Destiny Taken (Destiny Lost Book 1)

by Giulia Napoli

  “In Arabic, try pronouncing ‘Master’ properly,” he told me. The Arabic word for master, that he used, sounds something like, “Mazitir.”

  “Mashitir … Mashitir … Mashitir …,” I started crying; I couldn’t do what he wanted.

  The matron spoke up then, “Karimah was here and was already mute when she lost her teeth as a punishment,” she told him. “Her distorted speech is probably a combination of not having spoken for a year and a half, along with her unfamiliarity speaking with dentures instead of her natural teeth. It’s likely that practice and some instruction will fix the problem.”

  “Good advice,” my Master said. The matron beamed. “I like these results; you did very well.” At this point, I thought the matron was going to burst with pride.

  She’d meddled with my mind again, of course. Henceforth I’d be able to speak Arabic, but it would require some effort, compared to how easily I could communicate before. No more easy, carelessly flowing conversations for me. I couldn’t understand why, but my Master had commanded it. Even the little bit of speaking I’d just done had given me a headache. I would probably give up on English altogether. Almost no one spoke it here anyway, and I couldn’t remember enough of it now to have a decent vocabulary or an ability to construct complex English sentences.

  As it happened, I did lose English entirely. Even while I was being reprogrammed, the controller was continuing to dissolve my memories of the English language.

  For that matter, my Arabic vocabulary wasn’t great. I realized that what they’d done to me was going to seriously affect what I was able to convey to someone else, since I probably had the Arabic vocabulary of an eight-year-old now.

  “Let’s continue with her preparation,” he told the matron. What else is already in place?”

  “We’ve already unblocked her intimate areas so that she has sensation there again. Do you want me to re-block them?”

  “No, I want her to have sensation in those places.”

  At least that was a relief! I’d be a sexual being again! Though I suspected what was going to happen to me next, I didn’t realize, at the time, how true that sentence would turn out to be.

  “She has the usual compulsion to shave her head and body and remove her eyebrows. According to her file here, her arm and armpit, leg, and pubic hair were permanently gone before she was sent to us. She now shaves only her head, checks for any stray hairs on her arms or legs, and plucks her brows. Of course, her brows are almost certainly gone forever now, after a year and a half of plucking. Do you have any stray brows, Karimah?”

  “Rarely,” I replied after formulating the Arabic answer. By that point, English was almost dead to me.

  I could see my Master ponder this. I wanted to speak up and ask for my hair back, but I was struggling some to put a sentence together. Finally, I blurted out, “Pleashe, Mashitir, may I have hair … again?”

  “You want your hair to grow back, Little One?”

  “Yes, pleashe, Mashitir.” He ran his hand over my smooth scalp while studying me.

  “I think not,” he finally said to the matron. I was crushed. “She’d have to wear wigs anyway until it grows out. Some customers might actually like her like this. She does have a pretty little head, doesn’t she? I like her chubby face too. So let’s just keep that compulsion in place.”

  “As you wish, Sir. She also has the prison safety compulsion to keep her nails short on fingers and toes.”

  “Remove that. I want the flexibility to do what my madam decides.”

  My head tingled again. I assumed I could grow my nails at that point. I didn’t like the Arabic term for “madam” he had used. It was clear from everything that had been said, that I was going to a brothel. I didn’t want to think about it.

  “Finally, Karimah has the mental impetus to maintain her current weight, as a gideen, to within fairly tight tolerances.”

  “Was she always gideen?” He asked.

  The matron consulted the file. “It appears that she was nochhadn, almost motowoseik, when she came to us. She is up about 25 and a half kilos, about 50% as the gideen she is now.”

  Once again, I wanted to beg him to let me return to my former weight. I tried as he was looking me over. “Pleashe, Mashitir, let me be thin …” I wanted to beg better, but talking was harder than it used to be. It made my head hurt every time I tried to speak.

