “The truth remains.  If the master had not sent these discs I would have lived as an ignorant infidel all my life.  Brainwashing was the best way for me to know the truth.  Would I have learned any other way?  No.  I would have rebelled like a fool.  In his love for me he has supplied a means to be with him in hours and spared me years of toil.  All praise Sheik Ali Akbar al-Sakkuain!”

Kristin looked at the photo of her three friends.  They had brought her these discs hoping she would be brainwashed as they were.  She wanted to kiss them, to make passionate love to them and thank them from the bottom of her heart.  They had left heaven on earth and risked everything, including de-programming, to enslave her.  How could she do any less when her turn came?  Kristin bowed to the photo, her blonde hair falling across her face.  She wiped them and some tears away, she accepted everything: the sheik, his words her slavery, her brainwashing and the need to do it.

The beautiful Norwegian replaced the disc in its cover and got dressed in her old drab clothes.  Though she longed to dress in her colleagues lingerie (the feeling of intimacy really turned her on and when she speculated on what had happened when they were last worn!) she restrained herself to just a pair of silky sheer stockings, suspenders and panties.

Her master’s plan had gone awry, in no small part due to her drug, and she had to put it back on track.  Kristin decided to free the other concubines first then enslave the others.

Kristin quickly packed a small travel bag with a few important items: the photo, the CDs and a player, the toy mechanism, hairbrush, the three dildos some make-up and some clothing.  Glancing round the lab one last time she noticed all her test results.

“Well you were a waste of time,” she thought clutching the bag containing the brainwashing CDs tightly.

She also gave herself the once over in the mirror:  her hair fell freely about her shoulders but was brushed,  her white blouse was buttoned okay, grey skirt straight, legs sleek, shoes… dull… dull… dull.  She kicked them off and put on the ankle boots she had come to love.  She had not replaced the cross.

Walking to the door, heels clicking on the hard surface, she turned off the light and left.  Out in the corridor she turned right and headed for the stasis pods.  It was almost three in the morning and the basement was empty.

“Not quite true”, she mused, “but it will be by sun up.”

***

Kristin reached the stasis room and entered.  Only the blue glow from the three active pods illuminated the room; she left it like that.  The console for the twelve pods was along the far wall.  Along the left wall were the pods themselves and on the right a computer bank for each pod constantly monitoring the occupants vital signs.

Kristin strode across the room.  When

WHUMP!

Something hard struck her a fierce blow up between her legs.  She collapsed gasping for air.

“Keep hitting her,” she heard Kanika’s voice cry out.

Another kick in the vagina and then one struck her across her breasts.  Kristin felt her super-strength and vitality ebbing away.  She had walked into a trap!  Dark shadows jumped on top of her trying to restrain her flailing arms and legs.  Another kick and two sharp jabs to her vagina and she knew she was weakening.  Defiantly she screamed, “Unbelievers… Infidel bitches…” but was shut up with a slap across the face.

“Shut it you dozy cow,” snapped Shannon.

“Rising Sun, now…the needle,” Kanika cried.  Kristin moaned as she felt a pin prick through her weakened skin and then knew nothing.

***

Kanika surveyed the unconscious Blonde, “Unbelievable!” she whistled.

Shannon turned the lights on and Desert Scorpion stepped out from her cloak of invisibility.

“Get her in a pod quick”, ordered Kanika, “and don’t touch the bag.”

“It was a great risk sending in the young Irish girl like that,” Scheherezade said to Kanika as Brooke and Cindy stripped and bundled their companion into the fourth pod.

“I know, but we had to know what was going on.  I can’t believe she was taken over so suddenly.”

Cindy turned from bundling the blonde into the pod, “Suddenly!  It’s three in the morning!  She took her own sweet time getting here!”

“Aye”, chipped in Shannon, “and was enjoying every minute of it from what I saw.”

Brooke, Kisume and Cindy sniggered.  Scheherezade looked away embarrassed.

Kanika looked at the four glowing pods.  With half the team down she wondered what to do.  Could they stop the sheik with half a team?  Even forewarned to the dangers ahead?

“Cindy, get some thick gloves from the kitchen.  I’m going to check the bag.”

After Cindy had left, Scheherezade asked, “Can you free your friends, Kanika?”

“I don’t know… Valkyrie might have been able to…”

“Then why did you leave her alone for so long?”

It was the obvious next question but it irked Kanika.

“Because we wouldn’t have taken her by surprise in the lab.  Not going through those security doors.  And I didn’t want to start a superheroine slugfest on campus, starting in our own secret hideout!”

She ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation, the others were silent.

Cindy returned with several pairs of thick rubber gloves.  Putting them on, Kanika opened the bag and took out each object carefully, naming each one as it came out.  The group of women fell into a silence only broken by a huge EEEEWWWW when the three used dildos came out.

