Becoming Ghaniyah- A Tale of Bondage and Submission

by Paul Blades

  There was a full length mirror inside of a closet in the room and Mrs. Moussa brought Leslie over to it so that she could see herself in all her slave regalia. Leslie’s gloom had grown deeper and deeper with each additional adornment. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she was aghast. She hardly recognized herself. Not that she wasn’t alluring. Latifah had an expert’s touch. Her makeup was just enough to emphasize her status as a whore, but not so much that she looked whorish. Her face was alive with color and she looked birdlike with her eyes accentuated. Her mouth looked succulent and inviting. Her breasts, so pale around the dark red discs of her painted areolas and teats, looked soft and malleable. The jewelry she had been adorned with glittered.

  But it was her pussy that really shocked her. The servant who had seen her emerge from the basement had looked at her hairless loins as if seeing a strange creature for the first time. Now they would stand out even more, invite caresses, beg for penetration. The little tapering point made it seem like a temple where it would heaven to dwell. A darkness separated the two, daring red lines, promising passion, lust, ecstasy.

  Despite its adornments, her body seemed more naked than naked. The places left undecorated stood out starkly. The unpainted portions of her labia seemed puffed out and prominent. Her breasts seemed larger, her belly, flatter and more delicate. Her thin, elegant thighs seemed smoother and longer. The bright gold jewelry made her pale skin seem even paler.

  And if her other accouterments advertised her as a whore, her collar and bracelets advertised her as a slave.

  Latifah had one more adornment. Miserable, deathly fearful of disobedience, Leslie followed her mistress on her hands and knees, her earrings jingling musically, as she stepped back over to where the large, powerful woman was kneeling next to one of her bags of tricks. When Leslie was kneeling tall next to her, thighs wide, back straight as she had been taught, Latifah showed Mrs. Moussa a four inch long, smooth tube. It was approximately five inches around. On one end it terminated in a rounded cone. On the other end was a bright, ornately decorated, golden colored disk about five inches in diameter, with a circle of red amethysts around it. It was designed to look like a large, blooming flower.

  Mrs. Moussa didn’t know what it was for, so Latifah had to explain it to her. Mrs. Moussa laughed when she finally understood. They made Leslie bend over. Mrs. Moussa spread her rear cheeks while Latifah, after applying a thin coating of lubrication, slid it into Leslie’s rear portal. Leslie groaned as she felt it fill her. Latifah gave her a mighty swat on her left rear cheek that stung like the blazes. Tearful, Leslie quieted, but that did not allay her dismay at the presence of the new adornment to her body. Latifah, holding still a knob in the middle of the disk, turned the disk towards the right. Leslie gasped as she felt the tube expand inside of her. Latifah, for Mrs. Moussa’s benefit as well as Leslie’s, gave the device a couple of yanks. It did not come out.

  Mrs. Moussa laughed and laughed. She rubbed her hands over Leslie’s rear cheeks several times and then pulled at the device for her own amusement. She made Leslie crawl across the room. The disk stood out prominently from her rear. Then she made her walk back and forth, and it could still be seen clearly.

  Leslie was in tears when she came back across the room. Latifah had to remind her with a loud clap of her hands and a stern, foreboding look to get back down on her knees.

  “Well, you’re all made up like the whore you are,” Mrs. Moussa told her gaily when she was settled. “And if anyone wants to use your back side, and I can tell you that for some of Mr. Moussa’s friends it is their preference, you will be all ready to receive them.” She laughed and then patted Latifah on the knee, apparently profusely thanking her.

  Leslie cringed at he woman’s words. “Mr. Moussa’s friends!” she thought frantically. “I’ll have to fuck his friends! Oh, no, please don’t let it be true!” Her body felt sickened.

  Mrs. Moussa turned back to Latifah. They had a brief conversation. Mrs. Moussa’s eyebrows raised and she asked her a short question. Latifah nodded affirmatively. Mrs. Moussa’s face lit up and she smiled.

  Leslie watched forlornly as Mrs. Moussa crossed the room. She picked up the telephone near her chair and punched in a number. When the phone was answered on the other end, she barked out an order and then hung it up. She gave Leslie a sinister smile and then came back and knelt down next to her, letting her beautiful, multicolored skirt flower around her.

