Monday, July 30, 2012

Kammi's Serial

What if? Part 6

I was ready to obey any order given to me, no matter what it was and by whomever gave it. Any one of the day in day out routines would have broken the best of us but combining the pain and humiliation of the floggings, the walking about rough streets, being raped repeatedly, and all this without wearing a piece of clothing nor being able to wash for such an extended period rendered us pathetic globs of nothing. My spirit had left me.

“You asked me about my branding when you were making love to me and I thank you for not pursuing this then. I was still so ashamed of how it happened, actually blaming myself for allowing it. Now you know.”

Lin Lu got up and hugged Rose tightly before getting on her knees and softly kissing the brandings on each thigh. She had tears running down her cheeks when she got up.

“That bastard will pay dearly for everything he did to you” Lin Lu promised Rose. “We Chinese have exquisite torture methods.”

“Thank you, my sweet, but I have some other ideas to punish my brother that I believe may be far worse than any torture you administered. You’ll see.”

“So, what happened next?”

Rose continued her story. We were left pretty much alone for a few days after our branding. I was delirious. Both my mind and body shut down. I would have gladly jumped into the boiling laundry vat to end my life. But my captors had too much invested in me to allow this to happen. Fatima, as I learned was the name of my “old woman” came in twice a day to put ointment on my burns. She very gently spread it around the tops on my thighs and beyond. Hard to believe, I welcomed her probing of my pussy, so far was I removed from even the slightest show of affection from anybody. And I climaxed, I am ashamed to say. Not just once, but each time she came to see me. I began to crave her visits. A few days later we were all assembled once more behind the building, certain we were in for some new, or old, form of punishment. Instead, we were thoroughly hosed down with warm water. Next, we were put back on the same old truck, still naked, for a very long ride to who knows where. Each of us was as crazy as the other, totally incoherent but hugging one another for comfort. It was night when we stopped. We were given burkass to wear and you would think we had been given silk gowns, so happy were we to finally wear clothing again. We shuffled into a large house. We were roughly examined by a nurse, at least she was dressed as one. Though none of us would have given a damn at this point, I saw that she wore rubber gloves. She was none to gentle when she did her vaginal and anal checks. Notes were taken by another woman. Our brands, which were in Arabic, were closely checked and called out by the nurse and recorded by the woman. A strap, like you get in a hospital, was attached to our wrists with more Arabic symbols on them. We were given some food and drink and told we could sleep on the carpeted floor. It was the last time we saw each other. Undoubtedly the drink contained a sedative as I remember falling asleep as soon as I lay down. I had a nightmare about being stabbed in my ass but in fact, I had been given a powerful shot that kept me out for several days. I awoke on a cot in a small, clean room. My head was spinning. I was no longer wearing the chador but instead had a floor length satin garment covering me. I felt very strange but soon discovered I had been bathed with some sweet smelling soap and my hair had been washed. My first thought was that I had died and was now being prepared for burial. I screamed.  Right away a young girl entered the room, clearly concerned about my condition. She hugged me and stroked my hair until I stopped shivering. She spoke to me in English and assured me that I was going to be all right. My mind was still swirling and I reacted to her kindness by kissing her on her lips. She did not resist and responded in kind.

“Umm, that was nice. I will be looking forward to more of this, but first we have to get you prepared.”

By then, I knew I was not dead, much to my relief. My head started to clear.

“Prepared? Prepared for what?” I asked

“To meet your husband, my dear. He is very anxious to see you, but we have many days to go before you can do that. Are you hungry?”

“Yes” was my simple answer, having no idea when I had eaten last, nor when I would ever eat again. But what the hell was this about a husband? Was I so far gone that I could have been married without even knowing it? Who was he? What was he like? Would he beat me? I began to examine my body but could not find any place that hurt. I did discover that my legs and armpits had been shaved. Also, I was wearing a tampon, as best as I could tell. Hell, didn’t I just have my period a few days ago at the camp from hell?

