by Sarah Forth
The women left immediately and the Emir returned to playing with me. He removed my clothes so slowly, caressing my body all the time as he did so. He enjoyed playing with my breasts, and I confess that I found his fingers stimulating as they stroked and squeezed me there. The nipples hardened under his manipulation and I began to feel the pleasure of arousal. He was so expert. I felt myself growing inside, wanted to take advantage of this helpless woman myself as I watched her being teased, stroked, provoked and excited. Now and again the Emir reminded me of my position by squeezing the breasts too tightly, causing pain as well as pleasure. And eventually, he climbed on to the bed himself to lie beside me as he studied and probed me. Then he moved over and climbed on top of me. His legs slid between mine until he was able to spread me open to receive him, whether I was willing or not. At the time, I was truly ambivalent about being penetrated. I had seen him toying with the woman in the mirror above me, had seen her writhing helplessly against her bonds and his hands, had been stimulated both by the sight and the feelings he aroused in this body. I wanted to fuck her myself but knew that I was incapable now of ever fucking a woman again. But what had been me was still inside there somewhere, was still capable of being excited, even if it could never be satisfied. The only hope seemed to be that his weapon might just reach inside to that spot which itched so desperately and which had not been used for so long.
He continued to tease and frighten me, alternately gentle and rough, threatening and consoling until I didn’t know what was happening or what was going to happen next. I wanted him to fuck me, actually found myself wanting to feel his weapon inside me, half hoping that there would be some little pleasure for me. In reality, I knew that was impossible but at least I wanted to be satisfied that he could want to fuck me as a woman rather than as a man. I found myself begging again, pleading with him to come inside me properly, to let me please him as I had been trained. And when he started to push himself inside me, I wondered at what had happened. When I had worked him inside myself, he had penetrated me relatively easily but now, since I had become excited by seeing myself in the mirror, my tunnel had contracted and was resisting his entry. Despite the slippery lubricant, he was having to push vary hard to get in and my tunnel was resisting all the way. At first I worried that he would take this as evidence of reluctance, that I was resisting him too fiercely so that he would instead take advantage of my alternative passage. But then, as I saw the look of satisfaction on his face, I remembered how much more enjoyable it was to feel a really tight fanny. I could feel my now internal prick grasping his, making his entry more exciting for him as it seemed to clutch him. The pressure was enormous as he thrust it inside me, the pain intense, almost overwhelming the arousal I had been feeling. I knew that I was giving him far more than I had ever expected. Nothing had ever been inside there except the model of his prick which had been used to mould me to shape and with which he had already raped me many times. Nothing should ever have been in there, I knew. But somehow, I wanted to feel it in me, wanted to give him pleasure in the slender hope of something else. I hardly knew it but I was writhing and thrusting back at him in exactly the way that I had been trained. I did catch sight of myself from time to time in the mirror above us but the sight was erotic rather than a reflection of me. I could watch as the woman was fucked, a voyeuristic source of pleasure but not one which replaced the genuine arousal I was feeling as I felt his weapon inside me.
Every time I think of that I am horrified at myself. He has got me to such a state that I can actually talk as if I am grateful for being raped, for having a man’s tool stuck inside a space which has no right to be there. But I was grateful, especially when he kept working at me until I found myself responding again. I could see the reflected images of my deflowering in the mirror above the bed and those around the walls. The man inside me could be excited by the sight of the helplessly bound, ash blonde and temptingly unclothed woman being ravished by the lusty Arab. I felt myself getting aroused again, felt my tunnel constricting, clutching his weapon inside me. I wanted to feel this. I know that despite myself, over and above the responses I had been trained to give, I was actually helping him, enjoying being ravished as a woman, relishing the sudden extra surge of sexuality as he drove deep inside me and half touched something I thought that I had lost. I was being stimulated towards an artificial orgasm as a man-woman. I had to submit to him because his stamina was so much greater than my own. There came a point when suddenly he seemed to slip deeper inside me. It was as if my own tool had been turned completely inside out and was now clasped round his. Where the head of my glans had been seemed to be a tighter ring, a ring which was so excited by the contact with his invading tool. Within a few strokes he had brought me to a shattering peak of feeling which made me shout out with the pleasure, just as he did himself at the very moment of my orgasm. He had pushed in deeper and deeper and I had suddenly become aware of a sensation I had never expected to feel again. It was as if the head of his penis had rubbed against the part of me which had been removed. There was a spasm of pain as he thrust in just a little deeper than before and it seemed as if the head had lodged inside my own! I know now that the expert who created that secret tunnel inside me is even more expert that I had ever imagined. My own tool has been completely inverted and rebuilt, even to the retention of the head as an inverted, extra pocket deep inside me. What happens when I am aroused is that what had been my penis grows inside me, tightening the tunnel while pulling what had been the head deeper inside me. But it is still there, although it is now a ring of nerve endings around an small extra pocket. As the Emir’s penis slipped into that pocket, the nerve endings were stimulated just as they would have been by contact with a woman’s tunnel. The Emir’s penis just fits this space and the sensation of his glans sliding in an out of that tighter ring is exciting to him as well as to me. It had been so long since I had reached anything like an orgasm. I had given up all hope of ever having such an experience again. And I had certainly never expected to be brought to orgasm by having a man’s prick inside me. It was mind-blowing. I wanted him to move in and out of me, wanted to feel that wonderfully exciting friction as he rubbed against me there. I was clutching at him with my legs to hold him against me. And I caught sight of the abandoned woman in the mirror above me as she spread her legs, thrust herself back against her lover, held him to her with her ankles behind his buttocks. And I heard myself making the sounds of a stimulated and excited woman, the sounds which I had been taught to make as I was supposed to simulate the orgasm I was now experiencing, and which I was suddenly aware of provoking in the Emir himself. He was suddenly thrusting even harder and even deeper into me than before, the sweat beading on his brow as he grunted and then exploded with pleasure. I was aware of that sudden surge of pleasure as we both reached a peak of excitement and then I was also aware of the extra wetness inside me as he ejaculated. It was as if I had done so myself, although without that part of my anatomy, I shall never do that again. But the sensation was as satisfying for all that.
