Slave of Arabia

She lolled back on the deck chair, moaning and arching her back. She came, twisting her legs over me, her thighs hugging my face, trembling with her whole body like a terrific Siamese cat.

Then at once, she pushed my face away with a foot and swung her legs away. She used my head as support to stand and put her panties back on. I watched them curve up her thighs and smooth butt-cheeks. I waited for any command to stop kneeling, but instead she simply turned into the house. I watched the perfect ass bobbing until it disappeared behind the walls.

I breathed. Certainly my emotions about succumbing to this life were mixed. But I would be given no time to process them.

"Michael!" Arwa's voice barked.

I turned, realising suddenly that I was still on my knees. Arwa was walking out beside Khadija, both girls in small bikinis. They had long cocktail glasses in their hands, almost drained. Arwa sipped through a straw. At a respectful distance, two stone-faced servants shadowed them.

"Get out," Arwa said. "It's girl time."

She swung out on a deck chair, allowing her long, imperious, soft body to grow comfortable in the sun. Khadija was watching me, but I was too scared to meet her eyes.

I turned to flee. "Wait!" Yelled Arwa, as I was right at the house. "We need a refreshment of our refreshments here." She swung her glass at me, letting the ice-cubes jingle.

I hesitated. There were clearly two servants there. There was no need for her to humiliate me like this. Or maybe there was.

In any case all I could do was obey. I would try to talk Samira out of the madness when the time was right. I came back for Arwa's glass.

And then I turned to Khadija. Her glass was lying on the table beside her. She made no move or indication of what to do.

I picked up her glass. Right at the last second she barked "sunscreen."

So she did speak English. It did not make me fear her less.

When I came back into the house, the servants were unpacking our goods into the new home. What did they think about all this, I wondered? Their faces remained impassive yet they left no doubt about who they served. But surely, there must be an opinion about such unconventional domestic behaviour? Where, for that matter, had they even come from?

I hoped to find Samira in the kitchen to question her. But she had gone. I fixed both girls a drink. Someone - perhaps a servant - had placed sunscreen on the kitchen table.

The girls were sitting at their deck chairs, as if dozing. Both had sunglasses on and neither, I noticed, had hijabs. Their servants fanned them with giant fan palm leaves from a short distance. I placed Arwa's drink down at her table and turned to Khadija's, but Arwa said, too softly, "Michael."

I turned. Arwa made a circle with her thumb and forefinger and gave emphasis to each syllable of her word. "Pre-sen-ta-tion."

"Yes," I said. But she was still staring. "I'm sorry," I continued. But she sighed, as if beyond exasperation.

"So pick it up, and try again."

I bent over, feeling myself flushing with shame and picked her glass up.

"Here you go, Ma'am," I said as deferentially as possible and placed the glass back down.

Arwa smirked a little. "Mmm..." She mused. "Okay, try again. Ma'am is nice, but maybe Mistress, or Your Highness is better."

I shivered. But obeyed. "Here's your drink, Your Highness," I said, bowing a little and placing her drink down a third time.

She waved me away with a regal flick of her long fingers.

I turned to Khadija.

"Here's your drink, Your High-"

"What took you so long?" Khadija said without looking at me.

I grimaced. Was she serious? She had just seen what Arwa had put me through.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," I said. I heard Arwa giggling behind me. Khadija smirked. I burned red. It had just come out of me.

"Well, little peasant," Khadija said. "You'll make it up to me."

I swallowed.

"Put down my drink, little peasant."

I did so.

Khadija's dark, beautiful eyes looked over me from the sunglasses. "Give me the sunscreen," she said.

I did so.

"I bet you think I'm going to ask you to wipe the sunscreen into me, mmm, little peasant?"

I tried to hold her gaze but couldn't.

Arwa joined in. "Oh please mister big Western guy! Please massage me."

"Oh get right in there!" Khadija joined.

"Oh lower, lower."

I was at a loss. I knew denying it would only worsen the situation. So I merely stood, hoping they would let me go.

Instead Khadija, her dark eyes smouldering, squeezed sunscreen into the palm of her hand. She began to gently massage the top of her chest. I tried not to look, but Lord was it hard.

"Oh that feels so good," said Khadija, continuing to mock me. But she vibrated her body like she really was getting pleasure. I felt my cock growing under my robe.

