Maid to Measure

by Sarah Forth

  There is another part which I have not dared to reveal until now. But perhaps there is a chance that the knowledge will temper his sense of triumph. There is a secret source of pleasure even in this dreadful situation.

  What he has done to me through the actions of those expert surgeons, the man who has re-fashioned my sex organs, the cosmetic surgeons who have so altered my face, the endocrinologists who have altered the hormonal balance of my body, given me breasts and entirely changed the texture of my skin, the people who have removed my body hair through electrolysis and that expert who has so altered my voice, has been to create for the Emir his version of the perfect western woman. Yet I am still a man inside her. When I want to remind myself that he cannot really control me, cannot take everything away from me, I can give myself, the man inside this body, the treat which is only otherwise available to the Emir. I can do just what I used to do while those women were teaching me how to do a strip tease. I can do it for the man within me. I can parade in front of the mirrors, admire her wonderful figure, provoke myself into sexual arousal using the body which he has made totally available to me. I cannot actually get complete satisfaction despite my arousal because my organs don’t permit that. I can feel myself getting excited there but the effect seems to be that of something growing inside me. I know enough about women to know that I haven’t been given exactly the same sort of tunnel, don’t have the same excitement spots, the same internal capacity. And although I get excited, there is no way that I have yet found of provoking the peak of that excitement for myself. Somehow, when I am excited, I want to be able to touch the part of me which is no longer there, despite my revulsion. I have the feeling that there is a place, deep inside, almost getting deeper as I think about it, which could respond if only I could reach it. The nearest I can now get to satisfaction is through manipulating my own breasts, playing with the teats until they tingle and throb, sending that throb deep down inside me, making my insides churn but not quite getting me to an orgasm. That sort of pleasure is now forever denied - just as HE intended.

  There is another secret source of pleasure and although I don’t often get the chance to experience it, there seems every chance that the opportunities will be more frequent if I co-operate. As a woman, other women do not feel the same need to exercise modesty near me. I can loiter in ladies’ changing rooms, watch them unself-consciously taking off their clothes in front of me as they try on dresses, skirts, blouses, underwear. I am one of them and I can prompt their performances by behaving less than entirely modestly myself, giving them the signal that there is nothing to be afraid of, no need for false modesty. The young ones in the most expensive shops are the best. It was when I had been taken shopping to a fancy French store that I managed to get a girl to show me almost everything in a communal changing area. I had been taken into the store by one of the Emir’s bodyguards and my female minder to choose the clothes for my ‘honeymoon’. It was an event I was dreading and every time something like that happened to remind me of it, I felt sick. Anyway, I had been sent in to try on some underwear which the Emir was determined that I should wear for him and there was a young girl of about twenty in the changing room already. I asked her for her opinion about my stockings and the knickers I was ‘trying on’, admired her legs, made flattering comments about her bust, asked what sort of bra’ she preferred and even sent out for a very expensive style like the one I was wearing in her size for her to try. And in return for those little attentions, she did for me what she would never have done as willingly when I was a man. Then my conquests were relatively expensive and difficult. Getting a woman to show herself off to me then needed different skills, had other penalties. Now it is so easy. She slipped off her blouse and her bra’, standing only inches in front of me while she nestled her delightful little breasts into the bra’. I managed to get it put on the Emir’s account among all the other underwear I was bought that day in gratitude for the show. Although it was so exciting it was also extremely frustrating to know that I could no longer do anything about my own excitement, could not excite her in the ways that I might previously have tried. I can just imagine the fuss she would have made if I had succumbed to the almost overwhelming temptation I was feeling - I wanted to touch her breasts, tease the nipples so that they swelled into prominence against the palms of my hands as I held her breasts in my fingers. They looked so tempting, so pert and fresh. But looking was as much as I dared, and enjoyable despite the frustration. So I do have some prospect of a little fun as a man in a woman’s body. But best of all, I enjoy the company of the body I am forced to wear myself. She is delightful and I can see why the Emir finds her so attractive. I can watch her and play with her for hours at a time admiring her wonderfully shaped body, longing to be able to take advantage of it myself. At least I could until recently.

  It’s not quite as good as that however. My internal organs do not lubricate themselves quite like a woman’s, at least not yet - that specialist thinks he will have perfected his new process in a few years and the Emir has already arranged for me to be treated when he has. Although I can enjoy the feelings of arousal I used to feel when getting ready for a session of love making with a girl, I can do nothing more. The feelings are there but I have no means of satisfying them. I think of the frustrations reported about the eunuchs in a harem, able to see and sometimes even touch the women there but quite unable to do anything to relieve the urges which they still feel. I still feel those urges, still want to be able to take advantage of a woman. And since I am the woman I am most easily able to take advantage of, I want to reach a culmination whenever I share her bed, bathe her, watch her dressing or undressing. But wanting is all that I can do. It feels as if the tunnel inside me grows as I used to grow myself. But if there is any growth, it is an internal growth, wholly invisible. Then I want to touch the part of me which used to provide that pleasure. But it has gone. I feel as if it is still there somewhere inside me but it is not within my reach. Sometimes I long to have that dildo thing they made me use, in the hope that I would be able to scratch the itch inside there but I realise that all of that is gone. I am just a hollow, empty vessel.

