Warning: This story takes place in a setting where females have few rights, and contains some descriptions of violence against women. The story is meant to be erotic, not political, and the hero and heroine are not an abusive couple. Nonetheless, if you feel you would not be able to take the story in the erotic, non-political spirit in which it was intended, read something else.
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The wedding was over, and Yasmin, the bride, was not looking forward to what came after. She was ashamed to feel that way, of course, as all the women in her family had told her it was an honor and a joy to be married. But as she lay curled up on the bed, completely cloaked in her robes and veils, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were just pretending. It seemed to her that her mother had barely known her father. He was gone most of the day. He would take her brother with him and go to the school or the library or the market and leave her and her mother at home. Her mother would dote over her obsessively, making sure she was a marriageable lady...of course, this meant that Yasmin had the difficult task of hiding her many books from her family. Her mother and father would have considered it a great betrayal, after all they did to make her marriageable, for her to throw it all away by learning to read. Literate women, it was thought in her country, had too much imagination to be faithful.
So Yasmin would read her books and indulge her imaginations when no one was looking. By the time she was 18, she had indulged in everything from the intense mental disciplines of logic and mathematics, to the wild and daring adventures of fantasy. And when others were around, she kept it hidden. She imagined it was all locked in a box in her mind that she couldn't access unless she was alone. Her mother never suspected that she could read, but she had always considered Yasmin's restlessness to be a slap in the face...was the life that her mother led not good enough for Yasmin? Yasmin's mother's worst fear was that Yasmin would become disobedient. A disobedient woman was the least marriageable of all.
When Yasmin was 18, Sanman came along. He was a man of twenty nine from her father's hometown, but he had already travelled much of the world. Those of her town regarded him with both admiration for his learning, and suspicion for his worldliness, but he had a way of putting people at ease until their admiration overwhelmed their suspicion. He certainly had on the day he came to Yasmin's father, and said that he would marry Yasmin, and make her the most obedient woman in the land. Yasmin's parents had not believed it possible. They said that if he could make Yasmin the most obedient wife, he would receive a dowry equal to that of Yasmin's mother and aunt combined.
Yasmin quivered at the memory. She thought of all the horrible things that she had seen men do to make their wives obey...once, she had seen a woman slapped in the middle of the marketplace for failing to walk three steps behind her husband. She wouldn't submit to that treatment if she could help it, she thought. But could she help it? Certainly not now: Yasmin was still shackled with two sets of chains, one connecting her hands, and the other connecting her feet so that she could only take tiny steps as her groom had led her down the aisle. And of course, even if her groom was gentle, there was always the matter of losing her virginity. It would be terribly painful when a man broke the stitches of the operation she'd had, the one that marked her coming into womanhood. She had been told all her life not to fear that. That was as it should be. If he was the sort of man that a woman should want, he would cause pain, and it would all be worth it.
The door opened. It was Sanman, her groom. She wished she could go back to the part where he was walking her down the aisle. Every step she had taken down the aisle had been a step closer to this, but strangely, she hadn't felt as afraid. He was a handsome man, after all, and he had a way of walking which seemed victorious, as if he had just claimed a great prize. The guests had seemed to be at ease watching him, and to some small extent, the reaction had rubbed off on her too. Looking at him now, Yasmin noticed that he had changed outfits since the wedding. He was dressed in a Western-style suit which emphasized his lean frame and defined shoulders. She could see the key to her chains in one of the vest pockets. He looked her straight in the eyes. His were a warm, golden-brown, like honey.
"Don't be afraid," he said.
Yasmin gulped. Given how hard she'd been trying to hide her fear around him, the fact that he knew wasn't particularly reassuring.
He walked over to her and felt over her robes for her arm. He stroked firmly up and down the arm, feeling the tension in it.
"Not yet..." Yasmin whimpered.
Sanman looked into her eyes "Do you trust me?" he asked.
No answer.
"I can tell that you're nervous. I can see it in every muscle of your body. I'm going to disrobe you now, but I won't do the thing you fear yet. I have much to talk about first...I will tell you about my travels...and about the ways I've found to make a woman perfectly relaxed and obedient."
He pulled off her head covering, and her dark curls spilled on to the bed. Then, he took a dagger from a back pocket and began cutting her robes. She gulped again as she felt the cold metal, and the air as her robes fell off her body. She could feel her nipples hardening in response to their exposure, and blushed. She was so cold...was it just because of her nakedness, or was it her fear too?
Sanman, for his part, seemed to be drinking in her body with his eyes. She could tell from the appraising look that he had seen others in his travels. She wondered if he liked the view...she was not as plump as some of the richer women, but her parents could afford to feed her well enough that her slim body had a bit of softness to it. Her breasts were not enormous, but were surprisingly full for her small frame, and her supple thighs and buttocks tapered down to a small waist, but she disliked her skinny calves and arms. She also wished she were lighter, as her skin was very dark.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"That would be telling," he smiled.
"Maybe I don't care," she said, surprising herself with her defiance. Then she flinched...what would he do, seeing her not being perfectly obedient?
"Let's not concern ourselves with fictions," he said evenly, "You care, otherwise you wouldn't have asked."
"And..."
He raised an eyebrow. "I don't seem to be able to determine what you mean."
He stared her straight in the eyes, as if he was staring into her soul.
"I mean...what do you think...looking at me..."
"You want an answer to that question?"
"Yes."
"How much do you want it?"
A thrill of fear shook Yasmin. What if the answer wasn't favorable...but oh, she had to know...
"Very much," she said.
"Fine," he said, "I think many enjoyable things...I always do, when I am looking at a woman...The interplay of light and dark, of your skin on the sheets, is fascinating...for one thing...And I think of how much I will enjoy having you obedient to me...but now, there is something I want you to look at."
He pulled the key from his front pocket. She flinched...now he was going to...
But he didn't move to unchain her. Rather, he brought the key about six inches from her face.
Yasmin's brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"A trick I learned in my travels," he said, "You remember I was going to tell you about this. All you have to do is keep your eyes on the key as we talk."
Yasmin nodded. She had already been looking.
"But I still don't understand what..."
He silenced her, again seeming unalarmed by her less than perfect obedience.
