Becoming Ghaniyah- A Tale of Bondage and Submission

by Paul Blades

  Leslie hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to have to eat like a dog in front of all these people. She got a harsh slap cross her face for her delay. She released a sob and bent her head down towards her food.

  Latifah stood over her, making sure that she ate it all. When Leslie was done and licked the bowl clean, she got another one and made Leslie eat that one too. She was determined to fatten Leslie up right away.

  When the second bowl was done, Latifah washed her face and gave her a long drink out of a water bottle, reinstalling her blue rubber ball afterwards. Then, grabbing a rag, she pulled Leslie to her feet and brought her out the rear door of the kitchen. The sun was bright and burning down harshly. Several of the servants were sitting at picnic tables eating their lunch. Latifah brought her past them to a little stretch of rough ground. She bent over and forced Leslie’s legs apart. Then she pressed on her shoulders, forcing her down into a squat. She stood there waiting. At first, Leslie didn’t know what she was waiting for. Then she understood. She had been ordered to pee on the ground.

  A wave of misery went through her. The servants, two male ones and three pretty, little maids, were watching. One of them made a comment and they all laughed.

  She couldn’t do it! Not in front of all those people! She looked up at her oppressor beseechingly. Latifah just yanked at her chain and gave her a stern order. Leslie still couldn’t do it. Latifah held out her hand, showing all five fingers. Then she closed her hand and counted them off slowly, one by one. When the fifth finger was out, she reared back and gave Leslie a mighty blow from her stick across her breasts. Leslie whined and cried out. She lost her balance and Latifah pulled her back into position with the chain. Then she held out her hand again, splaying her fingers. She closed her fist and started counting them out again, popping each finger out in turn. Leslie tried and tried, but couldn’t get anything to come out. This time, Latifah struck her across her back. Leslie cried out in pain.

  Latifah held her hand out a third time. Leslie was frantic to avoid another blow. She pressed down with all her might. She watched dolefully as the fingers began to pop out of Latifah’s fist. Finally, when the fourth finger had emerged, she began a little trickle. It soon turned into a stream. It turned the light brown, water starved, sandy soil beneath her dark where it landed and permeated immediately into it. Tears were flowing down Leslie’s face. Latifah didn’t mind. It was what they all did in the beginning. She used waterproof makeup for just that reason. It was important that the sluts learned right away that their bodily functions were not their own and that for them, the concept of privacy didn’t exist.

  Once Leslie had released all of her water, Latifah wiped her quim with the rag, pulled her to her feet and brought her back into the kitchen. Leslie hadn’t seen it when she came in, but there was a 4’ by 3’ cage against the wall near the door they had entered by. Leslie grimaced when they started walking over to it. Confirming her worst fears, Latifah opened it, removed Leslie’s leash and motioned her to get in. Fearing a blow from the hot tempered matron, she went to her knees and shuffled her way in, bending her torso down so she could fit. When she was all scrunched in, Latifah closed the door and locked it. She hung the leash on a nail in the wall next to the cage.

  Leslie watched forlornly as Latifah received her own bowl of food and walked outside to consume it. She disappeared from view.

  The bottom of the cage was padded, but its area was small. Leslie had to shift herself around to get anywhere near comfortable. She found that if she pushed her back up against the bars, she could ease the strain that her uplifted arms were putting on her neck and shoulders. She sat with her knees up and her feet flat on the mat.

  The bars to the cage were thin, reinforced wires, really, and they were about four inches apart. She had a relatively unobstructed view of the activities in the kitchen and knew that anyone looking would have a relatively unobstructed view of her. She dismally watched the women scurrying back and forth. Occasionally, they would glance at her and smile, humored by her predicament.

  If it was near noon, it would be time for the family lunch. Before her days of woe had begun, Leslie had eaten with the family every day at every meal. The little dining room was just past a swinging door right in front of her. She knew that Mr. Moussa would not be back until after lunch, but she knew that Mrs. Moussa, Hajib and his sister, Jana, were probably in there right now. It pained her to contrast the elegant lunch they would undoubtedly eat with her coarse repast. They would sit around the table, be waited on by servants and consume their meal while having a refined conversation. The thought of it, and the recollection of her own mostly pleasant meals there caused a wave of despair to flow through her.