  B - Consummation

  Now I have seen everything. The Emir has shown me the video of her ‘deflowering’ after he had ‘married’ her. He wanted to emphasise her state and also to show her that he would enjoy her whether she was willing or not. So he had her prepared to his taste first - a very silky, loose blouse and a sophisticated, grey designer skirt, tightly fitted at the waist but flared at the hem and about mid-calf length, over very feminine underclothes - white, wide legged french knickers, a white satin underslip, sheer black stockings held up by a small basque which just held her exquisite young breasts jutting forward, almost tumbling over the top. When her makeup was complete and she had passed his harem mistress’ inspection, she was taken to her marriage chamber to wait for him, knowing that he would come for her. He had her arms tied behind her back with a light but adequate silk scarf and then left her tied loosely to the bed post waiting for almost two hours. The video shows her pacing about, trying to reconcile herself to what was going to happen, trying to compose herself, trying to anticipate how he would want her, what he would demand. He had prepared himself with almost as much care and when he finally arrived, he was wearing a loose robe, belted at the waist. She was released from the bed, although her arms were still tied behind her. He was very rough at first. grabbing her by the hair and throwing her to the ground so that she cowered at his feet, tremblingly wondering what would come next. He sat on the ottoman and lifted her head with his foot, making her aware without speech that he was ready for her. She tried to scramble to her feet but he prevented her, just letting her kneel in front of him. He indicated that she should open his robe which she was obliged to do with her mouth since her arms were still fixed uselessly behind her. And then he pulled her head into his crotch. She knew from her training that she was required to take him in her mouth, had practi
sed with the dildo which had been made as an exact replica of his erect tool. Delicately, taking every care not to cause him any pain or discomfort, she first licked the end, then gradually took it into her mouth, exciting him as she had been taught. He let her work him to full erection and then held her head still, holding her firmly by the ears and hair, enjoying the way she worked her tongue around him but not allowing her to bring him to orgasm. Suddenly he threw her away from him, as if displeased with her, as if she had offended him and needed punishment. She fell in a heap on the floor, incapable of raising herself to her feet with her arms held uselessly behind her, her expensive skirt in disarray around her thighs. She waited, unable to rise, unwilling to risk further displeasure until she could guess what he now wanted from her, cowering in submission. He clapped his hands and two of his harem women came in and approached her, seizing her and dragging her over to the bed.

  They clearly knew what she didn’t, what was to happen next. The scarf around her wrists was removed to reveal the heavy gold bracelets. She was dragged to the head of the bed and somehow the bracelets were clipped to the posts so that her arms were stretched wide. She stood, or rather crouched there, securely held by the clips on her wrists. A pair of anklets similar to the bracelets on her wrists were fitted round her ankles and then her legs were also spread apart and about four feet from the head of the bed. As soon as the women had fixed her, the Emir himself approached her and seemed to touch some control in the bed. A padded circular cylinder at the top of the bed moved steadily out beneath her until it caught under her hips. It continued to move outwards so that she was forced to crouch with her back level, her hips supported by the extended cylinder and her legs spread wide. The Emir tested the extent of the movement still available to her and when he was convinced that she was held as he wanted her, the women were dismissed.

  He left her there while he poured himself a drink from the salver his women had brought with them. With his glass in his hand, he walked round behind her, studying her. Her back was held down horizontally, her arms stretched forward and apart. He lifted the hem of her skirt with his foot, letting his bare foot rub against the insides of her calves. Still holding his drink in one hand, he used the other to lift the skirt higher, raising it to her waist and then folding it back to completely expose her white underslip. Then he went through the same performance with the slip, easing it up her legs and up to fold with the skirt over her bottom and reveal the white french knickers. He paused, seeming to appreciate what he saw - a helplessly and firmly pinioned female with her legs wide spread and exposed to her knickers. She was a magnificent sight and I have had a print made of this particular pose. She crouches for me, her bottom and her sex barely covered by the crotch of the knickers. The dark stockings provide a wonderful contrast with the soft smooth white skin of her upper thighs and there is just a hint of her face as she gazes back beseechingly at him, pleading for something which can only be guessed at.