  “I heard that they gave you a new name at the prison,” she said to Leslie. “Ghaniyah. It is a pretty name. That’s what your name will be from now on here too. You are a pretty little whore so you should have a pretty little whore’s name.”

  Mrs. Moussa let her pronouncement sink in. Leslie was deeply disturbed by the loss of her name again. She bit her lip and tried to fight back her tears.

  Just then, the door to the salon opened. Leslie watched as the house mistress and two of the pretty, young maids came into the room. Leslie blanched at the idea of them seeing her as she was, naked and painted up like a whore. She watched as the house mistress handed something to Mrs. Moussa. It was a golden disk, oval in shape and about three inches long. There was some Arabic writing etched deeply into it.

  “Latifah has brought you some very nice gifts, Ghaniyah, but I have something for you too,” she said. “I was going to have it attached to your collar, but Latifah had a much better idea. I thought that she would have to do it some other time, but she tells me we can do it right now. Lie down on your back and spread your legs.”

  Trembling, Leslie complied. Cautiously, her suspicious eyes on her mistress, she spread her thighs.

  Mrs. Moussa gave an order to the three women who had come in. The pretty, young maids, hesitated, but the house mistress repeated the order and clapped her hands for emphasis. They jumped to obey. They went to Leslie’s sides, knelt down and took hold of her thighs. They pulled them until they were far back, raising Leslie’s hips and displaying her painted love lips. The house mistress knelt down by Leslie’s head and took hold of her wrists, pinning them down to the floor above her.

  Latifah had been busy at one of her bags. Leslie looked up and saw that she had adorned herself with clear, plastic surgical gloves and had a long, thick, silver needle in her hand. She watched as the woman washed it in a solution, drying it with a small, clean, white cloth. She gave Leslie a pleased look and then advanced until she was between her thighs. When Leslie saw her bend down towards her loins, a wave of fear passed through her. She started to struggle, but the three women held her down fast.

  “Please don’t! Please!” she begged. Latifah gave the other women an order and Leslie felt her hips raised and a thick cloth being slid under her. They let her back down. She looked up at Mrs. Moussa who was watching the unfolding event with a humored, disdainful look. “Please don’t do this! Please!’ Leslie whined.

  “Shut up, whore, or I’ll have you whipped to the bone,” Mrs. Moussa said angrily. Leslie clamped her lips together and whined.

  Latifah opened a small package and withdrew a square, white bandage. She wetted the bandage with the solution and then wiped it over the lower portion of her right, outer labia, covering it thoroughly. Leslie remembered Latifah pinching it and making a comment to Mrs. Moussa a short while before. Latifah tossed the bandage aside and picked up the needle. She bent over and took hold of Leslie’s skin. Leslie felt the point of the needle press against her. She closed her eyes. A fierce pain shot through her as her labia was punctured. She screamed and her body shook. The women held her steady. The needle slid back and forth several times, making sure that the pathway was clear. Her wound burned and she broke into sobs.

  Latifah put the needle aside and picked up a thick, golden ring, about two inches long. There was a gap in it about a ½ inch wide. She washed the ring in the solution and then brought it and a small pair of shiny, stainless steel pliers to her loins. She placed the ring through the hole she had made. Leslie squirmed and moaned as the ring abraded her wo
und. Latifah issued a small grunt as she strained to press the ring closed with the pliers. She gave the ring a little tug. Leslie’s body stiffened and she moaned disconsolately as more pain shot through her. Latifah smiled.

  Mrs. Moussa handed her the disk. Latifah washed it with the solution and then brought it down to her loins. The disk had an unjoined ring through a small hole on one end. Latifah maneuvered that ring around the ring in Leslie’s labia and closed it off with the pliers. She gave it a tug, making Leslie moan again, and then sat up and smiled once more.

  Mrs. Moussa edged herself closer and leaned over. Latifah took hold of the disk so that Mrs. Moussa could see it. She laughed and clapped her hands.

