A Pearl in Her Shell
She lacked confidence and self-esteem. He’d always known that she would, she had to. It was the one necessary prerequisite. Of course, he wanted a pretty girl too, who doesn’t, but that could be changed. But a confident girl? No, that was never a possibility. The moment that he saw her he knew. She was the one.
Her name was Sarah and she was quite pretty. A lithe figure and long dark hair, if she had believed in herself she could have done very well. But instead she didn’t. She was perpetually afraid. Of the things they write about in the papers, of failing her exams, of not being liked or having enough friends or money. He observed her in the lecture theatres, sitting at the back, always too nervous to ask questions when she needed clarification. When he chanced upon her in the refectory he pounced. He asked if the seat next to her was free and she was too nervous to say that it wasn’t. He told her that she was beautiful and smiled when she spoke to her. He asked her out and she did not dare refuse. Indeed, she could hardly believe that this handsome stranger saw something in plain, boring old her. So they dated and he showered her with gifts and attention. It was like a fairytale come true for her, she had never been so happy. Three months later he took her on a surprise trip to Paris and there, in one of the most expensive restaurants, he proposed with an enormous diamond ring. Put on the spot like that, in front of a whole crowd of French people, she could never have refused.
The ceremony was small and low key which suited her. She hated a fuss and he respected that. It was one of the things that she loved about him. Their honeymoon was in Thailand and he spent a fortune on designer swimwear for her. She felt so nervous though when he expected her to put it on and appear in public like that. The bikini hid nothing of her plain body. He said she was beautiful and she wished the earth would swallow her up. It was straight after that when he broached the subject.
“Darling, this is all heavenly but we’ve both finished our degrees now and I need to go back home. I’d love it if you could try living there for some time so as to better understand my culture and customs but I fear that it would make you unhappy.”
“The only thing that would make me unhappy would be to be away from you, Rashid.”
“No, you don’t understand. Where I come from, it is very strict and conservative. My family is very important and respected; we are related to the royal family. I see you here dressed in that bikini, so beautiful and sexy and happy like that and it is so different. The women where I come from have to cover up more.”
At that particular moment, she could think of nothing that she’d like to do more than cover up. Which is why, of course, he had picked that particular moment.
“I would be happy to cover up, darling.”
“But when I say cover, I mean the veil.”
The idea of wearing a veil at that moment so that no one could see her was strangely appealing. “For you, Rashid, I would do that whilst we are in your country.”
“You would? You are such a wonderful wife! I tell you what; en route home we have a couple of days in Kuala Lumpur. That is a Muslim country where some women cover so a veil will not appear strange. You could wear a veil there to get used to it and if you still agree…”
“Of course, of course!”
Three days later she found herself walking beside her husband in the streets of the Malaysian capital in very different attire to a skimpy bikini. Her new clothes consisted of a long, plain, black dress which Rashid called an abayah, a scarf wrapped around her head, black gloves for her hands and the veil itself, a black piece of cloth with a slit for her eyes. Wearing it felt strange but in some ways she liked it. The material was light and loose and so it was not too hot and, covered that way, no one could look her up and down, check out her legs or ass or breasts. ‘I could get used to this,’ she thought to herself as she squeezed her husband’s hand. He glanced across to her and smiled. She looked marvellous already but little did she know that this was but the beginning of his meticulously thought-out plan…
The outfit that was laid out on the bed before her was rather different from that which she’d worn in Kuala Lumpur. So too was the attire of the maid who was stood by her, waiting to help her dress in her new attire. Sarah wished that she had the courage to refuse but she knew it would be wrong: this was Rashid’s country and she would be meeting his family. It would be indescribably rude to refuse to wear their national costume. If only Rashid were here with her now, she thought. Then it would be so much easier.
Rashid was not there because he’d made sure that he wouldn’t be. Or at least, he made sure that she didn’t realise he was there. He had told her that he had an important business appointment with his accountant in the city centre but in fact he was watching the entire process from the comfort of his private office next door. The office that she could not see because its window into her room was disguised as a large mirror. He was lazing in a comfy armchair, his dick in his hand, gently tossing himself off to a slow ecstasy.
And he was also recording everything on video. He was planning to make a video of his transformation of her and the director in him sensed that this scene could become one of the highlights.
“What am I supposed to put on first?” she asked the maid, still getting over the fact that in her new life she had a servant at her beck and call.
The maid said nothing. She hadn’t said anything since they’d met. Instead she merely pointed one of her black gloved hands to the black catsuit that evidently was to go over her underwear. She looked up at the blank black expanse of cloth where the maid’s face should have been. Not a centimetre of skin was revealed to the outside world and Sarah realised that, when she was wearing this new outfit, she would appear much the same.
The catsuit covered her entire body from feet – it had integrated socks – to the crown of her head. It clung to her womanly curves and shrouded her entirely save for an oval around her face and her lily white hands. These were then covered by a pair of black cotton gloves that reached up to her armpits, whilst a pair of socks, also in black cotton, gave her feet a second layer. Then came a pair of baggy black cotton trousers fastened with drawstrings at the waist and ankles and then an abayah, much like the last one except this one was in black silk and had drawstrings around her wrists so that the sleeves would ride up. A black cotton scarf was wrapped around her head and then the silent and shrouded maid brought out the veil – or “niqaab” as Rashid had told her it was called – which was tied behind her head. Unlike the last niqaab, this had three layers, the first having a slit for her eyes with a thin ribbon in the centre and with gauze behind it. When the other two layers were down, she found her vision to be blurred and indistinct. She could make out outlines in the bright light but no details. After this came a pair of silk slippers with soft soles that gave very little grip and were no use for long walks. At this, Sarah wondered quite what the other items on the bed could be for as she felt completely overdressed as it was, but she soon found out. The maid gestured for her to sit and then she fitted another pair of gloves on her hands, except that these gloves were actually mittens with no separate fingers, more like bags of slippery black silk which were tied tightly at the wrists. Then came the final garment: a black silk cape which she later learnt was referred to as a khimar which was fitted over her head, leaving an oval through which her niqaab could be seen, effectively sealing the veils in. It then draped down all the way to her knees so that, to the outside world, she had become nothing more than a black silken cone of material!
The maid then stood up, got a notepad and wrote on it I must go now but I will come back in ten minutes. Use the time to get used to your new clothing. Understand?
Sarah nodded, wondering why the maid – who obviously had a good command of written English – would not speak to her. Was she embarrassed to? Whatever the case, the maid then raised her finger as if she had forgotten something and knelt in front of her mistress and did something at her feet. Then she left as noiselessly as she had arrived.
Alone in her room, Sarah stood up in her new clothes. She felt so covered, so encumbered, so… so what exactly? She tried taking some steps and fell over immediately, falling flat on her much-covered face. Between her feet… something. She felt down, it was like a string or a strap linking her shoes together… that must’ve been what the maid had almost forgotten to do… but why? Sitting on the floor, she tried to undo it but with her hands covered in slippery silken mittens, she could gain no purchase and failed. Indeed, with her hands in those mittens, there was very little indeed that she could do. The strap, like everything else, was there to stay.