  He put his drink down and started to play with her. He began by reaching over her and unbuttoning the blouse so that he could touch her breasts under the basque. Then, very slowly and gently, he eased the knickers down from her waist, down over her bottom and then pushed them down to her outspread knees where they lodged. Now her wonderful arse was fully exposed. And at that point she seemed to realise why the Emir had wanted her in the first place. It was as if at that moment she guessed that what he wanted was a man who looked like a woman, a man he could penetrate, could bugger, with impunity. No-one would think of him as a lover of men and boys - his taste was women, everyone would see that. But in fact he could indulge his perverted passions without hindrance - she would always be available. You can almost see the realisation dawning on her in the video. At first, apparently resigned to her fate as whore, she crouches passively where she is fixed, waiting for him to use her as the woman she has become. Then, in a sudden paroxysm of realisation, she begins to fight and struggle against the clips and chains which hold her so exposed to him. Her struggles continue as he touches her, enjoying the sensual feel of her clothes, the smoothness of her sheer stockings. He teases her by manipulating one breast out from the basque and moulding it in his hand, toying with it until it is clear that the nipple is engorged and swollen, sensitised by and sensitive to his gently probing fingers. Then he turns his attention to her exposed bottom and her newly acquired organ. It is exciting to see her wild struggles every time his fingers move near her anus. Her struggles then are so wild that she seems calm and docile when instead he touches her purpose built purse. He provokes himself by teasing and playing with her for several minutes and then he claps his hands again. The women return, and once more they know their function and their task. They brought with them a large syringe and it is clear that they use it to insert something, probably some sort of lubricant into both orifices, prolonging her uncertainty by this ambiguity. The women are dismissed again and the Emir returns to his pleasure. He seems to most enjoy seeing and feeling her struggling uselessly against her bonds, exploiting her vulnerability as she is held open and exposed to his probing fingers. And still she cannot accept this torment. It is as if she had been able to cope with the prospect of being used as a substitute woman, of having her purpose made tunnel exploited as it had been designed and built to be but was now incapable of accepting what was now about to happen. Her previously virgin arse was now completely available to this huge and dominant Arab, and now she remembered the reputation she had always associated with the race.

  If her struggles had been wild as he fingered her, they now reached new heights as he stood behind her and bent over to reach and hold both breasts in his large hands. As he stood behind her and played with those treasures, it was clear that his uncovered prick was now touching her. The Emir wanted her to struggle and had discovered how much more violently she struggled when he had touched her anus. So he provoked another convulsion by holding himself up so that his weapon stroked across her arse, hovering about the entrance. She could move only inches but move she did to avoid this contact. Her movements were so restricted as to be almost completely ineffectual but eventually she managed to dislodge his weapon so that it slipped down to rest against her silk purse. Then she seemed to press back against him as if welcoming his entry to this treasure cave. But he wanted to tease and humiliate her, to emphasise his total possession of her. It would be his decision which portal he entered by and the time of his entry. So he continued to tease her and generate further struggles by lifting his weapon back to its original position. Each repositioning provoked another spasm of revulsion, another attempt to dislodge him and to settle the tool in her preferred spot. And because he was not the pervert she had imagined him to be, he eventually let her win. He let his weapon rest against her entrance and just held still as she tried to thrust back at him and to somehow hold herself open for him. She managed to get just the tip inside at first but he just stood still behind her and forced her to work herself against him and draw more and more of it inside. Her engulfing of his enormous erection was painfully slow. She could move so little that each tiny thrust back at him increased his penetration of her by millimetres rather than inches. Again and again she was obliged to push herself back at him as she worked to get that tool lodged securely in the scabbard we had built for it. I felt triumphant as I watched - I still feel wonderfully satisfied, every time I watch the video. Between us we have forced him not to accept being raped but to prostitute himself, to offer himself up as harlot, to give himself willingly to a man, the Emir. This is not a record of a man being forcibly subjected to the humiliation of being raped but of a man-made woman offering herself willingly for a man’s pleasure, seeking to give him that pleasure by taking him inside herself and stimulating him while he is there!

  He let her demonstrate her total subjugation, just standing passively as she absorbed him. But within moments of sinking himself completely within her and without moving a muscle to help or take advantage of the prize she was offering, h
e began to pull away. Once again she seemed to go wild with fear and disappointment as she realised that even all those herculean efforts were to be wasted. He had let her subject herself to this extra indignity of actively giving herself to him only to reject her gift and threaten she knew not what. She was pleading, still trying to retain him inside her as he withdrew. And as he withdrew, he clapped his hands again to recall his harem women.

  They released her ankles but nothing else. Between them they lifted and turned her, lifting her up on to the bed where she lay on her back, her arms still wide spread and her knickers still caught round her knees. She lay there; indeed she could do little else. Her blouse had fallen open to reveal her delightful breasts, now thrusting up over and out of the restraining basque. Her skirt was in disarray, revealing her well-shaped legs in their sheer stockings. She did attempt, by wriggles of her legs and knees, to rearrange the skirt and knickers and so reveal less of herself but with only partial success. The women were dismissed again and then the Emir started on her in earnest. While she lay helpless to resist him, he toyed with her.