"Oh! Oh!" She said, running her hands over her breasts. Her fingers danced inside her bikini, finding her nipple.

Then with one graceful arch of her back, Khadija unhooked her bikini top. Her soft breasts poured out into the sunlight. Khadija poured more sunscreen in her hands. One hand ran back over her breasts and the other ran down her stomach. She began fingering herself right there before me.

I could feel my cock pitching my robe in front of itself. My face reddened. There was no way that everyone couldn't see it. Khadija was too busy on herself however.

"Mmm," she writhed with her own pleasure. Her hips gyrating and fighting against her climax. "Oh, Arwa!" She called. "Please come help me."

Arwa got up and strolled round behind Khadija. She picked up the sunscreen and squirted it in one hand. Then reached one beautiful leg behind Khadija and sat cowboy style on the deckchair, her crotch at Arwa's writhing backside. She began to massage Khadija's hips, but her hunger soon over came her. She stuck one hand down Khadija's crotch, and grabbed her breasts with the other. Khadija, turned her face, eyes closed and Arwa licked it.

I was mortified. Not only from the humiliation but from guilt. What would Samira say? I was so hard. It was too much and I couldn't see what it had to do with freedom any longer.

I turned to go, the girls now completely undressed and wrapped in each other.

"Bitch!" Khadija called, stopping me once again at the doorway.

I stopped. No one had ever called me that, but I knew she meant me. I felt anger rising up in me. I turned.

The anger gave out to pain and guilt as I realised I was still rock-hard.

Khadija and Arwa were now sitting in different deck chairs, watching me, almost innocent. It was as if nothing had happened, except they were now both naked.

"Bitch!" Khadija called again.

I found myself stepping meekly towards her.

"Who said you can go?" Khadija asked when I was standing before her.

I thought about formulating a protest. Instead Khadija leaned back her nymph like plump body on the deck chair.

"Take off your clothes," she said, casually. Like telling a child to behave.

I shook. This had gone too far. "No, Khadija." I said. "This is enough."

I turned to go again but stopped in my tracks. There were two servants blocking my exit, standing a little from the head of Khadija's chair. Their hands were set behind their back, but in their hard, impassive faces their eyes warned me. I only noticed now how big they were.

Were they really threatening me? Or was their positioning an accident? In any case I had hesitated.

I looked down at Khadija, who now sat up, her legs swung together at the side of the deck chair.

"Take them off, Michael," she said again without anger. "Or do you think only women should be naked?"

With Arwa, Khadija and the servants watching me, I sighed. I took off my robe and dropped it on the ground. I slipped off my sandals and stood on the hot patio. Knowing that my cock was still rock-hard, I pulled down my pants. I felt myself flushing red in the hot sun. I couldn't look at anyone.

Khadija let pass a cruel pause. I knew she was checking me out.

"Bend over my lap," she said finally. I swallowed, confused and terrified. I bent my midriff over her thighs. I felt my bum exposed to the swimming pool. My cock lightly brushed her soft thighs, so I tried to pull back. But a hand caught my hair, fiercely, and pulled me forward into place.

And too late I realised what was coming.

With the first 'smack!' on my behind, I felt my cock emptying itself against her soft thigh. Khadija laid down a second "smack!" and a third. I felt myself breaking spiritually. I was a toy to these people. Completely in their power because I was completely in Samira's. But I was overdosing in pleasure under her firm hand.

Another stinging "smack!" landed. My cock had completely spent itself and was lying limp and useless on her skin.

"Smack!"

I was only a child now, receiving a stinging punishment. A sixth smack, and an eighth. Khadija was displaying her former hidden strength and ferocity. I felt myself squirming, tears stinging my eyes.

If you've ever been slapped on bad sunburn, you'll know a fraction of the pain I felt on my butt by the fifteenth slap. I couldn't help myself, I called out. Like a little toddler. I heard Arwa sucking generously from her cocktail straw.

"Smack!" "Ah!" "Smack" and "Ah!"

The tears were flowing freely when she stopped.

Khadija spoke quietly. "Don't ever disobey me," she said. She let go of my hair. I slumped to my knees.

I could only look down at the beautiful soft legs that had had held me.

"You caught cum on me," she said.

A silence followed. "I'm sorry," I managed.

"So, clean it up?" she said.