Slowly she raised herself to her feet again and tried to walk. If she took small steps it was no problem whatsoever, but a stride longer than around ten centimetres was impossible. She shuffled around and tried to accustom herself. Would she have to live dressed like this? No, it couldn’t be: this was probably a special outfit for the occasion. And besides, she would only be here for a short while and then they’d be returning home and life would be as it had been before. T-shirt and jeans would be the order of the day again and everything would be ok. She shuffled over to the mirror and looked at her new self within in.
Unbeknownst to her, behind the glass, her husband erupted with a gasp of ecstasy.
The scene was surreal. In the spacious sitting room sat three figures, all shrouded in black. Aside from the ticking of the clock and the soft muffled voices of two of them, all was deathly silent.
“It is so lovely to meet you, dear,” said the central black cone. “When Rashid said that he had married an infidel, we were very worried. Your ways are so different from ours but you seem to be adapting well to our dress.”
“It is no problem,” replied the left figure who was Sarah. She was lying of course. It was a big problem indeed and one that she would have to talk to Rashid about when he returned. The problem was, his Aunt Soraya whom she was now talking to, had just given her some most unwelcome news: Rashid had been called away to Riyadh on an urgent business trip. He would be away for an entire week! How would she cope? Her dream was turning into a nightmare. She was now covered entirely, half-blind, her steps reduced to shuffles and now her hands rendered totally useless.
Yes, the hands. That had been the final straw! When the faceless, silent maid had returned to the room to take her to meet Rashid’s aunt, she had noiselessly lifted the khimar, taken hold of her mistress’ hands and guided them behind her back. Then the khimar had been dropped again but when Sarah tried to bring her hands to the front once more, she had found that they were now linked together with a cord as the shoes were and were now firmly and securely fastened together behind her back, rendering them entirely useless.
Helpless, covered, trammelled and half-blind, she had been led out to meet Aunt Soraya.
But, as we already know, Aunt Soraya was not alone in the sitting room. “This is my sister, Rashid’s other aunt, Someya,” Soraya had explained. Aunt Someya however, had not said anything, merely bowed her veiled head in greeting slightly. Sensing the new bride’s confusion, Aunt Soraya had explained, “Someya adheres to a very strict religious lifestyle as I believe you too shall soon, and so she is, of course, muted in public. However, I may speak for her on this occasion – indeed, it is one of the rare occasions when I am allowed speech – to say that she is very pleased to meet you and believes that you are much improved by your new attire.”
Underneath the black robes, and not muted in the slightest, Rashid had to concur. He loved the sense of trepidation that was emanating from Sarah and he loved deceiving her in this was. He also loved the job that Yasmina was doing in playing his “aunt”. The moment he had met her at the theatre he’d known that she was the one to pull the role off with aplomb. Plus, it wouldn’t be the only thing that she’d be pulling that night, but that was by the by.
Sarah on the other hands, was worried. What did this strange aunt mean by her adopting a “very strict religious lifestyle”? Weren’t these clothes strict enough?!
“I know that you must be very sad about your husband being called away,” continued Aunt Soraya, “but I believe that it is for the best. Your maid informs me that you have not been prepared in the correct manner with regards to personal grooming and hygiene, and we want to welcome you by presenting you with some traditional jewellery. We can do this all tomorrow so that you are even more beautiful and inviting to him when he returns.”
Jewellery sounded nice but what was she on about personal hygiene? Sarah had always prided herself on her cleanliness and had taken two showers daily every day that she’d been away from home. However, she did not wish to be rude…
“It shall be an honour,” she lied in reply.
The following morning Sarah was woken up early by her faceless silent maid. She dined in her room, then showered and attended to her toilet. Then, to her surprise, instead of being made to don the restrictive outfit again, a strange chair was wheeled into the room and she was asked to sit in it. This she dutifully did, curious as to what was happening – and more than a little afraid too – and then, to her horror, hoops of metal emerged from the arms and legs of the chair, cuffing her ankles and wrists tightly so that she was unable to move. “What’s happening?” she cried, in both shock and horror. “Stop this! Something’s happened!” No reply was maid though and instead a further metal hoop then fastened around her neck and, when she was secured, two new figures entered. “Please,” she whimpered, tears forming in her eyes, her voice weaker now that she was so firmly secured. “You two, whoever you are… release me… help me!”
These two newcomers were veiled like the others, but far more lightly. When they had come into the room, the maid removed their veils and other clothing until they stood before Sarah wearing only T-shirts and shorts. It was clear from their eyes that they were totally blind and Sarah guessed that this must be why they were the only ones, aside from the maid and Rashid, allowed to be with her naked.
The maid then took out what looked like a TV remote and the chair began to move, tilting her back and spreading her legs. She started to plead for them to stop again but once more no one took any notice. Indeed, it was as if she had said nothing.
When her legs were wide apart, the blind girls got out large wallpapering brushes and started to paint her crotch area and legs liberally with a kind of sticky brown paste that they had in a pot. At first it began to itch, then burn a little, getting stronger and stronger until Sarah was crying out in pain. However, instead of stopping, the girls carried on, making sure that every crevice down below was liberally coated. Her cries of mercy got louder but then the maid came brandishing a large gag which she thrust into the pleading mouth and buckled it up tightly, transforming the cries into a dull moan of pain. Then, all three left and Sarah was alone.
They were only gone for around ten minutes but for Sarah it seemed like an eternity. The pain was excruciating: her crotch and legs on fire. More than that though, she was scared. She had no issue with respecting local customs and traditions, but she was beginning to suspect that this would involve far more than just the veiling. When the blind girls did return, she gazed at them pleadingly with her eyes and the mercy that she had so longed for came. They had buckets of cold water which they started throwing over her. Although the temperature was a shock to the system, the relief of getting that fiery paste off her was all that mattered and indeed the coolness acted as a balm. The girls worked methodically, making sure that the water reached every crack and crevice, getting rid of the very last of the paste. Then, she was towelled dry and the restraints removed and the three servants left her alone again.
Sarah got up and felt her crotch. It was red raw as too were her legs but something else was different too: all the hair had gone! She was as smooth as a new-born baby. She stroked herself with her hand and wondered. It was obviously some local custom, but why? Why was Rashid allowing all this to be done to her? Did he even know? She guessed that he probably did not and would be angry when he discovered what his aunt had subjected her to.
She lay down and wept before drifting off to sleep.
When she woke again the angriness of the skin had subsided, as too had any pain. She stood up and looked at herself in the full-length mirror, slowly stroking herself all over, feeling pleasure yet also a degree of humiliation.
Unknown to her, behind the mirror, Rashid erupted once more, the eroticism of the scene overwhelming him. He knew there and then that this too would become one of the best scenes in his film.
Soon afterwards, the maid re-entered with some lunch. She ungagged her charge and Sarah asked her what all this was about and whether there was anything else to come. As before, she didn’t answer at all and instead, when Sarah had finished her sandwich, the maid simply pointed to the chair again. The new bride shook her head crying “No! No! No!” but the silent maid just continued to point. Although dreading it and not wanting to go, Sarah, who had never been very good at standing up for herself, could not summon up the courage to resist and so she sat in the hateful throne again and let the device secure her once more. Then, as she was firmly ensconced, the two blind girls returned, this time carrying a large box which turned to be full of some very beautiful jewellery and some very scary-looking tools.