It the most shattering orgasm, one which matched any I had achieved with a woman. Somehow I understood the magical skill of that surgeon. No wonder I had felt that sexual excitement caused my tunnel to expand inside me, had taken my most sensitive spot out of reach. I had been reconstructed with my prick inside rather than outside, could enjoy being fucked as a woman while gaining all the pleasure previously available to me as a man. And because of the care with which I have been made, only his tool can reach me there to give me that deep pleasure.
When he had finished, he lay on top of me for a time. I could feel his tool shrinking in size, just as the tunnel which had been created out of my own was relaxing its grip on him. I have no muscular control there, can only respond through stimulation and once sated, relax into a flaccid state, just as before. And as that tunnel shrank, and eventually he lifted himself off me and left me. I was abandoned, still held helplessly, with outspread arms, a truly abandone
d woman. Above me I could see the depraved creature I had become, reflected in that mirror. She was naked, except for the opened blouse, her breasts heaving as she struggled to regain her composure. And I could feel the results of his ejaculation beginning to leak wetly from my opening, running out and down between my buttocks, a disgusting and slimy mess. I had to lie there and wait to be released, the humiliation of having contributed to my own violation reinforced by my helplessness and by the feelings of utter despair as I reflected on my future.
I could never have believed before this all started that I would have such an experience, that I would get my greatest ever pleasure from being fucked rather than by fucking. But the Emir now has the perfect stimulator for my specially created tunnel. I fit him and he fits me so exactly. I learned then that pleasing him will also please me, despite the humiliations he will no doubt inflict on me in the future. Only with his prick inside me can I experience again the pleasures of being a man. But to achieve that pleasure I must behave exactly like a woman.
I acknowledge that I am tamed. There is no longer any point in resistance. I have confessed to my little pleasures, almost the only ones which remain to me. And I have to admit even though I am ashamed to confess it, that he does have the power to excite me in a way that I would never have thought possible. Some of it does stem from what I was, from imagining the effect on the man inside me if he were able to treat me as I am treated. But he shares that knowledge, and takes advantage of it to get his own pleasure. In return for allowing him his pleasure, he is very fair. I do travel, do have quite considerable freedom, can spend his money almost as if it were my own. I do have to wear the most fashionable clothes, suitable for the travelling companion of so eminent a figure. Although I am hardly ever left alone, guarded always either by one of his taciturn fellow countrymen, who no doubt sees it as his duty to ensure that his master’s woman is not molested or tempted into misbehaviour. Or by the harem women, who ensure that I am no longer able to take advantage of the body I inhabit. They watch me like hawks and at the slightest sign of such behaviour, I am made helpless, incapable of touching any of those parts which they regard as belonging to him. I am not even allowed to apply the creams and lotions which are still softening and improving my skin; that is all done for me; usually by the most unattractive, ancient harridan imaginable. So I get my only relief when he deigns to take me. Because I am not his only distraction within his travelling entourage, I sometimes get quite long periods without any attention from him. I am still expected to keep myself available, to help him to entertain his guests at formal and informal functions. Without his attentions and deprived of any method or opportunity to relieve the sexual tensions which still arise, I then begin to get neurotic; I begin to wonder whether he has tired of me, has lost interest in using me at all or has acquired a new, more natural interest. Then I worry in case I am to be demoted from this state, to become as HE threatened, merely another one of the services offered to those he seeks to please and entertain, given to whatever man he chooses with the need to ensure that he is satisfied. But so far, I have never been left without a visit from him for more than two weeks. Then he may use me as he will, or let me give him his pleasure in the many ways that I have now been taught. In return I am able to get some satisfaction myself, to relieve the tensions within me, knowing that he at least appreciates that I am not all woman, that despite appearances something else remains. But his pleasure is paramount. Whether I submit willingly, play the temptress and seductress or fight against the humiliation and degradation he forces upon me, eventually I know that I shall be used precisely because it pleases him to use me, to feel that specially created part of me around the part it was created for.
I am indeed ‘maid to measure’ - for him!
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