  Leslie’s stomach soured as she thought about her upcoming meeting with Mr. Moussa. It would be her first formal use as a painted whore. She wondered what Mr. Moussa’s reaction was going to be to all her decorations. She had been shamed when he fucked her yesterday, she would be shamed to be seen like this today. He would probably fuck her again, there was no doubt of that. A tear came to her eyes when she thought of it.

  Her mouth closed down on the soft ball in her mouth, reminding her of its presence. And then she thought of the bright red writing on it: Whore. It sickened her to think of that word being in her mouth. It was like having a foul presence there. She had to admit that it was an insidious torment that Mrs. Moussa had devised. She was sure to think about the infamous word in her mouth many times a day. She pressed her tongue against the ball to see if she could urge it out, but she could not move it. She gave it up, disheartened.

  At one point, Mrs. Moussa came into the kitchen. Her high heels made a distinctive, sharp clicking sound on the hard tile floor. She was still dressed in her elegant skirt and blouse. She had a piece of paper in her hand and she approached the head cook and showed it to her. There was a brief conversation and the cook nodded her head in understanding. While they were talking, Mrs. Moussa glanced at her. She gave Leslie a little smile and went back to her conversation. She left without looking at her again.

  After about a half hour, Latifah returned to the kitchen. She handed her bowl over to a dishwasher, a skinny old man with mangy hair and a weather-beaten face. She came over to the cage, opened it and urged Leslie out. When she was standing outside, she hooked her leash to her collar and gave it a tug.

  They returned to the central hub of the mansion and approached Mr. Moussa’s office. Leslie looked down forlornly at the desk where she used to sit. Latifah opened the door and brought Leslie in. She saw that some work had been done in the room since yesterday. There was a large ring in the floor about three feet away from Mr. Moussa’s desk. There was a six foot long chain attached to it. Latifah hooked the end of the chain to the ring on Leslie’s right ankle bracelet and then she ordered her to her knees, facing away from Mr. Moussa’s desk. She unhooked the leash from her collar. She gave her an order, that Leslie understood by the hand motions that accompanied it, meant for her to place her forehead on the floor, rise her hips and spread her legs. She complied immediately. She heard Latifah’s soft footfalls on the thick carpet as she left. The door closed behind her.

  Leslie realized that she was locked into position as firmly as if she had been bound in place. She didn’t dare lift her head. She couldn’t imagine the consequences if Latifah came back in and saw that she had moved.

  While she waited, her mind kept drifting back to the plug that filled her rectum and the bright golden disk that abutted its end. It would be the first thing Mr. Moussa would notice when he came into the room. His friends would fuck her there. Mrs. Moussa had said so. She couldn’t stand the thought of it. Strange men would use her. They would laugh and joke about her whorishness and then use her callously.

  Maybe it would be better to be in prison, she thought. And then she recalled the brutal guards, Sergeant Malikeh and Captain Khalil, being used by Jamilah every night, her rapes by Zarifa. She thought of the hard, cruel inmates, the long days and nights of bore
dom, the merciless stone walls. And once she went inside again, there would be little, if any, chance of escape. The same might be said for her current condition, but at least she was not in a prison. There were windows and doors and sometimes people forgot to lock them. Somehow, she pledged, she would find a way to get away, to be free again. It was the only thing she could cling to.

  When the door opened, she gave a little jump. She heard Mr. Moussa’s feet on the carpet. She sensed him going by her. He stopped for a couple of seconds, looking at her, and then sat down in his chair. He picked up the telephone and punched in a number.

  She envisioned with dismay his eyes flitting over her proffered, decorated rear, her painted love lips that peeked out under her, the dangling medallion that hung so heavily from her love lip. She heard him go through about four or five conversations while she knelt unhappily on the floor fretfully awaiting the moment he would take notice of her again and order her to get up.

