Slave of Arabia

Samira's long, soft thighs closed over my waist as she tipped me back on to the divan. Her brown lips parted in a smile as she looked down at me. Her face was pure majestic beauty. And words of hell came from the lips of the divine.

"Michael, my little surrie-ha, if you want to carry on being my faithful slave you will accept the ultimatum I am giving you and you will take Amira and Khadija as your new wives before this week is out. You will go to their Father and pay your respects. Do whatever it takes my surrie-ha. Do you understand?"

I looked at her stern brown eyes. "Yes, my Princess Samira," I said. "I will do as you ask."

"Very good."

With that, I couldn't quite agree. Things had been going perfectly for us until this new fixation of Samira's. You see, I have always been a submissive. I have longed for a dominant partner without ever knowing why. I tried searching through Fetlife and other alt-dating websites but could never find someone I trusted or who I felt was right for me. That all changed with Samira.

I had met her with almost perfect timing, after I had moved to Saudi Arabia to work as a petroleum engineer. She had been too scared to follow her fantasies of dominating other men, but the internet had allowed her the anonymity to search out like minds and explore her fantasies. She had good reason for caution. Her alternative desires could get her killed.

We had talked a lot online and finally, my Mistress formulated a plan. I would convert to Islam and take her hand in marriage. It turned out to be all that I wanted. Behind closed doors all my fantasies were fulfilled. I was the domestic servant, I was the one focusing on her pleasure and being degraded. She would treat me like a dog and I would treat her like a queen. Outside in society the laws required her to only leave with me and demanded rigid heteronormative behaviours. This, coupled with my work ensured I got the best of both worlds and was able to comfortably lead a double-life, engaging in my fantasies only part-time.

But that was all changing. Two more dommes she had met online. And two more people we were 'saving.' They were unmarried and I could take them. So two more headaches. But I had already fallen for Samira, and I couldn't say no.

It was a relief at least to find out that they were beautiful. Arwa, the taller of the two had a stunning grace about her. Khadija was like a nymph and had a wild intelligence in her eyes. The marriages were conducted in a matter of weeks. Such is the nature of Islamic polygamy.

First came the marriage of Arwa. I realised awkwardly that she was taller than me when she had to bend down for me to kiss her forehead and two cheeks. The smallest murmur of laughter took over the crowd.

We left hand in hand to our wedding door. She opened first and I was shocked to find Samira sitting on a chair by the marital bed.

"Samira!" I said, not without alarm. This was a direct violation of tradition.

"Michael. And you must be Arwa." Samira's eyes fell over her. She stood.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Samira." The girls who had never met before hugged. "Thank you."

"Lie down on the bed," said Samira. "Both of you."

I did as I was told as fast as possible, out of habit. I watched the girls. Instead of obeying instantly, Arwa took off her veil. My loins tightened. She was completely naked. Lord, was she beautiful. Like a breathing goddess. Her eyes never leaving Samira, she turned and stretched over the bed on her back beside me. I grew harder.

Samira's eyes never broke from Arwa. "I have to know that you really want this Arwa. It's not a condition of being here," said Samira. "You can be anyone you want to be now."

"I want it," said Arwa.

Samira pulled off her own Burka. She stretched her bronze shimmering body over Arwa's and slid a hand up her leg. They kissed, hungrily. Arwa wrapped her hands around my wife's hips and moaned as Samira's fingers slide up inside her. My wives panted, moving their hips, touching tongues.

I stayed where I was, watching my wives make love.

I struggled to fall asleep for some time. The girls did not stop, only slowed and sped up as they liked.

When I woke, Samira was gone. The light streaming through the curtains showed it was morning. I rose quietly to my feet, unsure of what to do next. I made my way to the bathroom for a shower. But Arwa called out.

"Hey." She was sitting up in the bed, unconcerned that her perfect breasts were uncovered.

"Hi," I said.

It was like she was watching me for the first time.