They started to work with her ears. Sarah, of course, had already had her ears pierced, but these piercings were enlarged and then through them thick golden hoops a centimetre or so in diameter were threaded which were then soldered together making them permanent. After this the girls approached her nose with a cloth impregnated in some sort of numbing substance which they rubbed all over her nose and then through that nose they thrust a needle through her septum which hurt somewhat in spite of the numbing agent. Once the needle was withdrawn, a larger one was inserted to widen the hole and then another and then finally another golden hoop, similar to those in her ears although this time decorated with a beautiful series of diamonds. It was also soldered shut. Sarah could feel it resting on her upper lip and she wondered what its purpose was when the blind girls produced two golden chains which they then proceeded to attach (permanently) to the nose ring, one either side, before then looping them across her cheek to the earring. Sarah realised that this must be some traditional tribal decoration and she had to admit that the effect in the mirror was quite good although she didn’t like the permanent aspect of it all, each of the pieces being soldered into place, save for the chains which were permanently attached to the nose ring but only clipped onto the earrings.
Then came a far more disturbing episode. A large pair of pliars was brought out and even before they touched her, Sarah was screaming in fear and trepidation and struggling frantically against her bonds. What hell, what torture was this?! Wordlessly the maid affixed the pliars around her tongue which was then pulled firmly out of her mouth and, whilst the maid held onto the pliars, the blind girls firstly swabbed her tongue liberally with the numbing agent and then felt around used the piercing needles to punch four holes through the flaccid muscular organ which were then fitted with bars with golden balls on the underside and, on top, what looked like small pearls (although they may have been synthetic), forming a diamond in her mouth. Again, when shown the finished appearance in the mirror, Sarah had to admit that the pearls on her tongue did look rather good although they reminded her – rather naughtily – of the drops of semen that were left on her hands if she manually brought her husband to climax.
The diamond was now completed, but the girls weren’t finished with her tongue, instead pushing another hole near to the tip, through which a fourth golden ring was fitted and then soldered shut. Then they moved to her lower lip, a similar ring soldered through that in the centre which was then, attached to a third ring to which her tongue ring and nose ring were fixed. The effect was, again, beautiful but it also hampered her ability to speak, words coming out as slurred and lispy.
Whilst Sarah, her face still wet with tears and her chest still heaving from the ordeal, was still getting used to the additions to her face, the blind girls had moved downstairs, teasing her nipples out, swabbing and ringing them and then swabbing her belly button and then giving it an ornament with a large diamond and then the chair was manoeuvred so that her legs were spread wide and her most private areas on full display.
Firstly they teased out her clitoris, rubbing and stroking it until she began to get excited in a most improper way and that most sensitive of nubs became engorged with desire. Her screaming began again, this time louder and more heartfelt than ever. It was one thing to pierce her tongue, but this was the most sacred, most private of all the parts of her body. They ignored her though, as if deaf as well as blind, and after the mandatory swabbing the piercing needle came out again and she found, with a gasp of pain, that her clit was to be ringed with gold too. After that, the flaps of her now hairless vagina were attended to, seven piercings on either side. Fourteen golden tubes with rivets were pierced and inserted painfully. Then, when that was done, the maid produced a golden egg with fine yet beautiful engravings upon it which she then carefully inserted inside Sarah’s moist love cavern. Confused, the new bride lisped “Wthy? Wthat isth that?” but not answer came. Instead a thick lace of purple coloured lace was pulled through the fourteen tubes like the laces of a corset. Her most private parts were now laced together and the golden egg trapped within! The laces were pulled tighter as the chair was adjusted, pushing her legs together again. Then they were securely knotted and the excess cut off.
And finally, whilst the maid braided her hair into a long French plait down her back, the blind girls fitted one last item, a tight collar of gold for her neck, also engraved with filigree and sporting some Arabic words on the front. Their work complete, the restraints on the chair were released and the three women withdrew leaving Sarah alone again, struggling to come to terms with all that had happened to her.
As she had the day before, she stood before the mirror and examined all the changes. They certainly made her look more beautiful and alluring (not that she ever believed that she could truly become a beauty of course, but they did do something), but at the same time they disconcerted her. Her pierced nub was now continually engorged and aroused and she thought of her husband and their times in bed. In addition, the egg which now filled her seemed to have a slight life of its own, vibrating slightly whenever she moved, adding to the titillation, whilst the chains on her face, the studs in her tongue, her ringed nipples…
Subconsciously, Sarah found her hand straying to her pierced nether parts, rubbing to relieve the tension, bring herself to climax. She lay on the bed and groaned as she reached a climax unlike any other that she had experienced in the past.
As she lay panting, behind the mirror, Yasmina mounted on top of him, Rashid also gasped in climax. When he had calmed down, the two of them turned to see exhausted girl lying on the bed, her eyes closed in bliss. “Rashid al-Bukhari, you are an evil man indeed,” said Yasmina with a smile.
“It’s why you love me so much,” he replied.
“Love you? She loves you, not me. No, I… I am fascinated by you, by the depths of your depravity.”
“You like my little project then?”
“You know I do,” she replied, getting up and putting her black abayah back on. “Although,” she added, “I am wondering one thing…”
“What would she think if she knew that the collar around her neck reads ‘First Wife of Rashid al-Bukhari’?”
“Why don’t you tell her and find out?”
“No, no, not yet. Let’s savour this. Bit by bit, Rashid, bit by bit…”
Sarah sat in the same room with the same two shrouded figures dressed in the same oppressive outfit as she had two days before. That experience had been awful. Now, if anything, it was worse.
“I am so pleased to hear that you have become a proper lady, suitable to be married to Rashid, by accepting our traditional marital decorations and adornments,” Aunt Soraya was saying to her. Someya, as before, just sat stock still in silence.
Oh yes, she was now decorated and adorned! And how those additions to her body made themselves known every moment of every day, from the brushing of the chains on her cheeks to the rumble of the egg nestled within her tightly-laced love cavern.
“Did anyone explain to you the significance of the procedures that you underwent, dear?”
Sarah shook her shrouded head and said, “No, they did not,” but under all those layers and with all the intrusions in and around her mouth, it came out more like “Thno, they thdithd thnoth.” The sound of her voice made her feel silly and ashamed. She hated it.
“Well, they all have their purpose. The rings in your lips and tongue for example, which have changed your speech immeasurably since yesterday… for the better. In our culture we firmly believe that ladies should be submissive, modest and silent. That is why we are gagged most of the time, as Someya here is now and as you too shall be, but on those rare occasions when speech is required, it should be muted and indistinct. The rings help ensure such behaviour. The other adornments in your tongue however, now they have a quite different purpose. Can you guess what it might be?”