  It happened about twenty minutes later. She heard Mr. Moussa put the telephone back in its receptacle. His chair turned. There was silence. She knew he was looking at her. She began to tremble. Then she heard his voice.

  “Get up, whore,” he said to her sternly. Leslie slowly struggled to her feet. The bells on her ears chimed daintily.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She edged her way to him. When she was standing a foot away from his knees, he began to examine her. He reached out his hand and jiggled the gold belt around her waist. He reached up and took hold of a breast, pinching it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. He made her turn around. He tugged playfully at the glittery flower in her rear and laughed. She felt him turning the dial, causing the intruder to narrow and then he glided it in and out of her a few times. When he pushed it in the final time, he turned the dial in the other direction, returning it to its uncomfortable fullness.

  Placing his hands on her hips, he made her turn around again. He played with her breasts, then ran his hands down over her hips and down her thighs. His hands were hot and strong. Leslie felt herself watering as he touched her. The thought of him using her, without her consent, being powerless to stop him, made her heart beat heavy and her breath short.

  “Spread your legs,” he told her. When she did, he ran his hands up the insides of her thighs. He halted at her painted pussy. Looking down at his hand, he ran a thick finger along the gap between her red lined lips. Leslie moaned as a thrill passed through her. He slipped the finger inside her tunnel, gliding in easily and sawed it back and forth a few times. Leslie felt her knees go weak. He took hold of the medallion that hung from her loins. Leslie hissed with pain as it tugged at the still raw hole. He looked at the inscription, gave a satisfied smile and then lowered it gently.

  When he pointed to the floor, Leslie sank to her knees. He took hold of her heavy breasts with his hands, weighing and assessing them, running his thumbs over her stiffened nipples. He took hold of her chin and turned her head this way and that, getting a good look at Latifah’s artistry. He saw the ball lodged in her mouth and, curious, he thrust his fingers in and pulled it out. He read the writing on it and it humored him. He put it down on the desk, spread his legs and lowered his fly. His prick emerged like a snake slinking out of a hole. Leslie took a deep breath, leaned over, opened her mouth and took it in.

  He kept her pace nice and slow. His one hand rested on her head, the other on her shoulder. Leslie could hear her little bells chiming lightly as she bobbed her head up and down. She washed his pole with her tongue, suckled on it gently, kept her lips formed tightly around it. Apparently dissatisfied with the depth of his penetration, his hand forced her head down, thrusting the tip of his cock into her throat, making her cough and choke. He held it there for a second or two and then let her resume her motion. Leslie learned from her lesson and sank her head down each time until his cock rubbed up against the back of her mouth before rising again.

  The telephone rang. He picked it up with his right hand while his left took hold of her head and stopped her motion. She heard him talking and a tinny voice in Arabic on the other end of the line. The conversation took a couple minutes. She knelt there, motionless, his stiff wand filling her mouth. She remembered Mrs. Moussa’s words. She was the one who put his cock in her mouth. She gave a little sob. Mr. Moussa, mistaking it for impatience, gave her head a hard swat. She silenced herself. When the phone call was over and he replaced the handset onto the receiver, she began her motions again.

  He was leaning back in his chair, enjoying the workings of her mouth. Once in a while, he released a soft sigh, but that was the only sign of the pleasure she was giving him. That and his rigid cock.

  When he finally groaned, Leslie took it as a sign that he wanted her to increase her pace, but she was wrong. He pushed her head off of his loins, took hold of the ring in her collar and pulled her to her feet. He pushed her torso over the desk. Leslie spread her legs and arched her back in anticipation of his use of her steaming canal. She needed him to fill her. Her lusts were so high that she felt ready to burst. She whined in disappointment when she felt him turning the dial on the device in her rectum. He slipped it out and put it down on a piece of tissue on his desk. Then he aimed his cock at the dainty, expanded hole, pressed against the still small entrance and plunged within.