  “She’s quite desirable like this,” he said. “I suppose if I’d wanted a nochhadn, I’d have bought one of the ones offered. That said, it was the innocence of her face that drew me to her, not her plump shape, though I certainly need someone with her soft, voluptuous body. Most all of my 148 girls are skinny. No … I don’t want to mess with a good thing. Besides, she’d probably sag if the fullness were lost. Her breasts, in particular, would shrink and droop. Keep the compulsion.”

  For the second time in a row, I was disappointed. I would continue to be plump – so unlike my life before this awful place. I could feel the tears form and trickle down my cheeks. I reached up to wipe them away. Azid Negasi took my hand and looked at me with what I thought was genuine concern.

  “Don’t cry, Little One. I promise that you’re going to a better life than you had here. Different, but better. This isn’t the America you knew growing up. This is a foreign land that you’ve come to be a part of. That is your lot. Some would say it was your destiny. Because you appeal to a powerful man, me, you’ll remain protected and valued. Perhaps even cherished; time will tell. You are upset because you are no longer your own person. It is true that you are not. I hope you find that is not, necessarily, a bad thing.

  “I realize that your American upbringing gave you different values than you see prominent here. I understand, because I spent almost a year in the States, studying and understanding how to get things done. Your former countrymen excel at that. Here in the Kingdom, so do I. Yes … thanks to what I learned from them. Or thanks to the West in general. After all, the United Kingdom birthed America, did it not?

  “You came to be here, through your own fault or not. Either way, you are here. More than that, you are now one of us. And so shall you be for a number of years yet. When the time finally comes, perhaps you will be able to choose your own path again. Or perhaps not. We shall see then, won’t we?”

  I looked at him blankly. I didn’t know what to say. He was going to make me fuck for money. I was sure of it. What I didn’t know is what would happen to me if I didn’t do what he wanted.

  Given the controller within me, I didn’t even know if disobedience were possible.

  I found out that it wasn’t, at least, not in the way I envisioned.

  Chapter 15 – Mind Control

  “Is there anything else that you wish me to do for you?” The matron nurse asked Azid Negasi.

  “… for you,” meant “to me,” of course.

  He fingered my pussy as he thought about doing something else to mold me into what he wanted. I was responding to his ministrations with a lot of moisture down there and soft moans of pleasure. I couldn’t help it! It had been so long since I was able to feel anything at all associated with my sex!

  “She’s quite luscious, don’t you think?” Negasi asked the matron. “Her body is so softly plump and she juices quite heavily. I think I’ll name her Fatina, luscious in Arabic.”

  He had pronounced it “FA-ti-na,” with the emphasis on the “Fa” syllable.

  “Program the name Fatina into her mind. Make it her name now. Make her forget any other names, or that she had any other names for as long as she’s with me.”

  “As you wish, Agha.”

  As always, when they were messing with my mind, my head began to tingle. I felt a little dizzy too, then I passed out.

  “What is your name, girl?” Negasi, my Master asked me in Arabic as I awoke. I didn’t understand why he was asking me that. He certainly knew who I was. I couldn’t quite remember what had been going on when I apparently fainted. Maybe he was testing me.

  “
My name is Fatina, Master, if it pleases you.” I supposed he could call me anything he wanted. That was my name, though. It meant luscious in Arabic.

  “Who is …” The matron looked down on some papers and read an unfamiliar name. “Who is Karimah?” She asked me. I had a distinct feeling that I’d heard that name before, but I couldn’t remember if it were recently or a long time ago. Then I thought I remembered. That might have been the name of the nurse who did my induction to the Control Institution. Or perhaps not. I recalled thinking it was an odd name.

  “I’m shorry but I don’t know that pershon, matron.”

  “Who are Erij, Altaf, and Karimah?”

  “Erij and Altaf are the other members of my triple … of my former triple. Like I said, I don’t know any Karimah. I’ve never known anyone by that name.”