Sarah shook her head, not speaking this time for she hated sounding so submissive, modest and… controlled. She thought she might be able to guess but she didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“Well, a lady’s purpose is not to speak or have opinions or boss their husband about, but it is to make him happy, to give him pleasure. That is why it is common practice here for good wives to wake their husband every morning when they can by bringing him to a climax by sucking his tool until it erupts. The seed which then coats your mouth, is to be swallowed for it brings good luck. The pearls on your tongue help enhance his pleasure as well as reminding you constantly on what should be gracing that tongue every morning.”
So, she was expected to suck him off and swallow his cum! The thought was too disgusting! Sarah hated giving oral sex and the thought of swallowing that… urgh! Yet, if this was the culture… Oh why had Rashid not warned her of any of this!
“And the chains across your cheeks. Were you told why they are there?”
Again Sarah shook her head.
“Well, they are your pride and joy, the visual evidence that you are a good wife. What is the purpose of a wife, dear?”
“To… to make her husband happy…?”
“Precisely. And how does a lady do that?”
“By… by having sex with him?”
“Oh Sarah, you are so clever! Yes, indeed, that is right. And so, every time you bring him to a climax, he presents you with a token of his affection, a tiny gold medallion to hang on the chain. They are your dowry for, if you are ever left alone, say if he dies or divorces you, then with that jewellery you can pay for your keep in a home for widows or perhaps marry again. Plus, for the world it is a boast. Full chains of medallions – for when one chain is full, another can be added – show the world that you are a… how should I put it… a well-fucked woman. And they also show how you please your spouse. The chain across the left cheek is for sex using your pussy but that across the right is for the mouth and the bottom and anywhere else. Many women here fell their right-hand chains up much faster as men here love a rounded bottom!”
Anal sex! The thought! It sounds so… wrong! And then to display all of your shags on your face, like you are nothing more than a series of holes to be fucked! Yet here… is that not how women are viewed?
“Yes, and your clit ring and egg will keep you aroused so that you are always ready to be taken whenever he pleases. You exist to be fucked now, my dear, aren’t you very blessed!”
Sarah did not feel blessed. Indeed, she felt anything but. She decided to put up a fight.
“If I am blessed why did she do this to my arms? It is wrong! I want them freed!”
What she was referring to was another new addition to her encumbrances. After dressing this morning, her maid had not only cuffed her wrists together behind her back, but then fitted them into a sleeve so that they were palm to palm behind her back. The sleeve was laced, forcing the arms together. After a while it began to hurt and she’d cried out in pain, upon which the maid had finished the lacing and dropped her khimar down.
“No my dear, it cannot be removed. You are a lady now and ladies do not need their arms for anything and so, like the mouth, they must be restrained for modesty’s sake. How do I – or more importantly – your husband know if, when alone, you are not fingering your private parts indecently, particularly as they are now continually ready for sex? Indeed, this morning it was reported to me that dried female love juices were found on your bedsheets. Can you explain such a thing, Sarah?”
Sarah felt like sinking into the floor in shame. For once she was glad she was so covered. She shook her head like a naughty child.
“So, you see, it is for your own good and when the sleeve is fully-laced it shall also help your deportment and look most becoming. Rashid will love it! No, it is necessary, as too are your new sleeping arrangements.”
“New sleeping arrangements?! What are these?”
“You shall see, Sarah, you shall see. But that is enough talking for now. Maid! Fit her silencer and then put on some Quranic recitations for us to enjoy and enhance our spiritual health with…”
And with that Sarah found her veils lifted and some sort of soft rubber balloon being inserted into her mouth at the side of the piercings. Then this was inflated until it filled the entire orifice and her jaws ached.
Her veils were dropped down again and the maid withdrew leaving her in the darkness with the other two shrouded women listening to some Arabic chanting emanating from the CD player, never-ending the syllables looping and swirling, making her question reality and lose herself in a new veiled and restricted world…
Saturday was the longest day of Sarah’s life. She had been told that her husband would be returning then but not at what time. She hoped upon hope that it would be as early as possible so that she could explain to him her predicament and this whole ridiculous new regime could be ended, but as always seems to be the case with things that one waits for eagerly, the minutes ticked by slowly and by five in the afternoon there was still no sign of him.
Ever since that awful day (only Sunday and yet it felt like months ago to Sarah) when she had been restrained in a chair and pierced in places that she would never have imagined, let alone wanted, metal to be stuck into her, her life had become a living nightmare. Indeed, ever since Rashid had left on his business trip it had gone downhill which is why she so desperately longed for him to return.
After the silenced, restrained and veiled Sarah had been told the true purpose of all the awful additions to her body and costume by Aunt Soraya, the rest of that day, Monday, had been truly horrible. She had been forced to sit there in almost total darkness with nothing to occupy her mind save for the incessant droning of some mullah. Sarah had never been in the slightest bit religious and nor too had Rashid – it had been one of the things that she’d liked about him – but even if she were, this would have been torture since she couldn’t understand a word that was being said. Instead it was just an annoying drone, on and on and on. She would have liked to talk to someone about it, share the misery as it were but with her mouth gagged so and her arms restrained behind her, she was, in effect, incommunicado.
These two latest restraints were unbearable. Both rendered her helpless and passive, entirely at the mercy of Aunt Soraya and the maids. More than that though, they were also rather painful. Her arms were on fire being pinioned in a position where they were never meant to go, palm to palm behind her back. Her elbows were still some centimetres apart, but over the days that followed, she learnt that that would not be accepted, for as soon as the pose got more bearable, the single glove was tightened until, by Thursday, the elbows were brushing one another and come Saturday, they were pressed tight together and her arms had gone completely dead.
Unable to use her arms or her legs, unable to speak, unable to take any step longer than a dainty mince, barely able to see, she was considered presentable as a respectable lady and wife. And she could do nothing but sit or stand in the room, even opening a door an impossibility now, passive and hidden. More than once she thought of the Victorian motto “Children should be seen and not heard.”
Except that she wasn’t a child and, unlike those crinoline and sailor suit-clad cuties of a century or more ago, she wasn’t even meant to be seen.
This created several problems beyond the boredom. One was that she had no way of indicating when she required the bathroom. The maid was obviously prepared for this though, for after several hours of sitting in silence, the veiled servant came to her, helped her to her feet and then took her to the bathroom, hoisting up her abayah and pulling down her other garments so that she could do her business. And when she had finished, she then wiped her bottom, powdered it and replaced the garments before guiding her back into the room. At no time were her arms released, her veil lifted or her gag removed. She was completely passive and helpless throughout. It was humiliating.
Things got better in the evening when she retired to bed. She was stripped of her many garments, ungagged and her arms released. The ache in her jaw was palpable and she flexed it after the deflated gag was taken out. And then, as the blood slowly returned to her upper limbs, she ate a solitary meal before then showering.
However, upon exiting the shower, things started to go downhill once again.
For her bed and her bedroom attire had changed.
Waiting for her were some unexpected and unwelcome items.
“Nappies! Why have I got to wear those?” she asked, except that it came out like “Shnappshies! Shwhy hash I goth tho wear thoshe?” through her new facial jewellery.
Patiently the maid wrote out on her pad I can’t help you in the night if you need the toilet. It is prevent accidents.
