We worked our plump little butts off and finished in early afternoon. My legs weren’t yet up to snuff, and they were killing me by then. I didn’t care. I just wanted sex with my triple mates.
We’d been all alone since we arrived immediately after our morning toilet, gruel breakfast, and caning. We entered the largest private room, a windowless rectangle, which contained something akin to a double bed. Most importantly, we’d gone over it carefully when we cleaned it, and there were no cameras or other sensors hidden anywhere in the gray, concrete-block walls, the slab floor, or the cheaply-plastered ceiling. We locked the door behind us. We positioned our cleaning equipment in front of the door. If someone tried to enter, we’d jump up and grab the cleaning stuff as though we were finishing.
I wasn’t very worried, only anxious enough that it added some spice to our coming intimacy. We knew this would probably be a one-time thing, or at least it wouldn’t happen again for many months. If we volunteered again too soon, we’d raise suspicions, even with the reward. It was hard, disgustingly dirty work.
We’d left the sheets on the bed; we’d change them to clean ones after we finished. As soon as everything was in position and the door locked, we began. We each smoked several cigarettes to get the itsy-bitsy arousal they provided. Then we snuggled under the sheets and really got to work.
We were sweaty and dirty from cleaning and that made no difference at all. We smelled like … us … not like Karimah and Erij and Altaf individually, but we all smelled alike.
Erij and I sandwiched Altaf between us, with Erij spooning her from behind. For a while, we just lay there, soaking in the first intimate time we’d ever shared. Altaf was a little shorter than I. Laying on her side facing me, she put her arms up around my neck, closed her eyes, tilted her face up and we kissed each other at the same moment. Her lips were the softest I’d ever felt, quite probably because she could do little to move them, given the disabling of her facial muscles. Our mouths opened and our tongues intertwined.
At Altaf’s request, I’d left my dentures in their cleaning box. I didn’t mind; anyone who’d see me would have seen me toothless before. Besides, I was hoping for a lot of kissing and tongue action, and I didn’t want the sensitive parts of my mouth covered by plastic. So I had my first toothless kiss. It was probably Altaf’s first facial-movement-inhibited kiss too.
I felt her tongue slide along my gums and probe everywhere within my mouth. When you're sexless, like we all were, any area of sensitivity becomes even more important. Therefore, there was a lot of kissing that afternoon.
We couldn’t make any sounds. There was no moaning or whispering of endearments, or calls for sex acts. With Altaf, there was no way for me to gauge how well this was working for her, because she couldn’t even express it with her face. She did push tighter against me when she particularly liked whatever was happening.
Her left arm let go of my neck and slid down to my pussy. That area was numb, meaning not only unable to feel arousal, but it couldn’t feel anything. Her fingers went into my pussy, which was apparently wet from my mental arousal of kissing her. I could just barely feel some movement of her fingers within me, but, nothing else.
I moved a hand down to hers, thinking maybe she could feel more than I. She couldn’t. She shrugged her shoulders and turned me around. As I rolled over, I noticed that Erij had her hand down by Altaf’s rosebud. Altaf reached down to my anus with her still-wet fingers and began to play with my rosebud, pushing a short-nailed fingertip into me a little as she circled the opening.
Oh! I could feel that! I wiggled back against her hand to encourage her. I tried to moan with pleasure but, thanks to my controller, there was no connection between my brain and my vocal chords anymore, so all I could do was sort of whoosh. The combination of my meager noise and my pushing back against Altaf’s hand must have encouraged her though, and she began to probe me with greater confidence and increased attention. Based on the way she was wiggling, Erij must have been working diligently on her.