  “Oh, Ghaniyah, it looks so pretty. Do you want to know what it says? It says, ‘Ghaniyah, Slave of the House of Moussa.’ That’s what you are now, a slave. Anyone who uses you will be able to see it and know what you are. You’ll feel it everyday when you walk or crawl, swinging below your pretty pussy, tapping against your thigh. And we can use the ring to chain you down when we want you to stay in one place. Or we can attach a leash to it and lead you around. It will be very useful.”

  Leslie moaned as she thought of what Mrs. Moussa was saying. Her eyes were full of tears. Her loins burned where the wound was. It was pulsing and throbbing. She could feel the disk laying against her thigh.

  Mrs. Moussa gave the maids an order and they released Leslie’s legs. They and the house mistress quickly left the room.

  “Get on your knees, whore,” Mrs. Moussa commanded. Despite the agonizing pain emanating from her piercing, Leslie struggled to her knees. She spread her legs and put her hands behind her back. She could feel the weight of the disk below her.

  “We’re almost done, Ghaniyah,” Mrs. Moussa said pleasantly. “I have just one more thing for you. She got up and strode over to her chair. There was a small plastic bag on the floor to its left and Mrs. Moussa brought it over. She knelt down before Leslie, who had reassumed her position, and took something out of the bag.

  It was a soft, round, bright blue rubber ball. There was some Arabic writing on it on one side. When it was turned around, the same word was spelled out in English. Leslie looked at it. In deep red letters, it said, “Whore.”

  “Open your mouth, Ghaniyah,” Mrs. Moussa ordered. Disconsolate, Leslie obeyed. Mrs. Moussa pressed the ball in. It was just a little bigger than the opening of her mouth and it took a little pressure for it to pass over her lips. Once inside, it filled the whole cavity, making Leslie’s cheeks bulge. It forced her lips apart and a crescent of blue could be seen between her teeth. Leslie pressed down hard, trying to bring her lips together, but while the soft ball would compress just a bit, it was not enough for her to close her mouth. She was about to whine her dismay when she saw Latifah looking at her sternly. Not wanting another slap, she suppressed it unhappily.

  “You will keep this in your mouth at all times unless you are eating or giving someone pleasure,” Mrs. Moussa informed her. “It will be a continuous reminder of what you are.”

  Mrs. Moussa rose to her feet and straightened her elegant, colorful skirt. She stood before Leslie, towering over her in all her awful beauty. Her face was hard and she looked down at Leslie with undiluted hatred. Her voice turned hard and cruel. “You came to my house to flaunt you sluttish ways. I saw you eying my husband. You thought with your big breasts and big doe like eyes that you could seduce him away from me. Now you are just a thing to be used, an animal we will keep around the house for fucking. And if you fail to please anyone in any little way, you will suffer a terrible beating every time. I will make sure of it.”

  She took a deep breath. Her harsh words pierced Leslie’s mind. She wanted to protest, to beg forgiveness, to promise she would go away and never return. But she knew that uttering a single syllable would result in immediate, harsh punishment. She knew too that any plea for mercy would be of no avail.

  “Mr. Moussa will be back after lunch,” Mrs. Moussa continued. “You will be presented to him then. I am sure he will enjoy making use of you. I want you to think of me when he has his cock in your mouth. It is I who put it there.” Her voice grew harsher and her face arranged itself into a mask of rage. “I knew that you had gone out that day to show off your sluttish body to everyone,” she shouted. “Who do you think it was who called the police? It was me! Who do you think told Captain Khalil to bring all those charges against you! It was me! You will be our little whore! And when we are through with you, you will be sent back to prison to serve a sentence of twenty years! My uncle is a judge and I will make sure that the case comes before him. That is what happens to slutty little whores who come here to steal our husbands! If I were you, I would be the best little whore I could be, because all that awaits you afterwards is a dark, dismal cell. So enjoy yourself as our guest while you can.”

  Leslie burst into tears. She had known that Mrs., Moussa didn’t like her, but she had never guessed that it had burst into full blown hatred. To think that she was the one behind all of her troubles! And now she had to serve her, suck her pussy, crawl before her on her hands and knees! “…..eeeeeeeeeeease!” she tried to beg. “…….eeeeeeeeeeeease! …on’t ooo is! …eeeeeeeeeeease!”