“But I can go to the toilet myself!” she protested.
To this the maid merely shook her veiled head.
Reluctantly, Sarah put on the nappies, tutting and grumbling under her breath. Then the maid held out the next item. It was a full catsuit in black lycra that fitted her like a glove and which Sarah did not mind until she discovered that the holes in the headpiece were aligned with her ponytail and her mouth and that there were none for her eyes.
“Take this off immediately! This is an outrage! I won’t allow it!” she protested, but the maid knew her job well and was quick. Already a thick golden collar had been fastened around her neck to which the zip was padlocked making removal impossible. Now Sarah was completely blind but she still had use of her hands so she fumbled around trying to free herself. The maid though, stronger than Sarah had expected, merely pushed her charge onto the bed, climbed on top of her, grabbed Sarah’s left arm, raised it above her head and then attached it by a cuff to the headboard. By now Sarah was screaming blue murder, but the maid ignored her and instead, methodically, did the same with the right arm, then her left leg and finally the right until the new bride was spread-eagled like a starfish on the sheets. Then, unseen by Sarah, she produced a thick leather hood with incorporated gag which she carefully fitted over Sarah’s head, lacing it tight and then inflating the gag to its maximum.
Inside the hood all was pitch-black and deathly silent. The fearsome thing blocked out all contact with the world beyond and Sarah felt as if she were floating in a void.
Or at least she did until she was disturbed by something.
A slight, low vibrating.
Of the egg.
Inside her tightly-laced love cavern.
Not enough to bring her to climax.
But enough to occupy all of her senses.
And send her wild with desire.
But restrained as she was, she could do nothing about it. She squirmed and she gyrated her hips but it made no difference. The cuffs held her fast.
Ten minutes later vibrating stopped and she was left panting with exhaustion and frustration.
Slowly she calmed down and began to drift off into her void again.
Until the vibrating began once more.
When the final one of the five programmed sessions was over, Sarah was nowhere nearer release than she had been with the first.
Rashid, on the other hand, who was sat by her bed, his dick in his hand, was well and truly spent.
He saw her breathing deepen as she finally found sleep, wiped himself clean with a towel and then silently removed himself to his own room.
And that was how the days continued. Days of helpless boredom laced with thoughts of sex triggered by the egg in her snatch and, unbeknownst to her, strong aphrodisiacs in all her meals, punctuated by restrained nights of unbelievable sexual frustration. Is it any wonder that she counted every second on Saturday as she waited for her darling to return home?
And is it also any wonder that she virtually fell into his arms when he finally did at half past seven that evening?
Within ten minutes of Rashid’s return, they were both in the bedroom naked. Her husband had hardly been able to contain himself and had virtually ripped her clothes and restraints off. Sarah’s fire was no less and when he entered her after hurriedly and clumsily unlacing her pierced crotch, she felt almost in heaven.
When they had both finished however, and lay exhausted in each other’s arms, Sarah burst into tears.
“What is wrong my darling?” asked her husband, lovingly wiping the tears away.
“What they have done to me… what I have been through… you weren’t here and… oh darling, it was horrible!”
He sat her up, wiped her face with his hand and looked her up and down. “I never knew, my love, I never guessed. I should have guessed but I did not think…”
“How should you have guessed?”
“Aunt Soraya, she has done what she thinks to be right. She has made you a bride as per the customs of this land. Of course, I should have guessed, I should have told her not to but… I never thought. This is women’s realm, not men’s… I never thought.”
He then explained to his wife that everything that she had been subjected to was de rigueur for new brides in his country. The chains… they are a bride’s pride and joy. They demonstrate how many times her husband has honoured her with his seed. In polygamous households then wives compete with one another for their husband’s attentions. And if he casts them away when their beauty has faded, then the gold pays for their care and keep in old age. The lacing down there is to ensure your chastity, as too the restraints on your arms whilst the mouth ornaments are to remind ladies to be silent, not to gossip and tittle-tattle… and to pleasure their spouses every morning. All our girls are pierced and ornamented in these ways; Aunt Soraya obviously thought it a disrespectful omission that you were not.”
“But can you explain to her, I want them gone. I hate them so much! Especially these in my mouth. I speak like a baby, it’s horrible!”
With these words the tears flooded back.
Rashid dried his wife’s face again and then examined all the piercings. “Darling, I would, but it is not possible. These rings have been braised shut! They cannot be removed except by breaking them…”
“Do that then!”
“No, no, I cannot. Not here anyway. To snap a marital ring means the same as to remove a wedding ring in the west. It signifies that the marriage is over. We could not be together. Listen, I know they are hateful to you, but you must bear them, just whilst we are here. Back in Europe they can be removed of course, but here they can’t. I know it is tough on you but it is our culture and it is only a short time. In six months or so we can return home and…”
“Six months! But you said that we would only be here for three!”
“I know my love, but the businesses here, they are not so healthy as I was led to believe. They require my attention. These people are idiots, they do not understand good business practice and… but I cannot have you unhappy, no! We shall return and to hell with the family and businesses and…”
“No Rashid, this is your homeland and I know that the businesses are important to you; they are your inheritance. I will bear it. Six months is not so long and…”
“But the veils, they make you unhappy and…”
“Sshh! It is your culture. I do not like nor agree with what I am made to wear but I should respect local customs. Besides, it cannot get any worse, can it? They have pierced me, laced me, restrained me, muted me, hidden me and half-blinded me. What else can they do, eh?”
Rashid smiled. “My love, there is something that I can do to you. Those laces are still undone are they not…?”
Sarah was woken the next morning at sunrise by a buzzing in her love cave. She couldn’t recall replacing the egg in there the previous night, nor lacing it back up again, but the meaning was clear: she was to wake first and then bring her husband round with her mouth. Instinctively she felt all the piercings there. She imagined that for any man having those rubbing against his tool in the early morning would be exquisite. She had never been one for oral sex but, Soraya having put the idea in her mind, she now could think of little else. And besides, she did love him dearly. And it was nice to not be spread-eagled and blind in bed. The more she pleased him then perhaps, just perhaps he would think twice about going away again. Lazily she moved down the bed and fixed her mouth over his member…
Once finished, they showered together and she rinsed the taste of his seed out of her mouth. They ate breakfast and then he helped her dress in the full regalia again. The prospect of another day sitting in that damned room with Soraya and Someya filled her with dread but, to her pleasant surprise, Rashid announced that, after neglecting her for a week, he would make things up by taking her out. Excited, she followed him to the door as best she could with her shuffling gait and blurred vision but then, before going out to the car, found another burden added to their lives.
“Sorry darling,” said her husband, “but it is mandatory for all women over the age of puberty to wear one of these in public.”
What he was referring to was another garment which was fitted over the many that she wore already. This was also in black and looked a little like the burqas that the Taliban used to make Afghani women wear. It had a skullcap embroidered with Rashid’s name in Arabic and from the cap hung the full body garment. Unlike an Afghani burqa however, there was no grille at the front of this one, just some embroidery and so, once it was fitted onto her head, Sarah was now completely, 100% blind. Furthermore, padding around the ears severely reduced her hearing. Now blind and almost deaf as well as mute and restrained, she was considered decent to be led out of the house. Feeling her husband’s hand on her shoulder, she nervously shuffled forward, letting him steady her as she ascended the steps at their door and walk the few metres – although it seemed much further – to their car. He helped her inside and then fitted her belt before climbing into the driver’s seat and setting off.