I swallowed, and looked around for something. There was only my robe. I hesitated. But Khadija said, "with your tongue, idiot."

I looked up at her, but immediately looked back down. I kissed the wet white liquid off her thigh, then lapped it like a dog.

"My slave shouldn't wear clothes, so we know him for the false husband he is," Khadija said. Then she pushed my head away, hard.

She swung her body and lay down on the deck chair, relaxing like one after a vigorous workout. I couldn't move. I wiped away the tears, waiting for the ground to take me.

"Michael," said Arwa. "Massage my feet."

I crawled to her on my knees. While she sat naked, basking her Goddess figure in the sun, I pressed the base of my thumb into the sole of her foot. I massaged with thick, careful squeezes, pushing the stress out like Samira had taught me. I pressed every square centimeter of her sole, and fingered perfectly each toe tip. I sweated through my effort under the sun. Arwa's pussy seemed to watch me, even when her eyes didn't. A sweating angle of pubic hair at the top of her gleaming legs.

I grew hotter and hotter. Occasionally she purred "the other," or " firmer," when fear made me too gentle. But the stop I waited for didn't come, even as what felt like hours passed.

It was Khadija who called it off. But only by saying "now me." I crawled to her, and began my work. The servants refilled the girls' drinks, without any harassment. Khadija was smiling as I worked on her. Maybe she could feel my fear. Fear, accentuated by my still stinging butt.

Just as I began to feel myself grow light-headed in the heat, the voice of Samira jerked me back into my guilt and shame.

"Are we having fun here?" she asked, coming from another doorway of the home.

I let go of Khadija's feet and turned on my knees.

Samira was wearing a black robe, more like a dress or classy poncho than a Burka. She looked entirely in control. A new Leader.

"Samira," I said, rising to my feet. "I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you."

Samira's doubting eyes fell over my naked body.

"Better put some clothes on, don't you think?" she asked.

I nodded and grabbed for my robe before Khadija could say anything.

Samira was walking into the house. "Come," she bid.

I followed, hastily placing my robe back on as I walked. I knew better than to keep her waiting. I followed up the stairs, noticing how much more stately the home was, if still sparse, with our belongings. Her belongings.

We climbed the stairs and Samira pushed through impressive double doors. I found myself in an executive like office.

Samira sat on a plush leather chair behind the large oak desk. What need did she have for all this? The office was presidentially decorated, and the latest Mac Computer was all that covered her worktable.

I started to sit across from my wife on one of two chairs on the door's side.

But Samira called "surrie-ha" and snapped her fingers at her side under the desk. I quickly moved round beside her. She clicked again, impatiently, and I knelt.

"Samira," I said, looking up at her. She flicked on her computer and leaned back as if I wasn't there. I faltered, then continued "Samira, please. Those girls made me do that. I didn't want to be naked! They are twisted, those girls."

Samira's slap burned fierce across my face.

"No, Michael! Those girls were twisted by men, like you!" she said.

My eyes fell down at her heels. I said nothing.

Samira's tone softened. "Surrie-ha, maybe I haven't explained your position here. Those girls, they have been through a lot at the hands of men. They have anger and you are the therapy. I told them to work out their anger on you, because I know you enjoy it."

I swallowed and looked up at her beautiful face. So intelligent and high above me.

"Is that why you married me?" I asked.

"No, surrie-ha," she said and stroked my face with one finger where she had slapped me. "I made this plan only after we fell in love."

I searched her eyes. Searched for my own life in them. I decided to believe her.

"But, they go too far, my Mistress!" I put my hands on her knees. "Khadija, she has beaten me twice. She spanked me and- and she says I shouldn't wear clothes."

Samira was silent. Her gaze inscrutable.

Then she said, "Michael, Mistress Khadija said you shouldn't wear clothes?"

"Yes!" I said. Finally she was seeing her error.

"Get up Michael," she said.

I was confused, had I detected anger in her tone? But I couldn't see it.

I stood. Samira was looking down, like one undertaking a reluctant but necessary duty.

"Take off your clothes," she said.

I hesitated, feeling my heart plummet. Slowly, I took off my clothes again and let them fall behind the desk, standing naked before my wife.

Samira was still looking down, still gentle, but unshakeable.

"Bend over my knee," she said.

I swallowed, my bum still stinging. I began to tremble. But now I moved over her lap.

The first strike made me scream like a girl.