  In an instant, she felt a resounding slap across her face. It was Latifah, enforcing her mistress’s rules. She fell over, her face stinging and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. She had been right! It was a nightmare! A living nightmare! She would never be free of it! “Why is this happening to me! Why!” she cried to herself.

  She felt a harsh tug on her hair. Latifah pulled her back to her knees. She gathered her arms behind her, slipped the chain from her right wrist through the ring in the back of her collar and affixed her other wrist to it. Leslie moaned from the pain. Latifah moved in front of her. She took Leslie’s right breast in the palm of her left hand and then came down on it ferociously with her right. It made a loud slapping noise and Leslie screamed. Then she did her left breast and Leslie screamed again. She grabbed her nipples and squeezed them harshly, making a face at her and uttering a long, insistent, “Shhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  The pain was excruciating, but Leslie knew that it would not stop until she was silent. She used all of her concentration to bring her whines of pain to an end. She took a deep breath through her nose and held it, frantic to ease the torture to her breasts. Slowly, Latifah released them.

  When Leslie looked up, Mrs. Moussa was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A sense of panic stormed through Leslie’s brain. Mrs. Moussa had abandoned her to the custody of the other woman, the cruel former mistress of a harsh bordello. Any opportunity she might have had to plea for mercy had gone. She had never felt so alone in the world, so helpless. She fought back tears. She looked at the woman who would be her caretaker and saw a callous mistress who would mold her into a whore. She had already struck her cruelly many times. Her life was going to be a continuous hell.

  Her shoulders ached from her wrists confinements. Her sex lip still burned from the cruel adornment they had installed there. She could feel the large, offensive instrument in her rear spreading wide her anal ring. The jewelry on her chest lay there heavily. Her earrings tingled at the slightest movement. Her mouth was clogged by the large ball they had put in it and the harsh word imprinted on it burned into her mind. She had come into the room as Leslie Harrington, a victim of cruel circumstance and would be leaving as Ghaniyah, Slave of the House of Moussa.

  The heavyset woman moved towards Leslie and, putting her hand on the back of her head, pressed down until her forehead was touching the floor. She left her that way while she gathered the detritus of their playtime together. When she was done, she clapped her hands together twice. Leslie looked up and Latifah was making a sign that she should rise. Sorrowfully, she rose to her feet. Her minder had a golden leash with a fine, polished leather handle. In her other hand was a three foot long, supple stick. She clipped the leash to the ring in the front of Leslie’s collar and pulled her forward. Lesli
e had no choice but to follow her.

  They went out into the hallway, walked down the corridor to the hub of the mansion and then turned to go towards the dining areas. As they walked, Leslie’s bells tingled musically. They passed a number of the servants who all gave Leslie long, astonished looks.

  Instead of entering the dining room, Latifah brought her into the kitchen. It was a large room, big enough to cook for the huge banquets the Moussa’s sometimes had. There were several cooks, all older women, dressed in dark shirtwaist dresses and wearing white aprons that covered their bodices and the front of their skirts and tied behind their necks. They all looked up at Leslie when she came in, towed behind Latifah. They formed a small circle around her. Leslie tried to shy away from them, but Latifah pulled her up with her leash.

  The women oooouuud and ahhhhhed. They exchanged amused and incredulous statements between them. Latifah proudly showed her off. She made her spread her legs so that they could see her red lined purse and the golden decorations that dangled there and then turned her around so they could behold the golden flower that peaked out of her rear end. They admired her eyes when Latifah took hold of Leslie’s chin and turned it this way and that. They fingered the jewelry on her chest and played with the bells on her ears. One of them reached out and squeezed a breast. Leslie issued a little squeaking sound that made them all laugh.

  After a few minutes, the women all went back to work. Latifah spoke to one of them and the woman gave her a bowl of steamed couscous and lamb. Latifah guided Leslie over to the corner of the room, put the bowl on the floor and snapped her fingers, pointing down. She gave a command that Leslie came to learn meant, “On your knees.” Leslie quickly lowered herself to the floor, a difficult task to perform gracefully with her hands still bound up high behind her. Latifah reached her fat fingers into her mouth and extracted the soft, rubber ball that resided there. Then she pointed to the bowl on the floor, giving a command that meant, “Eat.”