During the journey he did not talk, possibly because he knew about the padding around her ears which meant that she would have been unable to hear most of what he said anyway. Instead he put a CD on and, through the material and padding, she could just about make out the sounds of Pink Floyd urging people to tear down the wall.
How long they drove for, she had no idea, but eventually the car stopped and she felt the low vibrations of the engine cease. Her door was opened and her belt undone and a pair of hands guided her out of the seat and then set her walking.
The path beneath her feet was uneven and rough and she leaned on her husband for dear life. It seemed to twist and turn, going downhill and then it became soft and hard to walk on. After only a few steps of that though, his hands pushed down on her shoulders and she sat. Then he reached down and lifted the blinding burqa, flipping the front over her head but with the cap still on her head. She could now see, albeit through the blurring of her veils. However, compared with the sightless hell that she had just endured, it was pure heaven. She discovered with delight that Rashid had taken her to a secluded beach. There was no one else in sight – that she could see at any rate – and before them majestic waves crashed against silver sands. She longed to strip all her many layers off and jump into those waves but knew instinctively that it was not possible. Not here.
Rashid moved his face right next to her ear and then said, “We are alone and so I can flip the burqa back. I know all the restrictions here are hard on you my love, but this is my special place and I have longed to share it with you. Please bear these hardships for me, the time is only short, and thank you my darling.”
And hearing those words, Sarah felt loved and valued and longed to hold her spouse, only her damned armbinder preventing it. Sensing her wish, he leaned over and kissed her veiled forehead before then stripping down to his swimwear and taking a plunge. She watched him play and cavort in the waves with a mixture of both love and envy.
When he returned, she leaned her head against him and he hugged her. Despite them holding that position for a long time, her garments were so thick that none of the water on his body soaked through to hers.
It was past lunchtime when they rose and he flipped her burqa back down and guided her to the car. Back at home she was directed to the bedroom where her maid removed her burqa, veils and gag. Rashid however, said that he had some business to do and went to his study. He returned some thirty minutes later and together husband and wife ate an unveiled lunch in their bedroom before enjoying another bout of lovemaking.
Rashid’s “business” by the way, had been with Yasmina, who had been sitting in the back of the car all the way and who had been filming the entire beach episode from a concealed spot nearby in the bushes. When they’d reviewed the footage together, it had made Rashid hard but Yasmina had refused his advances as it was her period day. “Besides, you have a horny wife waiting for you in there; let her service you!” his old flame had protested.
And so he had done just that.
And so Sarah continued with her veiled and restrained life. Every morning she was woken up by the buzzing of her egg and sleepily placed her mouth over Rashid’s flaccid member. At first this had been her choice, but after a couple of days it had become sort-of accepted and, on the day when she decided to sleep through her egg alarm a little and kiss her husband’s lips instead, he ended up late for work and, although nothing was ever said directly, Sarah felt that she was blamed for his tardiness. After that, she always sucked him to a climax in the morning although the taste of semen in her throat was something that she never got accustomed to.
And neither did she get accustomed to the restraints of her costume. The harsh armbinder, the gag (now more the norm than the exception), the hobbled steps and the thick veils. Nor too did it end there. After a week or so – Sarah was beginning to struggle to say how many since she never saw the date and, as all days were the same, they began to roll into one until, after a few weeks, she was unsure of when it was – Rashid, ever enthusiastic in the bedroom, decided to try and enter her from behind to provide some extra spice to their love life (not that it needed it). Sarah was unimpressed by this idea but felt it wrong to object since he had been so kind to her that day, buying her a beautiful diamond necklace, she relented although, thankfully, the hole proved far too tight for him to enter and things were left at that.
However, that blessing in the end proved to be a curse, for the next day, whilst dressing her, her maid produced a new item for her mistress to wear: a black plastic plug for her bottom hole. Horrified, Sarah wanted to object, but she had learnt that the faceless maid brokered no opposition and so, after the application of much lubricant and a lot of groaning on her part, the Christmas tree-shaped insert popped in and she was forced to endure another encumbrance all day which made her feel full and uncomfortable. That evening she tried to speak to Rashid about her, but he merely treated her protests as if they were jokes and tried again to insert his member into that place. Again he did not succeed and the following day the plug was there again, accept that this time it had been replaced with a slightly larger version.
Around two weeks and three upgrades later, Rashid finally managed to insert himself in there and pump away until he ejaculated his load deep inside her. The experience gave Sarah far less satisfaction than when he used her vagina, made worse too by the fact that he never removed her armbinder – something else that was becoming more common – and so she couldn’t finger her clitoris whilst he was pumping away.
On the other hand, what she did gain from the experience, was a tiny gold medallion of a bottom to add to her right-hand chain which was slowly filling up with medallions of lips, one for each time he climaxed down her throat. The left-hand chain had a number of small vagina medallions. This had been filling up faster than the right-hand one at first but slowly Sarah noticed a shift and by the time that the right-hand chain was full and a second had to be added, the left-hand chain still had about a quarter of the way to go. Indeed, at times it seemed to her like anal in the evening had become de rigueur.
Which did nothing to help her two other big problems in life. The first was an almost constant feeling of sexual frustration. Being restrained and veiled heavily somehow made her feel in the mood for sex almost constantly. Of course, the egg within her love cavern did not help matters, nor the large plug in her bottom, but Sarah suspected the boredom also added to it. With little else to think of or occupy her time, sex now took a central role in her daily existence. She didn’t like this and tried to fight it but it was to no avail, something which confused her somewhat.
Perhaps if she had known about the huge quantities of strong aphrodisiacs that were added to her every meal, then she would have understood better.
Things were awful when he went on his semi-frequent business trips and she was forced to lie, blind and restrained in her bed, the egg vibrating merrily away, enough to titillate but never enough to bring her to orgasm. She would toss and turn, struggle against her restraints but it did no good and whenever she did eventually drift away, she was drenched in sweat from head to foot.
And when Rashid did lie with her, the anal usage never satisfied her thoroughly and so she began to crave vaginal intercourse at precisely the time when she was getting it less and less. She spoke to Rashid about it on a couple of occasions and he was always very loving and understanding and would insert his penis into her snatch, but she got the feeling that he was doing it more for her and not because he enjoyed it, that he enjoyed the anal more because, well, because something was wrong with her.
Which leads us to the second problem. Sarah had always struggled with her confidence and always been a little self-conscious about her looks. She wasn’t a supermodel and she knew it and when Rashid made comments about him marrying “the most beautiful girl in the world” and similar twaddle, she knew that he was just being nice. She would tell him that she wasn’t beautiful at all and he would disagree, but she began to suspect that, he was lying in part because when with her he often averted his eyes from her face or her breasts which she knew were small and not exciting for a man. Her bottom, on the other hand, which she had always thought a tad too large (and which was not shrinking due to her sedentary lifestyle) he seemed to enjoy far more, commentating on its roundness and juiciness. It was embarrassing but also worrying: she was unattractive and, the initial excitements of married life passing, he was getting bored with her. She tried making herself up more, wearing nice perfumes and the like but she knew that it wasn’t enough.