  “That’s satisfactory testing,” my Master told the matron. “Fatina, can you read and write?”

  “I’m shorry, Mashitir. I am almost illiterate in Arabic. I am unchertain about English. I ushed to be able to read and write English, but I don’t know if I can anymore, given my difficulty shpeaking it.”

  The matron handed me a page. It was obviously English. I tried to read it and I thought I could. Since I couldn’t speak in English anymore, I told them in Arabic what the first paragraph said.

  My Master asked the matron if she could make me illiterate in English, meaning unable to understand both the spoken and written language.

  “Probably, Agha. There is a chance that the process to make her illiterate could leave her without the capacity to learn to read and write in any language, whether or not she knows it now. In other words, she might become incapable of learning to read or write as long as the control was in place. If I make her illiterate in the way you want, using the controller to give her alexia and agraphia, I can make her unable to understand English at all, though I suppose she’d at least be able to learn to speak it all over again, and to learn other languages as well. She could never read or write any of them, though.”

  “All the better,” he said. “I don’t want her literate in any language. In fact, I’m wondering if we should just render her that way permanently.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to be illiterate at all, and definitely not forever! I had to change his mind; I had to say something, even if I kept slurring my words. Speaking was wasn’t getting any easier for me. “Please Mashitir! Don’t do that to me. Someday I will have served my time and may be released. I’ll need to have the ability to read and write. I was an educated woman. Please don’t take that from me. I would even work hard to learn to read and write Arabic, in order to be more useful to you, if you allow me to keep the ability to learn.”

  He studied me. His eyes were probing but, I thought, kind. “I can’t imagine why an indentured servant who is to be a prostitute would need to read and write, or understand English, which very few people speak where you’re going. It seems an unnecessary distraction. Once your indenture period is over, no one will want you for anything other than sex, sex-related activities, or simple labor. You’d have no need of literacy then either.”

  I couldn’t let this happen. I didn’t want to be illiterate for the next six years! I didn’t want to be unable to understand my mother tongue! Rudely, I interrupted him.

  “No!” I screamed, clearly angry. “You can’t do that to me! You have no right!”

  I could see anger flare in him for an instant, then it dissipated as he brought himself under control.

  “No, Little One. You are the one without rights. You will be what I would make of you, no more, no less. It seems, though, that you need a dose of respect. I find your attitude wanting.”

  He turned to the matron. “Make our little Fatina completely forget how to speak English, and to forget how to read and write English permanently, to the greatest extent you are able to do that. Also make her permanently illiterate, such that her mind no longer has the capacity to learn to read and write anything, and never will again.”

  “NO, NO, NO!” I screamed at him.

  “This is to be a lesson to you. I can and will make whatever changes in you that I desire, temporary or permanent. If you are EVER disrespectful, you will be severely punished. This is a small thing. I could have you made into a permanent whore. Perhaps, that would be a good thing …”

  “NO, NO, NO, Mashitir! Please. I will be good. I’ll always be respectful and obedient!”

  “Oh, I know you will, Fatina. Your permanent illiteracy and your loss of English will be a constant reminder.”

  “Do it!” He commanded the matron nurse, who had apparently already set the controller.

  I saw her push the button and my head exploded as I passed out, a brilliant flash consuming my consciousness.

  **********

  I awoke sometime later, my head throbbing. This time I remembered what they’d done to me. I was numb from the shock, but I started to cry. If they had truly done what they intended, I’d never be able to read or write again!

  Think about what that would mean to anyone in their mid-twenties!

  I would be forever unable to have a career at anything other than manual labor. I could never read a book, write a book, or even write a short email! I couldn’t read packages in stores, let alone any details about the product in the package. Everything I ever knew would have to be told to me verbally – in Arabic - since I could no longer handle English!

  If I ever had children, I’d never be able to read to them. At that thought, I began to cry uncontrollably.