The girl returned with a tray of wonderful smelling food that made me wonder again if I had indeed died and had somehow, despite all my sins, got into heaven.

“I am Fazia. Sit up, I will feed you. Maybe when you are done, you will kiss me again. Yes?”

Oh my gosh, what had I done? Kissed a total stranger when I might be in a place that chopped your head off for such a thing. But she was smiling.

“I am so sorry, I did not know what I was doing. Please forgive me. Will I be punished?”

“No, you will not be punished, at least not for that. Other things, maybe. You are not in England any more. Woman’s rights do not exist here. Please remember that. Here, take some of this but go slowly, you have been fed intravenously since you came so you need to let your system adjust.”

I opened my mouth and let her put a spoonful of the most exquisite food I had ever had. It was soft and easy to chew. Next, she held up a chalice like cup to my lips and I sipped something I had no idea what it was, but it was delicious. Soon, I was finished and again I began to think all these wonderful things happening to me could only be in heaven. I did not think I would be whipped and raped in heaven so let myself peacefully fall asleep, happy that I no longer had to endure the hell I had been through. It was nice to be dead.

I was wakened by Fazia shaking me. I looked up at her and decided she must be an angel. A smiling angel that was leaning down to kiss me. It lasted much longer than before and she even put her tongue in my mouth. I responded in kind. Yes indeed, heaven was terrific. I was going to like it here.

“You are a naughty girl, Abal” she said with a smile and kissed me on my forehead. “ If Bathsheba ever caught us doing this we would be given laundry duty for a month, after we had received twenty lashes.”

Maybe I wasn’t in heaven after all.

“You called me Abal, What does that mean and why are you calling me that?”

“The sultan, your husband, gave you that name when he bought you. It means, ah, something like ‘wild rose’. She giggled and asked “Do you have thorns?”

More and more the idea that I was dead and gone to heaven seemed less likely. I had been bought? And given an Arabic name close to my own? And then there was the threat of twenty lashes. And who the hell was Bathsheba? She didn’t sound very nice. I began to shiver again, recalling the horrible laundry I had been forced to labor in. Was it possible I would be sent back there. I began to cry uncontrollably at the thought, and all that went with it.

Fazia hugged me again and whispered things in my ear, things I had no idea what she was saying until she finally said, in English, “What is the matter, Abal dear?”

Now frightened to death that I might not have escaped the pains of hell after all, I began to babble about being forced to work in the so called laundry with my fellow captives and describing the medieval methods used that made me want to kill myself .

Fazia kissed me again, softly, like a mother kisses a child.

“Hush, you are not making any sense. You must be hallucinating. We don’t use boiling vats to clean our clothes. I know you westerners think of us Arabs as very backward, but we have been using washers and dryers for many years, and I have never seen an iron that heats on a stove, though the servants do all the ironing here, and laundry too, except when I am being punished.”

“Am I a servant?”
“Oh no, my sweet, you are the sultan’s wife, number five if I am counting correctly. However, until Bathsheba decides, you will act as her servant. ”

“Who is Bathsheba?”

“She is the number one wife and she runs the harem. You do not want to cross her. Obey every one of her orders or you will suffer the lash, or worse. As the newest w1fe, you are at the bottom of the pile, and I hate to tell you, being there is not pleasant.

My head began to spin as all sorts of conflicting thoughts and images flashed through my mind and I fainted. Once more, I awoke to Fazia’s gentle stroking of my body. So what was it, I wondered, am I in heaven or hell, or someplace in between? The latter proved to be true.