And sure enough, every so often Rashid would let a comment slip, something about her small boobs or thin lips, and whilst he would immediately realise what he’d said and reply that he was only joking, these remarks cut her to the bone and played on her mind during the long veiled days and the even longer restrained blind nights when he was away. She began to ask, casually, which film stars he found attractive, and to her dismay discovered that it was always those with large breasts and luscious lips. She was not his type and he was losing interest. And so, one evening, she plucked up all her courage and said to him, “Darling, I feel that my breasts are too small. What to you would be the ideal size for female breasts?”
“Yours are perfect as they are.”
“Don’t lie to me, please,” she replied, a tear falling from her eye. “I know I am ugly and you are bored of me. I wish I were more beautiful but I cannot change who I am, can I?”
And with those words, she burst into tears and her husband put his arms around her and promised repeatedly to “make everything ok”.
Even so, the next day she was surprised when, after breakfast, she was ordered to put on her blinding burqa and walked out to the car.
And even more surprised when, after a short drive and another walk, the burqa was removed and she found herself in a hospital where a nurse veiled all in white approached her with a cup of tea and a large needle which she then sunk into Sarah’s upper arm.
Within seconds her world went black and she slumped in her chair.
Rashid looked at the naked body lying on the table in front of him.
“So, what is your decision?” the doctor in the white coat standing next to him asked.
Rashid rubbed his chin and pondered. The breasts had to have something done to them, that was for sure. Those A-cups were no use to anyone! But how big exactly? He imagined her with totally cartoonish tits, HHHH-cup or something like that (if such a cup exists even). Two basketballs stuck to her chest. Or better still, beach balls. The cartoon look had something about it and Sarah would absolutely hate them. But at the same time, ridiculous is not exactly the same as attractive. 40DD breasts were attractive and inviting. They would still humiliate her yet they could also excite him.
His eyes drifted down to her butt. Again there was the same conundrum. He liked her ass, indeed, he liked it a lot. It was firm, round and juicy, by far the sexiest part of her. It would be perfect if left as it was. But then what was the point in that? The humiliation, the shame was also part of what he was after. He was stuck.
“May I proffer an observation?” said the doctor.
“Go ahead. Anything that’ll help. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks and I still can’t decide.”
“Well, two things strike me here,” said the medical man. “Firstly, she is your only wife, is she not?”
“That is so.”
“And do you plan on always being monogamous?”
“Of course not, but I am not bored of this one yet.”
“Indeed. A healthy attitude. But, at the moment, there is no competition. In the future though, that will change.”
“Indeed, but I don’t get your point.”
“And secondly she is young. What? Twenty-one, two? Plenty of time. She is in the prime of her bloom as it were. But women, like all flowers, fade. You wouldn’t touch up a masterpiece freshly painted all that much, would you? But when the canvas gets worn, paint starts to flake and the colour fades, then that same canvas can be used to paint a whole new masterpiece. Think about both of those points and join them together.”
Rashid thought. Then he understood the good doctor’s reasoning. “So, you are saying minor remedial work now, just enough to correct her deficiencies and enhance her humiliation and insecurity. And then later, when she starts to fade and there’s a pretty young wife to compete with, that lack of self-esteem can be manipulated so that…”
“…so that she feels compelled to modify further, you can be reluctant – and non-revealing – about it and…”
“…when she comes out of her coma that time, she is a total cartoon doll freak. But in the meantime I get to enjoy her in a more ‘normal’ mode.”
“Ok, then 40DD, fake-looking for the chest and the minor implants for the ass.”
“And the rest.”
“Oh yes, keep the rest.”
“Including the ring?”
“Definitely the ring.”
Sarah awoke confused. For starters, she was not in her own bedroom and, what is more, she was unveiled and unrestrained, unheard of in this damned country when Rashid was not present.
And Rashid was not present.
She looked around her. The room looked like a private hospital ward. The walls were white, everything was clinically clean and there was a chart hanging on the end of the bed. Then she remembered. After her last blind outing with her husband, her burqa had been removed and she had found herself in a hospital. She’d had no clue as to why and had been about to ask when a nurse had offered her a cup of tea. And she had been so thirsty after wearing all those layers in the desert heat that she had gulped it down immediately and then faded away into a dream world.
So the tea had been drugged and she was still in that hospital. But why? She wasn’t ill and all that Rashid had said was that he would “make everything ok” when she had cried in his arms about her plainness.
Then she realised.
Realised that something had happened to her. To her chest. Under the sheet her breasts were somehow bigger. Much bigger. They towered up beneath the bedding like twin peaks. Was that how he had decided to help her? By giving her a tit job! But she liked her small, pert, natural breasts. She certainly didn’t want them any larger. And these looked MUCH larger.
Tentatively she removed the sheet and then gave a gasp. Oh my God! These weren’t breasts, they were like footballs attached to her chest, unnaturally round and crowned with enormous pink nipples that were erect.
And still ringed.
No, no, she thought, shaking her head. Her husband, in his love for her had got the wrong idea. She hadn’t meant beautiful in that way. She would have to ask for a reduction, that was all. Pluck up the courage and do it. He wouldn’t like it, wasting the money, but she couldn’t be seen in public with these monster mammaries attached to her.
Not that she was ever seen in public these days.
She lay still and fought back the tears. No one came and there was no sound. Then, as she lay there, a thought came into her head. A horrible thought.
Was that all that she’d had done?
Had Rashid misinterpreted her wishes further?
Then she noticed a screen across the room. And behind that screen she saw a slither of mirror. There was only one way to put those terrible thoughts to bed. Slowly, she removed the sheet from her naked body and stood up. Instinctively she looked down at her new tits. Even standing they did not sag at all, standing proud and unnatural, going before her wherever she walked. They were monstrous. And they would be her new reality from now on.
Slowly she walked over to the screen, horrified at how her tits bounced lewdly with every step. Then she pulled it back to reveal her new image in the mirror.
A second later she fainted to the floor in shock.
And that scene Rashid watched back over again countless times. It was the best yet.
Sarah sat cross-legged before the mirror. She had come to on the floor before it. She guessed that she had only been out for a few seconds but she couldn’t tell for sure. There was no concept of time in that white void. No clocks and no visitors. Just her and her horrific new body.
Her monstrous boobs were the least of her worries. The most was her face. It was gone. Or to be more precise, there was a face there but her face had gone.
The face that stared back at her had enormous cornflower blue eyes like those of a china doll. It also had a cute little button nose, heavy make-up that appeared to be permanent, huge lashes and a mouth.
Oh my God, the mouth!