  Master tried to speak to me, to order me to do something … but I was so distraught that I didn’t listen to him. Then, suddenly, my face was slapped harder than I’d ever been hit. The blow was hard enough to knock me unconscious.

  Someone was using smelling salts to awaken me. My head jerked back against the chair into which I was still fastened. I was confused. My eyes were having trouble focusing. My head hurt everywhere, and my ears were ringing from the blows I’d taken, apparently to both sides of my head.

  The matron nurse started to unstrap me while I was still trying to get my senses back. She spoke to me but I didn’t understand her.

  “I … I don’t understand,” I replied in Arabic, after I’d formulated what I wanted to say. Speaking was tedious because of what the controller had done to me, and more so now because of the blows I’d received.

  “I told you, in English, to remain seated after I unfasten you,” the matron nurse told me. Then she showed me a tablet computer that was displaying a page with some sort of meaningless print on it.

  “What is this?” I asked. I thought it might be Cyrillic script, or maybe just senseless scribbling.

  “It’s simply a short article from a few months ago about a young American woman who’s been lost for a while. It’s in English.”

  “Is it about me?” I asked, astonished.

  “No, nothing here about Fatina,” she said.

  That would have been too big a coincidence, I realized.

  Even to my befuddled mind, it was clear that I hadn’t recognized a single word she had said or I had seen printed in English. Somehow, the controller had taken even the simplest remaining knowledge of my native language from me. I couldn’t even make sense of letters. When I tried to think about it, I couldn’t understand how marks on a screen or paper could be related to a language. Based on the way I’d passed out, and the incredible pain in my head which still hadn’t lessened much, I knew they had permanently damaged me, damaged my brain and my mind.

  I’ll call for my car shortly,” Negasi told the matron, “but I’d like two things done before we leave.”

  “Certainly Agha.”

  “First, hand me the controller,” he said, reaching out his hand. He did something and pushed the engage button. I felt a tingling in my head yet again, but didn’t know what he’d done to me.

  We all stood there, more or less idly, waiting for I knew not what.

  I f
elt what I thought was an insect moving down my leg. I was about to reach down when the feeling expanded and I realized I was getting wet.

  I was pissing myself. I tried to stop, but couldn’t. I didn’t know how to control my bladder!

  I didn’t know what to do! I kept on until, I assume, my bladder was emptied onto the floor. Using the controller, my Master had made me incontinent!

  “You seem unable to control yourself, Fatina,” he said to me with a twinkle in his eye. He thought it was funny that I no longer had bladder control! “We aren’t stopping, so this will serve well for the drive ahead. I know you would try to hold it, rather than soil yourself. Now you have no choice. I’ll restore your control when we get to the Enakazin.”

  He turned to the matron and gave her instructions. I didn’t think Negasi ever asked, he always commanded. “Clean her out with an enema, and clean her up everywhere afterwards.”

  I saw the look of disgust or disdain on the matron’s face. I thought it was a fine reward for what she’d done to my mind, even if Negasi had requested it. It was the best I could have expected. I knew I wouldn’t enjoy the enema, but I resolved that the matron wouldn’t either. Then, my Master undercut me.

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She smiled and bowed her head. Apparently, the matron knew he’d be as good as his word.

  Negasi left the small clinic room holding a mobile phone to his ear. I remember being surprised that he had any signal at all. The matron removed an impressive selection of items from the cupboard, and told me to stand still, bend over, and grasp my ankles.

  A probe was inserted into me, into my rosebud, and I felt a growing pressure, as though the entire entrance to my ass were being expanded. She was inflating the probe so that I couldn’t expel it. Five minutes later, my bowels were flooded with some sort of cleansing solution, and I was cramping from the effect of all this fluid within me.

  I moaned and begged the matron to stop and release me. Instead, still more fluid, and the concomitant pressure, were added to my lower abdomen. An eternity passed. I wanted to eject what she had infused into me, but I couldn’t! It was as though I were stoppered shut – which I actually was!