I was horny and getting hornier. Anal isn’t my favorite sex play, but it generated the most sensation for me under the circumstances and that was something. For some reason, to me there was always an aura of masochism associated with anal. That actually helped arouse me mentally, as I tried to put myself into a state of mind that would compensate for what I couldn’t feel in my preferred arousal areas, my nipples and my pussy. To further the feeling, I tried massaging my breasts, squeezing, rubbing and pushing on them. My nipples were as numb as my pussy and I ignored them, concentrating on the orbs themselves, which had grown as I gained weight. They’d gotten heavy and weren’t as perky as they’d been when I arrived at the prison in my buff, slender body. I’d seen that in the mirror, of course, but I don’t think what the Control Institution’s fattening me up had done to my boobies hit home until I played with them there.
I discovered that feeling myself up added to my arousal. I now had a couple decent-size, heavy knockers there and that struck me as hot and arousing. I didn’t want to be plump, of course, but in the heat of the moment, with my modest flame of masochism burning a little brighter, it was a turn-on, and I needed everything I could get. Altaf was working my rosebud like a pro and for a while there, I thought there was some chance that I might cum from her penetration of my butt. I kept going higher, slowly, but continuously.
I never considered myself to be into sexual gratification from being controlled or abused, but I was feeling it now. Maybe everything they had done to me had fanned my originally sputtering masochistic fire into something that was henceforth going to burn brightly in me. It was a fleeting thought. Time would tell, but it was certainly helping some right then. Thinking about what this place had done to me from an erotic, masochistic, fetish angle was actually turning me on!
I moved my hands under my own arms. My inside, upper-arm area was a noticeable erogenous zone under normal – make that previous – circumstances, but now it assumed a greater importance. As I did that, I felt Altaf’s other hand reach under me to grab my left tit. She squeezed it, drew delicious figure eights on it with a light touch, then she squeezed it again. The woman was trying everything and she was surprisingly effective.
This went on for a long time. I was turned on in mind and body. I definitely responded to Altaf’s ministrations – up to a point. Eventually I plateaued, and stayed there, but couldn’t climb higher. A climax wasn’t going to happen. In some ways, it was like Dyana all over again, but it was I, Karimah, who couldn’t climax.
It seemed that the Middle East and East Africa were determined to conspire against women in the most invasive of ways. I was sure it was a direct result of these patriarchal societies, whose values were firmly rooted in the seventh century.
The realization that we weren’t going to climax hit all three of us at about the same time. Without anything other than the communication through our physical contact, we all rolled over so that I was facing Altaf’s back and she was facing Erij’s. Our playing began anew, with me determined to do whatever I could for Altaf’s pleasure.
An hour later, we were exhausted and a little sore, horny as hell and orgasmicly unsatisfied. We hugged and kissed each other for a few minutes, then got up, finished the room, and returned to our suite. The lack of climax weighed heavily on our collective state of mind, but it far more poignantly affected Erij.
At some point, Altaf and I would be restored to full sexuality. That would never happen to Erij. Her conviction and subsequent punishment for lesbianism had forever robbed her of the ability to be a sexual being.
Dinner with the matrons was a surprisingly pleasant affair and the food was good. I forgot for a little while what this place had done to my mind and my body and ate until I thought I would explode. One of the matrons even asked if I were trying out for the zenay vizhiden (morbidly obese) group. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders, while stuffing my mouth with another piece of injera, the local flatbread, which I’d just dipped into my third bowl of a
spicy, savory tsebhi, the Eritrean stew.
At that point, I didn’t care what they did to me. Karimah wasn’t a person at all; she was nothing more than an unfeeling lump of clay. She was a synthetic person made by the milieu that had been created by the Control Institution for Delinquent Women.
**********
The days settled again into a monotonous boredom. Given the lack of true sexual stimulation and climax from our attempt at lovemaking, I didn’t approach Altaf and Erij about it a second time. I found myself almost yearning for some tension with Habiba to provide a little excitement. Then, of course, I’d remember what had happened to me as a result of her bullying. I had no interest in further punishment, but I would have killed her without a moment’s hesitation, had the opportunity to do it secretly arisen, and had my controller allowed it.
Such was the hatred I felt for her, and what she’d deceived the prison into doing to me. Perhaps, most of all, I hated her because she now had my smile!