  Leslie gave a moan of pain when her delicate ring expanded. When his motions began, thrusting her torso back and forth across his desk, she felt a tingling there. It traveled through her gut right to her pussy. It was like someone was passing a low voltage charge of electricity through her loins. She began to moan. He took hold of her wrists, dangling on their chain and brought them together until they were crossed, straining the muscles of her shoulders even more. Holding them with one hand, he pressed them down on her upper back, while his other hand held onto her hip.

  The incessant motion of his thick, rigid instrument was driving Leslie wild. Her moan got deeper and louder. His hand left her hip, took hold of the blue rubber ball, and shoved it back between her lips, silencing her.

  He began to fuck her with earnest. His hips banged against her rear cheeks. He pressed her down onto his desk harder. He took hold of the hair on the back of her head and pulled it until she lifted her chin from the desk and brought her head back. Her throat stretched and it became hard to breath. He was grunting now, giving her mighty thrusts, sinking deep within her.

  Suddenly, he groaned, his body stiffened and his cock began to throb and spurt. Leslie came too, her pussy shuddering and convulsing. She bit down on the ball in her mouth and, as her paroxysms of pleasure made her body shake, she remembered what was written on it. Whore. She was a whore. It was official.

  He stood leaning over her while he caught his breath. He released her wrists and slipped from her. She heard him open a drawer and pull out some wipes. He cleaned off his cock and tossed the wipe into the trash. He took the plug and reinserted it into her expanded anal ring. He turned the dial a couple of turns more than before. She would have to get looser back there if she was to accommodate him without problem.

  Leslie was still laying on his desk when the door opened. Small feet made their way to the desk. Leslie looked up. It was one of the maids. She had Mr. Moussa’s mail. She gave Leslie a disdainful look as she handed it to him. Then she turned and left.

  Moussa ordered her back to the floor, where she had been kneeling before. When she was settled, he sat down and began opening his mail. “I used to do that,” she thought miserably. “That was my job.” He would get someone new, probably a local girl. It would have to be someone who wouldn’t blanch when they saw Leslie naked and bound kneeling on the floor, or draped over the desk, or on her knees servicing his cock with her mouth.

  Mr. Moussa didn’t use her again that afternoon. She knelt there, motionless, for about an hour and a half until he got up from his desk, without a word, and exited his office. A few moments after he left, Latifah came in and collected her.

  And that was how her life as the hou
sehold whore began. Latifah brought her to a bathroom where there was a bidet. She let her pee and then felt around in her pussy to se if Mr. Moussa had left any of his spunk in there. Finding none, she withdrew the intruder from her rear and tested that hole. When she discovered Mr. Moussa’s slime, she took a nozzle from the bidet and rinsed it out. She washed the aperture with soap, replaced the plug and brought her back to the kitchen.

  Before placing her in her cage, Latifah, the merciful, finally released her arms from her back. She had to extend them slowly to guard against muscle strain. She brought Leslie’s wrists before her, circled the chain on her right wrist through the ring in the front of her collar and attached it to the other bracelet. She then ordered her into the cage.

  Leslie stayed there while Latifah had tea with one of the cooks. After a little while, a telephone rang. It was for Latifah. She said something affirmative into the phone and hung it up. She swallowed the rest of her tea, released Leslie from her cage and guided her out of the kitchen.

  This time it was Hajib. He was waiting the hallway. He took the leash and rushed Leslie upstairs to his room. He used her callously, laughing and joking, mocking her, relishing his right to violate her. He let her go after an hour or more. Latifah was sitting on a chair outside his room. She collected her charge, washed her in the bathroom and brought her back to the kitchen. She was fed a coarse meal from a bowl on the floor and then returned to her cage.

  After dinner, she was brought to Mr. Moussa’s den where she sucked him off and then to Mrs. Moussa’s sitting room outside her bedroom where she serviced her pussy once again. Each time, Latifah waited patiently outside of the room until her abuser was through with her, washed her, and brought her back to her cage.