Over the next few days, I was pampered beyond belief. Daily massages, soaking in perfumed tubs, manicures and pedicures, and getting my hair brushed several times a day until it had a lustrous shine. I even had someone change my tampons as needed. And I met the dreaded Bathsheba. She snapped out orders and everyone jumped to carry them out. Whatever the place I was in certainly ran efficiently. She ignored me at first, which I was quite happy about. But I did see her regularly slap the face of a girl not performing to her standards. All the time she was around, I was reminded of the “twenty lashes” Fazia had mentioned. On the second day of my recovery, she was waiting for me when I got out of the tub. I felt totally humiliated as I stood before her naked while she ran her eyes up and down my body. Then it was her hands running up and down my body, lingering on my breasts and ass. She did not say a word until she pointed her finger at my pussy.

“Still unclean, I see. When will it end?”

At first I had no idea what she was talking about thinking how the hell I was “unclean” after soaking in the tub for an hour as servants washed me all over. I did not know how to respond.

“I am talking about this” she snapped and pulled the white string hanging from my pussy.

“Sorry, I did not know what you meant. I think I am in my last day” I answered, hoping I was on the right track and wondering why she cared when my period was finished.

“Then I will schedule your meeting with the sultan for the day after tomorrow. Carry on” she said and left the room.

I talked to Fazia later about what happened and dared to ask her again where I was and what was to happen to me. She had refused to answer me before, obviously very frightened. But since my meeting with the sultan was now scheduled, she felt free to speak to me, for whatever reason. I found out that it had been over nine months since I had been kidnapped. I had been brought here about a week ago so I had been unconscious for a long time since I had left the camp, where I had actually spent over eight months. Eight months of living hell. As unhygienic as I believed the camp to be, it was actually carefully monitored to make sure none of us contracted any disease. Even the “gentlemen” that anally raped us every evening were inspected regularly to make sure they were free of any STD’s. Foremost was that we remained virgins, since our value decreased considerably if we were not. I was lucky, she said, that I had been bought by the sultan. She said he was a good man and had some respect for women, though in this world, “some” was a very relative term. Beating of women was limited to no more than twenty lashes a week. Torture was forbidden, except for very serious offenses, like trying to escape the harem. I laughed at this.

“So this is a harem? Where are the eunuchs?”

“Don’t be so stupid, Abal. The sultan does not like stupid women. Eunuchs are obsolete in most harems, at least the progressive ones.”

I had to stifle my laugh at this oxymoron of a harem being progressive.

“Why would you waste a productive man hanging around a bunch of women all day? Today, it is not an honor to be castrated. Those that are, are sold as servants, doing the most menial labor, like scrubbing floor and cleaning toilets. The best they can ever hope for is to rise to the position of laundry servants, washing and ironing clothes all day long.”

“Why would a man be castrated?”

“Several reasons. Sometimes, just because he has displeased his master, or mistress. The latter is fare more likely. He can also be sentenced to be castrated by the court for a variety of offenses, the most common one is trying to see under a woman’s veil.”

“You can get your balls cut off for trying to sneak a peak at a woman’s face? What if he tried to see more, like her boobs?”

“In that case, he would be beheaded” she answered casually.

“So when was I married?”

“I don’t know exactly, but probably a day or two after the sultan has taken delivery of you.”

“But I was unconscious then!”

“No matter, you don’t have to be present. The sultan signs a few papers agreeing to be responsible for you and the imam pronounces you man and wife. Simple as that. Like I said, you ain’t in England anymore.”

“What happens next?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“You have your meeting with the sultan, he consummates the marriage, and you are a virgin no more. Just be glad he is a righteous man and doesn’t demand strange things. And he is gentle, he even uses a lubricant when he does you in your bottom.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Silly, I am his fourth wife.”