Habiba did, of course, look much better now that she had my teeth from her new dentures, totally obtained courtesy of yours truly. I actually think she realized this. Occasionally, she’d appear in the yard with her triple when we were there. She mostly ignored us. I think I’d really frightened her, and probably disgusted her, when I confronted her and then tossed my cookies all over her by the door.
Once though, when we caught each other’s eye, she actually acknowledged me with a slight wave of her hand in a shy, almost friendly gesture. I turned away without doing anything; I’d never forgive her for what they’d done to me as a result of her tormenting us. I’d live forever without teeth of my own because of her, and I’d do it while she wore mine! I truly thought I could kill her if the right situation ever developed. No … I knew I could kill her.
I was thinking about Habiba’s little gesture of acknowledgement as I lay in bed that night, poised on that boundary between awake and asleep. The anger and disgust I directed at Habiba was keeping my adrenaline levels up and preventing sleep. It was in those moments that I sensed Tia’s presence, for the first time since my fight with Habiba and subsequent punishment.
I couldn’t see her, though I did open my eyes to look, but the feeling that she was right there with me was gripping. I wanted to call out her name – I’m certain that I tried – but, of course, I couldn’t speak and hadn’t said a word or made a vocal noise for a very long time. I tried to communicate with her in my mind, saying her name, asking if she were actually there with me.
The response, when it came a minute or two later, was like the faintest of whispers. “It’s not like you to hate. What have they done to my Destiny?”
“You lost your destiny when you were killed, my love,” I said to her, “and it was my fault that it happened.”
“You don’t remember,” she whispered again. “They’ve even taken your identity from you. You were Destiny Michele Hutton. This place invented Karimah. They extracted the contents of your mind, warped them, and created Karimah, more or less in your image.”
And then I remembered my name, the name I had growing up. I had been Destiny Michelle Hutton.
“What else have you forgotten; do you even know?” Tia asked me sorrowfully. What do you remember of River’s Edge?”
“I remember you. I remember a long friendship. I remember hanging out with you hundreds of times. I remember sex with you, but for a time too short. Far, far too short. I remember when you were killed.”
“Did you have a family, Destiny? Karimah?”
“Of course I had a family.”
“What do you remember of your family?”
“I … I … I … I had a mother and a father, didn’t I?” I realized I wasn’t at all sure. I couldn’t see their faces, any more than I could when I’d written the note for my ill-fated, hot air balloon. I had remembered their phone number, though. That meant they had existed, right?
“What about siblings?”
I had no idea. Did I have brothers and sisters? I couldn’t picture any. What had happened to my memory? I could see the things that I’d done with Tia – lots of things – but I struggled to find a single memory of my life in River’s Edge when Tia wasn’t present.
“I don’t know, Tia! Did I have a family? I can only remember you, and things you and I did together! I don’t remember anything else.”
“You had a mother and a father but you were an only child. Do you remember the first time you had sex with a guy? In the back of his parents’ SUV?”
I thought I remembered having sex for the first time, and being scared of getting pregnant. I remembered that he was someone that I sort of liked but not very much. I thought I remembered him kind of fumbling around, not really knowing what he was doing. But I couldn’t have told you his name or where we did it, and I couldn’t have remembered him if Tia hadn’t said something about it first.
“I remember a little, now that you’ve mentioned it.”
“Where did you live before River’s Edge?” The dream-like Tia asked me.
“Europe: Belgium, Germany and the UK.”
“What do you remember of those places?”
I couldn’t remember a single thing. “Nothing at all,” I admitted.
“What about college and grad school?”
“I’m an archeologist. I’m sure you knew that. You first appeared to me during that time.”
“Who gave you the shrooms? Whose room were you in when that happened?”
I couldn’t remember. All I could remember of that event was seeing Tia for the first time since her death. Then Tia helped me again.
“Your best friend in college, the one whom you were visiting when Waki gave you the shrooms, was Mimi Eversole.”