"You're really Samira's slave, aren't you?"

"We're- She's my Mistress."

"You're her slave aren't you?" Arwa's eyes were burrowing into me. I swallowed.

"Yes, I'm her slave, Arwa," I said with as much dignity as I could.

"Okay," Arwa, said. She stood with her glorious nudity as if she were an Empress clothed in crown jewels. She marched past me to the shower, but turned just ahead of me. "Oh I almost forgot," she said. She grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me violently on one cheek, then the other, pressing my face hard with her own. Then she lightly planted her lips on my forehead.

I could feel myself flushing with shame when she let me go. Arwa smiled. "Much more natural, don't you think? Make breakfast." She said and walked into the bathroom, giving me the first order of our marriage.

I was unsettled. I had agreed to free these girls for Samira. I had not agreed to take them as my Mistresses.

But you can bet your ass that I chopped her up eggs, vegetables and ricotta and served it to her with orange juice and coffee like I would for Samira. Arwa watched me as she ate, completely naked, and I could not meet her eyes.

*

Before marrying Khadija, I saw little of my new wife or my old. I was ordered to sleep on the bottom floor of our house on a mat in the kitchen. Arwa took my place in the marital bed upstairs.

I only knew what they were doing by the screams and moans that stretched through the long nights. I went to work as usual.

Come the day of my marriage to Khadija, Arwa and Samira donned their veils and attended with dignity as if they were devout, submissive wives. Khadija came to me in a veil.

I lifted it to find an extraordinarily pretty face. It watched with a sad, beautiful smile beneath two black swimming pools. It was far easier to kiss her than Arwa.

Opening our marital door, I expected to find Samira or maybe both my other wives. But we were alone.

Khadija sat on the bed, watching me.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked. Khadija said nothing, but continued to stare.

I fetched her a glass and filled it with a beaker from a table and handed it to her. She never stopped watching as she drank.

"Well," I said finally. "I'll take the floor. You have the bed."

I took one of the pillows from behind her. I placed it on the ground and set my head to it. I got as comfortable as possible, curling up and facing away from Khadija. Still, I could feel her watching me. After a moment I heard her relaxing on the bed. I fell asleep.

*

When I woke, I was on my back. There was a heavy weight on my chest and I sensed danger. It was still dark. Slowly, Khadija formed above me. She was completely naked, one foot at my side, the other pressing down on my solar plexus. Her eyes now only showed hate. It was terrifying to see that anger in this half-woman, half-pixie beauty.

"Rajal," she said, so cold I shivered.

"Khadija," I pleaded.

The foot pressed down further and my lungs constricted.

"Heh who heh," she said.

I tried to stand, but she was too strong. Without thinking I put my hands on her ankle.

"Stop!" I breathed.

Khadija bent down and struck me on my face. I felt burning.

I gasped and looked up at her. Terror seized me.

Khadija watched me with hate for a moment more until I looked away. Then she struck me again.

"Please." I cried out. Khadija's foot swept off of me only to be replaced by her knee. She brought herself close enough for her long hair to brush my face. What had Samira done?

I waited for the next blow, trying to breathe. But instead of a smack I heard a small squelching sound.

And then something warm hit my cheekbone and spread over my face. I had to close an eye.

It was spit. My new wife was spitting on me after beating me. And all I could do was let out a soft groan and endure it. I instinctually turned my face, but the drool kept coming down and covered new parts of my face.

Then something came out of the night and pressed into my nose. There were fingers on my forehead and a palm squashing my face.

With the thickest Arabian accent Khadija said "keese."

I kissed the palm of her hand.

It stayed where it was, so I kissed more lovingly, with more effort, pressing my lips into the palm. It stayed so I lapped it twice like a dog. Then the palm pressed down and wiped the concoction of our saliva over me.

And then Khadija struck me again.

This time I let out a cry. I could feel tears of humiliation burning my eyes. I could feel marks forming under the spit and tears.