“This must be the key,” said Brooke pointing to the toy mechanism.  “Why else would Valkyrie have it and these CDs too?”
“Valkyrie was listening to them when I went in,” Shannon said.

“And there was music at the feast where your friends were caught,” added Scheherezade.

“So now we know the how,” Kanika summed up.  “Now how do we cure them and get back at the bastard?”

“We could ask Dr Boyd,” Cindy suggested.
“It is almost four in the morning,” noted Kisume.

“This is important enough,” Kanika said as she went to a wall phone and dialled out.  After a while the others heard her exclaim “What!” and enter a hurried conversation.  She put the phone down and turned to them, “Dr Boyd’s been kidnapped – that was the police at his home.”

“What would the sheik want with this Doctor?” asked Scheherezade puzzled.

“With a harem of women willing to die for him and a man who can turn dead women into superheroines, I think I can guess.  He was never really after us, we were just icing on the cake!” explained Brooke.

“And when this doctor reaches the sheik, the sheik will have his entire harem killed and my little sister Dunyazad will be one of them!” shrieked the Arab superheroine.

“Get a grip of yourself, girl,” snapped Cindy.

Shannon shot her an evil look and put her arm around Scheherezade to comfort her.

“We’ll rescue your sister, Scheherezade.  It’s what we do.  We may be down to half strength but four Global Protectors is still a force to be reckoned with.  Isn’t that right?” she said in a comforting tone.

The other Protectors agreed.

“The transformation process takes time and the sheik doesn’t have our Doc cooperating yet, so all he’s got is his music, which we’re aware of now, and that’s easy to avoid,” added Brooke.

“Even so”, said Kisume, “the music is powerful.  It took over Valkyrie very easily.  It would only take one of us to loose any ear protection and the battle would become much harder.”

“What do you suggest, Kisume?” asked Kanika, turning to the young Japanese woman.

“I would be the first to say we should go it alone and not lose face, if I wasn’t so concerned about our companions.  We cannot afford to level the sheik’s palace in a fit of anger.  The only means to a cure may be destroyed.  No!  We must swallow our pride and call in support.  Someone strong willed, powerful and a born warrior.”

“Who do you have in mind, ‘Sun,” Kanika asked quietly.

“Ultra Woman,” the Asian answered firmly.

Cindy exploded, “No way!  That grandstanding Amazonian icicle!”

“It would be a good choice,” Brooke said and Scheherezade concurred.

Cindy rounded on her, “And what’s it got to do with you!  This is Protector business!”

“Her sister is in deadly peril in the palace,” Kisume pointed out.

Cindy went red and mumbled something like an apology.

Finally Kanika spoke, “Kisume, call Ultra Woman.  This is bigger than our companions or Scheherezade’s sister – they have Doctor Boyd!”

Kisume dashed to the communications room, whilst the others went back upstairs to the sorority house.  They were in for a shock; they had had visitors!

 “Well there’s no one here now”, Cindy reported after doing a quick sprint round the house, “and it doesn’t look as though anything has been taken.”

“They were probably the ones who kidnapped Doctor Boyd,” deduced Brooke.  “They would have expected Maple Leaf and the others to bring us back as slaves and when no one turned up they can looking.”

Shannon whistled, “They must be either tough or crazy.”

“Crazy, I think,” replied Brooke.  “If they were tough they would still be here in ambush.  They would have left to carry out their primary mission to take the doctor to the sheik.”

“Doesn’t your brain ever hurt?” asked Cindy.

Everyone ignored her.

“So the doctor has not been gone long.  If we set off quickly we should beat him to the palace.”

Kisume returned from the secret base to hear the end of the conversation.

“Did you contact Ultra Woman?  Will she help us?” Kanika asked.

“Yes and yes, but she has some loose ends to tie up here and in Europe.  She said she would meet us in Riyadh.”

Kisume paused then continued, “The sheik may already know our companions failed.  If Brooke is correct.  If we are to seize his palace and his secrets we will have to surprise him.  Might I suggest we don’t take the Global Flyer but travel incognito to Riyadh; unless Desert Scorpion could smuggle us there?”

“I could but it would take time.  Time we do not have.”

The deputy leader clapped her hands twice.  “Then we have a plan.  Pack quickly and lightly as short stay tourists.  We will rendezvous in Riyadh at the time and place we are to meet Ultra Woman.  I think it best we each make our own way or only pair up, as the sheik might be watching for a group of women to arrive.  Kisume we will need the best earplugs you can make.  We leave in an hour.  Scheherezade will travel with me since she knows the layout of the palace and we’ll talk tactics on the way.”

“Kisume’s with me!”  Shannon shouted; shooting her hand into the air.

Brooke and Cindy looked at each other and agreed to travel separately.