It had huge, brilliant pink lips that seemed to rest naturally in an unnatural ‘o’ shape. She could close it but it was not easy and when she stopped thinking about it, the ‘o’ reasserted itself. Like a doughnut. She felt about it with her fingers. There seemed to be something implanted in there, like a ring. But why? She smiled and pouted, frowned and looked serious, but whatever she did that mouth seemed to stay as it was, an invite for sex, as if waiting for a dick to be thrust into it. It was horrific. The whole thing was horrific. It was the face of a sex doll.
Subconsciously her hands moved down to her nether regions. Something had happened there also. Her hips seemed wider. Not much but something had happened. She’d always thought them too wide as it was but now she felt like some fertility goddess. But it was what was between them that most concerned her. Her vagina was completely smooth and hairless as before but now somehow different. As she fondled it, it felt almost rubbery. And it looked more puffed up. The feeling however, was diminished. Before, if she’d fondled herself there it could be quite exciting but now she felt very little. It was only when the actually hole was penetrated that it felt good. And that felt oh so good. Without thinking she began to frig herself slowly but then was brought to her senses by the door to the room opening. Hurriedly she removed her hand and turned around.
It was Rashid.
“Oh my darling, you look so beautiful!” he exclaimed, rushing over to her.
She tried to reply but he fastened his lips to her in a passionate embrace.
He then took her hands in his, felt their dampness and smiled. “I think I know what you’ve been thinking of,” he said naughtily and led her over to the bed.
“Darling,” she began, but to her horror it came out more like “Dtharlithng”. Not only did she look like a freak, but she spoke like one.
By now he had laid her out on the bed and was climbing on top of her, kissing her all over whilst fondling her new breasts and pussy with glee. “You are so beautiful, so perfect, so gorgeous! You said that you felt plain, you cried and my heart went out to you. Now you will never think such thoughts again; no one could ever call you ugly now, you are my perfect little princess, my pearl kept safe inside her shell.”
She longed to object, to stop this, to reverse it all, but her body betrayed her mind, her lust was gathering momentum and instead she blocked it out by fastening her new lips to his in another embrace and letting his rock-hard tool enter her new love cavern.
Three years later…
There she sits. Silent, restrained and hidden. A black cone on the couch of Rashid al-Bukhari. An embodiment of the perfect woman in that society. It is what she has done almost every day for the last three years and it is what she expects to do for every day until she dies. She who was once called Sarah but is now referred to merely as “Rashid’s First”.
After returning from the hospital where all those hateful modifications had been made to her body, her veiled and restrained life had reasserted itself. In one way, she had been glad. She was now no longer a human but a freak, a living sex doll. At least veiled, no one else would realise that.
But then came the bombshell. Two weeks previously it would have been a godsend but now…
“My beautiful darling,” her husband had said to her after an afternoon session of anal intercourse in their bedroom, “I’ve a special surprise for you.”
She looked at him doe-eyed and confused, her usual look these days. He handed her an envelope. Inside were two plane tickets back to Europe. They were for a fortnight’s time.
“I know we’ve been here longer than I initially planned and I know how tough it has been adapting to the customs here, but I’ve finally got the business in a state where it can be left. My princess, we’re going home and you can pick up your own life again!”
The thing that she had so looked forward to, longed for, was now actually happening! But the following day, as she sat silently in her restraints, the doubts flooded her mind. “They will be so impressed with the modifications you’ve undergone and all your piercings,” Aunt Soraya had said. That thought stayed with her. She imagined meeting her old friends and colleagues looking as she did now. ‘What the fuck has happened to you, Sarah?’; ‘Why have you had all that surgery?’; ‘You look like a Barbie doll!’ She could imagine all those comments and how she would feel walking down the street, everyone gazing at her huge breasts and ass and her hateful doughnut mouth.
No, it was just too horrible to contemplate!
But then what about the alternative.
At first she thought she could ride it out. Endure the comments but then have the surgeries reversed – Rashid would understand – and then live her old life again. But even the thought of that, the thought of people seeing her, of showing her face and legs in public, even that scared her now. She was now used to the fact that a woman should be silent, restrained and shrouded. She had normalised it. The thought of anything different petrified her.
And so, on the evening before the flight, she told Rashid that she wanted to stay in Arabia.
Just as he knew she would.
And so she had continued to live as a veiled cone, helpless and silent by day, whilst her husband did what he wished with his living sex doll at night. She had no dignity left and no resolve. She simply agreed to anything on the very few occasions when people asked her.
Even that though, was not the end.
Someya left first. Rashid said that they’d found her a husband who would keep her in the state of total purdah that she wished to live in. then, several weeks or so later – she could not be sure as there were no clocks or calendars in the house and the days ran into one another – Aunt Soraya disappeared too. Rashid said that she had chosen to live in Someya’s house.
And so she was alone all day, merely waiting until her husband returned.
And the boredom was unendurable.
One night, after sex, she burst into tears and told Rashid as much. Once again he comforted her and promised to sort everything. About a week later she was dressed in her travelling burqa and bundled into the car by Rashid. When the burqa was removed she found herself sitting in a strange sitting room opposite two other black cones, Rashid and an unknown man. Then the men left and once they were gone, one of the black cones let a black gloved hand slide out from under her khimar and flipped back her outer veil to reveal a pair of dark eyes. She then started speaking in the local language, giving a lengthy explanation of something or other, before then leaning over to the other cone and flipping back not only her outer veil but also her inner veils as well to reveal the face of a dusky teenage girl. It would have been an extremely pretty face too were not the mouth forced open by a large ball gag. This was then removed and the girl smiled but stayed silent. The first cone continued rabbiting away in her language, pointing at the unveiled girl before then saying in English, “Very beautiful, yes?”
Trying to be polite, Sarah nodded.
“You like her?”
Sarah nodded again.
“You want her as friend? As sister?”
A friend! Sarah would have loved a friend. She nodded again.
“Thank you,” said the girl in heavily-accented English before the other cone replaced her gag and flipped down her veils.
It was only two weeks or so later when there was a huge party at the house that Sarah realised in horror that she had agreed for this girl – who was only sixteen and called Nadiyah – to become Rashid’s second wife.
And as his first wife, she had to welcome the girl into the house.
And so, from that day on, she had now had to share her husband with someone else. Someone whom she never saw or spoke to, but who she sat next to everyday. Someone who was young, pretty and did not look like a freakish sex doll.
Which is why she is alone today. Because Rashid elected to take his younger wife for his afternoon quickie, something he does more and more these days. And so Sarah simply waits… but for what?
Watching on the monitor, his younger wife blinded and tied spread-eagled on the bed next-door, Rashid chuckles and turns to his old friend Yasmina who has popped around for some fun, leaving her lesbian lover that Rashid bought for her from Thailand tied-up in a very similar position to Nadiyah.
“Little does she know, little do both of them know…” he whispered in her ear.
“Is it all booked?”
“Yes, the same ward and surgeon that did her first time. This time though, no holds barred!”
“A different approach but equally alluring. Take a look at them both.”
And he hands Yasmina the artist’s impressions of what both wives will look like after the mods he has planned.
“You are one truly sick human being,” she replied, rubbing his dick softly with her hand.
“And they will love me all the more for it,” he replied with a smile.