Khadija moved away from me and stood up. I started to stand, but she kicked me straight in the ribs. I doubled up.

"Please!"

I felt Khadija's second, faster spit land on my side.

"Keese!" She said again.

I knew what she wanted. I found the foot that had kicked me and kissed it. Just as before I took her silence for disapproval and began lapping it like a dog.

"Keese!" she said again, stretching her other foot. I repeated my debasement. I waited for the next blow to come.

Then Khadija got back in the bed and went to sleep. I remained prostrated before the bedpost and then felt myself shuddering with adrenaline. I fell to my side.

*

In the morning I drove from the marital abode to our home, Khadija sitting beside me, apparently satisfied for now. I was terrified of her. I wanted to get back to Samira as fast as possible so that she could tell me the next stage in the plan. At the very least, Samira could protect me.

The humiliation under Samira was not like with Khadija. Samira hit and degraded with one hand and loved and protect with the other. Khadija couldn't speak English and was only hate. Yes, all I wanted was to get back to my true wife. But when we arrived there were removal trucks outside the house.

Men were carrying our prized possessions through the doors out to the trucks. Samira stood outside the house, directing them in her Hijab and sunglasses.

I got out the car and came to her. We hugged.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"We're moving house," she explained.

I was at a loss. "Where? With what money?"

"I took your savings. They're mine anyway."

I opened my jaw and shut it. "The Credit account or the pension fund?" I asked.

"I took everything," she said as casually as if she was saying what she had to drink this morning.

I felt numb. There was nothing I could say.

Arwa came out of the house and walked right past both of us to the car. Khadija and Samira exchanged a look for a moment, before hugging and turning to the car. I followed, but Samira turned.

"You ride with the things surrie-ha," she said pointing. And then almost apologetic, "it's symbolic."

"But there's space in the car, and you can't drive without me," I said. For a moment I realised how ridiculous it was that I'd just accepted her robbery and the sudden move.

"One of the new servants will drive us," Samira explained. She turned before I could formulate any more questions and got in the front passenger seat. Indeed there was a man in the front of the car and he started it as soon as his- as soon as my Mistresses were in the car. It sped off leaving me beside the truck.

So she had actually bought servants? How much of my money had she used? I turned to the truck I was expected to ride in. There were another two men sat in the front, staring ahead. They were also in servant's clothing. How much did they know about us? Their faces were blank.

I came round and opened the door of the truck at the passenger side. I waited for the man to slide over. But with firm deference he said "I'm sorry sir, but Samira has said you must ride in the back."

I felt my blood boiling. "Well it's my money!" I said. "So you can move over."

The servant shook his head. "I am sorry sir. We serve Samira."

I stepped back, still fuming. The servant simply closed the door on my face. I stood staring stupidly at the door and the servant for a moment longer. The servant's face was completely placid, staring ahead.

The world was spinning as I moved round to the back of the truck. Inside were coffee tables, lamps, fine oak chairs. All the possessions acquired from a year of domestic bliss. I clambered up inside. I turned around to find another servant with the same blank face. He looked at me and then reached up for the door. He slammed it shut, leaving me and the furniture in darkness.

*

It was a long, rough drive. I banged about in frustration. My thoughts were as hard and as jarring as my wooden colleagues.

After maybe 3 rough hours I felt the truck slowing to a halt. The door moved up and I blinked and turned from the light.

When the world stopped burning, Arwa was watching me with a smile on her lips.

"We're here," she said.

I clambered sheepishly out of the truck. Around us was pure desert in every direction. Only the road stretched forth two ways.

"Just kidding," said Arwa. "We're about half way."

I turned to her and Arwa, a head taller than me, let out a laugh.

"You can go pee now," she said.

I felt humiliation burning and I was indignant. But I also had to pee. I went round the truck to escape Arwa. But Samira, Khadija and the other servants leaned beside the car, further into the side of the road. They were all watching me before I got there. As if expecting.