And then I remembered more of college. Not a big percentage more, but some more. Somehow, they had locked much of my past from me when they changed me into Karimah. I hadn’t simply lost my name; I had lost much of my own history.
I hadn’t even realized it until that moment.
I suppose not being able to have a conversation with anyone contributed to not knowing what I’d lost, after whatever they’d done to my mind. No inmate could ask for and expect me to relate my biography, and no matron ever asked. So I’d had little reason to recall my own past, save for a little contact information for my balloon.
I still had no way to tell what else I’d lost. Such was my confused state, which had resulted from their tampering with my brain. Thanks to Tia, whom I thought wasn’t actually real, I’d recovered part of an identity before Dyana, which I had lost from the conditioning imposed on me by my controller.
If Tia were not real, did that mean there was some piece of my own, former mind that had hidden itself away to watch over me? A mind segment waiting for the right moment to start to reassemble me?
I decided to ask Tia a question: one that I, as an individual existing in the real world, would be unable to answer, to see what Tia would say. I hoped her response wouldn’t be ambiguous, but would tell me if she were a manifestation of my mind, or a real person somehow existing in the afterlife. “Why haven’t my parents managed to get me out of here? Or at least contacted me?”
Tia’s answer was tinged with the impatience of someone who knows the answer, but is too polite to castigate the asker.
“They are looking in the wrong place, Destiny. Quite by accident, your trail led everyone elsewhere. They have no information that says you are alive and imprisoned in the Kingdom of Salat. I’m so very, very sorry, but you are lost, Destiny; you are lost to me, and you are lost to your family and friends.”
I felt Tia slip away, still uncertain if she had ever been there, but with a handful of cherished memory nuggets restored to me, assuming that my own mind hadn’t dreamt it all up. Maybe I never had been Destiny Michelle Hutton. I was sure that was the name the matron had threatened me with knowing, when I first arrived here. It was right after I’d been altered by the control device, and the first moment I actually remember saying I was Karimah. I was terr
ibly frightened at that moment, so maybe that’s why Destiny’s name had stuck with me.
I thought about the times growing up that I remembered. When I was with Tia, I imagined her calling me Karimah, not Destiny. I’m pretty sure I do now remember my college BFF, Mimi Eversole, but I remember her calling me Karimah too.
I have a mental image of Tia, and now Mimi and even Waki, who was of Native American descent. I still can’t picture my parents, and that greatly troubles me. I can’t picture Destiny at all. When I try to picture myself before I was brought here, all I can see is this plump, toothless, naked bald girl. I know that I had blonde hair and I was trim with modest boobies, but I can’t form that mental picture of myself, though I know I was that way then.
Perhaps both the phantom Tia and the person called Destiny are creations or aberrations in my own, damaged mind. I’m certain that Tia was real, but it’s hard to believe that she’s real anymore. Destiny may never have been real at all, just a name made up by the matron to test me, a name that became attached to some ragged brain cells that had been disrupted by the control device. How would I ever know, if I weren’t finally rescued?
**********
The days turned into nights and then into days, on an on, over and over. To break up the tiresome uneventfulness, I tried playing little pranks on my triple mates or others in my triple of triples. I came to be known as something of a practical joker. My victims genuinely seemed to appreciate the little disruptions in the routine: a short-sheeted bed, a missing gruel tube, a soccer ball full of water and any other stupid thing I could come up with.
One of my best involved the sacrifice of a dozen eyelashes each from myself, Altaf, and Erij. I also managed to get a little help and some superglue from a matron. Late one night, with the matron using a controller to insure that the target triple didn’t awaken, I carefully glued 12 or so eyelashes along the brow line of each person in the triple. Remember, plucking eyebrows is an unavoidable impulse we each were given. Finding one is akin to finding a nasty bug crawling on your face. The controller makes you feel immediately grossed out. However, when you manage to pluck the errant hair out, you get something very like a sexual thrill.
Destiny Taken (Destiny Lost Book 1) Page 26