So, two days later after being coiffed in an elaborate hairdo and dressed in the finest silk robes, I was no longer a virgin. It was fast and sweet. About ten minutes after entering his chamber, I was carrying his seed in my body and I was dismissed. As was the usual practice, the newest wife was summoned regularly for the first month or so and then it was back to the status quo, where number one wife spent the most time with him. The other wives were used mainly when number one was having her period or “had a headache”.
Compared to the camp, my life in the harem was wonderful. I had been trained to be obedient and submissive. So being a servant to Bathsheba was not a problem. As long as I could stay clean, eat, and avoid the lash I was happy. She had her own private quarters, unlike the rest of the wives who had small bedrooms in a dorm type arrangement. They generally spent the day in a sheer, flowing gown. Bathsheba dressed more formally, oftentimes in Western style clothes, but she was not averse to go around her flat naked. I, on the other hand, had to be completely naked while I was there. For several months, I literally waited on her from head to toe. Brushing and arranging her hair, often several times a day, bathing her every day while she lay back in her perfumed bath. After the first time, when I was nervous as hell, I found out she liked me to spend plenty of time on her breasts and between her legs. I did her nails, shaved her legs and armpits, wiped her after she used the toilet, and, of course, took care of her needs during “that time of the month”. I dressed her and did all her laundry and ironing. Compared to the camp, this was a breeze. Standing over an ironing board using a new Rowenta iron was actually a pleasure, in more ways than one. For some reason, Bathsheba liked to watch me iron her silks and satins and would stand behind me, pressed against my back as she fondled my body. It took all my concentration to keep from scorching a garment, a crime Fazia warned me would certainly bring out the lash. Still, I welcomed her presence and pressed my body back against hers. Being the slut I had become, I got very wet from her attention, to the point that I climaxed when she put her finger inside me. My penance for that was to be led back by the hand to her bedroom where I satisfied her with my tongue.  This became a daily routine for all the time I was there. In my state of mind during that period, I would have been happy to spend the rest of my life in the harem, pleasuring both the sultan and Bathsheba in any way they wished.
But my downfall, which turned out to be my release, was being called on by the sultan far beyond the first month. The sultan did enjoy a slow blow-job which I was more than happy to provide with the remembrance of the camp from hell so fresh in my mind. I would often spend hours on my knees with his cock in my mouth as he read the paper, watched television (he was nuts about football), or conducted business on the phone. Eventually he would decide that he was “done” and would cum in my mouth a minute later. I was shocked, and frightened to death, when one day, with me in my normal position sucking him, when Bathsheba walked into his office. I immediately pulled back but she, very casually told me to continue. She stood beside me and discussed budget items with him, running her fingers through my hair. Can you believe that? Beyond the sex, I discovered the sultan’s next passion, beside football, which turned out to be my ticket out of there. In truth, if I had been asked if I wanted to leave, I would have refused. My life was perfect, or so I thought in my demented state. The sultan loved to play chess. Ironically, I had learned to play from my brother, and gave the sultan a challenge, which he liked. We discussed many things as we played and he respected my intelligence. Wife number one was not happy, and I suffered for that. On the same day that we got each other off she was just as likely to beat me, sometimes over her knee with a hairbrush or when she was very mad, using the lash on my back and breasts. I willing submitted to this treatment so that I was not dismissed from the harem, and Bathsheba’s attention, good and bad. I actually came to love her.
Well, the rest is history. As I told you before, the sultan saved me from prison or even death by getting me out of the country. I did not leave willingly but Fazia warned me what a woman faced in an Arab prison prior to having her head cut off. Once more, I was disguised and subjected to long and roundabout travels to my destination, but this time it was back to England, a year and eight months after my kidnapping.

“Thank you far sharing that with me, Rose my dear” Lin Lu said and placed her head between Rose’s legs. She gently licked the soft lips until she felt Rose relax. She did not expect her to orgasm after just emptying her soul for the very first time.

“Please, my dear, let me go kill him now. I will take my time – cut his balls off one by one, chop his prick into several pieces, then stuff it all down his throat and let him choke on his own genitals. Pretty please” Lin Lu pleaded.

“No, sweetheart, I have a better plan, one that will slowly kill him for years to come. And we will benefit from it too, I promise. Not get back down there and finish what you started, bitch.”


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