I came back to find Arwa. I turned round to the truck, pulled down my trousers and began peeing.

"No, no, no, no," I heard beside me. "Stop!" The sound was so loud and direct that I actually stopped peeing. Forcing myself then when there was more to come. But I couldn't turn to Arwa, and I couldn't risk pulling my pants up.

"How dare you pee in front of me!" She fumed, stepping closer behind me.

"I'm sorry," I managed. "Samira, and the others, are round there."

"You mean Samira and your other wife," Arwa rebuked me. I said nothing. "Just, pee under the car," she said flippantly.

I swallowed. I side stepped away from my deposit and knelt on the ground.

"Not there, idiot," said Arwa. "Go under the truck."

I found myself stretching out on the ground. Not even a dog, but a worm. With my pants pulled to my knees I began squirming under the low truck bed. I turned then onto my side and began peeing in the dirt. I felt hollow. As I peed I had to squirm backwards, away from my own stream.

I crawled out of the car on the same side as the dirt, so that everyone could see me. I fixed myself. Everyone else was laughing. I could only climb up like a dog back into the truck. Arwa shut the door, but it was many more moments before the engine started again.

*

This time it was just a servant who opened the door. I stepped out past him with as much ambivalence as I could muster.

And then my jaw dropped. Before me was this, long, three floor estate. It curved towards me on three sides, on the drive where I stood like an A-Lister's celebrity house you see on TV. Except a garden blossomed on both sides of this, then giving way to nothing except sand and road.

The car was parked further up the drive and no one was to be found. I walked up and into the house, but though the doors were open no one was to be found in the foyer. It was large inside and well-kept, if rather bare. Finally I noticed French doors and pushed out into the back. Sitting by a large swimming pool surrounded on three sides by deck chairs was Samira.

She had wasted no time at all in losing her veil. Though still wearing a hijab, she now sat only in her underpants. She leaned back so at ease in her open nudity I felt my jaw drop. I was at a loss for all words.

"Come, Michael, sit," she said without looking.

I sat on the deck chair closest to her. I couldn't take my eyes off her glistening bronze skin, the breasts rising like planets under the sun.

"Samira," I finally said. "What is this?"

Now she looked at me. "Our new home. Our new lives."

The way she said it made me swallow.

"We have a lot of work to do," she said.

"Work? What work? What about my job."

"Oh that," she said waving a small hand. "I quit that for you. You work for me now."

I began to get scared. "What do you mean, you quit it for me? Samira, we can't afford this without that job."

"You had a lot of savings Michael. And trust me, I've got everything figured out."

"What have you figured out Samira?" I asked not wanting to know the answer.

"Our business is here. We're going to be a haven for run away brides and daughters. We're going to find people online who want to escape and you're going to marry them. Those who can bring dowries will. Those who want to escape to another country to start new lives, we'll arrange that. The rest will stay here as princesses. The servants will work for them. And you will work for me."

I watched her, to make sure she was really serious. But I knew she was. "But how are we supporting this? It can't all be dowries and my savings?"

"Let's just say I've made some other investments," she said. Then she gave me a smile of such detached amusement that I trembled.

"Samira," I began. "I don't-"

"Shut up," Samira said with such force that I did. But she regained her smile at once. "Kneel, surrie-ha."

I knelt before her.

She put the fingers of one hand through my hair. I was at eye level with her breasts.

"We have a lot of work to do," she said, spreading her legs. "And I'm going to need to be relaxed when I do it."

I reached up for her panties. She jerked playfully but painfully at my hair.

"What do you say Michael?"

"Thank you, Samira?"

"Yes, you're welcome, but no... I think now it better be Mistress, for the sake of your other wives."

She made eyes with me, looking down like a Queen. A Goddess.

"What do you think Michael?"

I looked down, to her leg.

"Thank you, Mistress."

She eased up and I slipped off her panties.