That relaxation and training session was perhaps the hardest thing that she had to endure. Other stuff was justifiable, but she could not fathom out what having herself impaled on a buttplug and her arms bent into some extremely unnatural position could ever have to do with Islam, piety and purdah. Indeed, those doubts only heightened when the Call to Prayer sounded faintly from a muezzin beyond the walls of the house and yet no one came to prepare her for prayers. Indeed, she had not prayed once since entering her husband’s house. Could it be then, that he was using religion as a cover for other motives? Looking at the pictures of her smiling, liberated self in the decadent west, Agne knew that, back then, she would have simply thought so and would have railed against his misogyny. Now, however, things were far more blurred and confusing. What was misogyny anyway? Surely it was only right that a man should dominate a woman and that living in purdah was far healthier for her than that depraved existence that she had followed before? And whilst she did resent the stifling claustrophobia of her purdah suit, the blinding veils and the humiliating leash, not to mention being left in the middle of a room with a plug filling her bottom, what did she know about if they were truly good or bad for her. She was female and female minds are easily confused. It may seem like her husband was not following Islam correctly, but could that not just be another aspect of her misunderstanding. And besides, as a man, did he not have the right to do with his wives as he wished? Such conflicting and bewildering thoughts sloshed about her rubberised head, causing it to ache with confusion. Correct thought was hard.
She was eventually released and given a meal. Then she was taken to the bathroom, her suit soaped down and rinsed and her private parts cleaned, powdered and perfumed. A monoglove was refitted to her arms – after the reverse prayer configuration, this restrictive garment seemed almost a blessing – and she was led by her leash into another bedroom: her husband’s. Once there, she was ordered to kneel on the bed, her bottom in the air, with pillows and bolsters placed under her stomach and head to support them. Her leash was attached to a ring on the bed head, andher ankles were cuffed to the foot of the bed. Then, she was left there, exposed and vulnerable, and under no doubt what was to come next.
An hour later it happened. Nasser Udeen Bukhari entered the room and undressed. He climbed onto the bed beside his newest wife and whispered in her rubberised ear, “My darling Saaliha, I am with you now. Do you know what is to come?”
She nodded silently.
“Do you accept this?”
She made no motion. Did she? The old Agne would never have even considered agreeing to have a man, a virtual stranger, fuck her up the ass, but then was she even that girl anymore. Or was she now Saaliha, the wife of the man in the bed beside her who had committed herself to a purdah life? Did she want it? No… but then what did she want? She wanted to do her duty and her duty was not to refuse her husband his pleasure. Besides, would not the skin-to-skin contact be a reminder that she was human and would not the reward be welcome?
“Well Saaliha, I am waiting. I would never take a wife by force. What is it to be?”
Slowly, hating herself for doing it, she nodded her rubberised head. Nasser Udeen Bukhari replied with the words, “So be it,” and then she felt the tip of his member against her bottom hole. Almost immediately, she regretted her decision. Did she truly want something like that in there? She fidgeted and squirmed, but the bonds held her fast and it was too late. Gently yet firmly, he drove into her. The relaxation period had loosened her up considerably there and there was no great pain, but his tool was still far larger than the plug on the stand. Never before had she felt so full, never before had she felt so used and never before had she felt so totally and utterly mastered.
And yet, minutes later when his warm seed erupted deep in her bowels, never before had she felt so proud for fulfilling her duty.
After the act, Nasser Udeen Bukhari unlaced her monoglove and helped massage her arms back to life. That night husband and wife slept in each other’s arms, her revelling in his warmth and love. That night, for the first time ever, she doubted that she had ever been Agne Kubulis.
Lying in her pitch black cocoon, sweat streaming out of every pore, hardly able to move or breath, Agne contrasted that last night with this one. She was still the wife of Nasser Udeen Bukhari, but tonight it was Shanza’s turn. In her heart she re-lived them entwining their bodies in that netherworld between sleeping and waking, and jealous rage filled her soul. The thought of that hussey with her man! And then tomorrow it would be Abdia! It simply wasn’t fair! As she played out the scenario in her mind, the plug in her bottom began to vibrate. Automatically she began to welcome the pleasure-inducing motion and the attention that her husband was showing her, whilst simultaneously the jealousy in her heart for Shanza rose.
The battle between the conflicting emotions raged long in the dark, hours after the vibrating had ceased.