by Mark Andrews
Some of the men were merely provocative in their dances; others quite blatantly outrageous. The more extravagant among them actually pretended to have sex with me, dancing forward and standing only a few inches in front of my naked, spreadeagled body, place their hands up behind their heads to show off their splendid biceps muscles and then to affect the act of intercourse, ramming their loins forward and up so that the tip of their penises almost - but not quite - touched my clit, which was of course yearning with an extreme craving for them to ‘stick it in me’.
They had been warned not to, however. I hung there staring at body after body, each superlative in beauty and physique, thinking only how much I wanted the man of the moment ... which of course is exactly what Masoud wanted.
And then, after three days of this, he had me modified further.
Chapter 3
He had already had all my natural body hairs removed - permanently. Now he had ordered something else.
The depilation of the hairs on my body had not overly worried me. Indeed, in many ways I was grateful to him for I would never have to worry about shaving my legs and underarms again, or attend to trimming the unruly bush around my vulva. But what he now told me, with an evil grin on his face, had me shaking in horror - and in fear.
“I am going to have your clitoris enlarged, slave. It is going to resemble a man’s penis, permanently hanging out of your so modest slit to remind you every moment of your spurning of my body.”
I screamed once and then hung my head in despair. Was there no end to this man’s desperation for revenge for what was to me, a perfectly legitimate choice? I had only wanted to keep my virginity!
The Arabs are said to have kept the art of medicine alive all through the Middle Ages when the West had degenerated into barbarism. I believe they still possess many skills we have not yet caught up with and modification of various parts of a female’s sexual organs is one of them.
Of course, given their widely accepted attitude towards us women, I suppose it is natural that they would believe they had the right to interfere with her body in any way they chose. Certainly, as his slave, Masoud believed he could do anything at all to me.
The effects of the aphrodisiac was still there and as they dragged me along to the clinic attached to the harem, I had eyes only for the males (or eunuchs) who were escorting me or whom we passed on the way. I ached to reach out and touch them and to have them make love to me but of course all contact with a male except those who were dragging me along the passages was denied.
You may be wondering that I have mentioned at times Waleed’s harem as well as Masoud’s budding one and yet have not spoken of a single girl. That is because I hadn’t seen one. The palace was huge and so was its harem. For the most part, I had been kept in its training section, down in the cellars of the building but even when I was taken upstairs, they made sure I saw none of the other girls who were presumably housed there. They always put a hood over my head and secured its neck around mine so that I might not even see their feet.
Anyway, this time when they removed the hood I saw I was in the clinic and I stared at the operating table in its centre with a great deal of fear. The surgeon who had come to perform the operation on my body was already gowned and as his assistants scrubbed me down in a little alcove off the main room, he now prepared his instruments.
As usual, they were rough with me, using real scrubbing brushes they dipped in a bucket of strong antiseptic. The combination of the stiff bristles and the antiseptic burned and stung horribly as they worked them all over my naked flesh. I was then rinsed off with cold water and dried with antiseptic towels.
They took me back into the clinic proper and made me climb up onto the cold steel table whereupon they stretched my limbs out to the table’s extremities. The table was the latest in operating theatre design. Its central part was quite small - about two feet wide and three or four long - just enough for my head and torso, which they strapped down securely with flexible stainless steel belts over my neck and waist so I could move neither my head nor my body. But from the four corners, extensions poked out to support and immobilise my limbs - at just about any tension and angle they chose. My arms were laid along the two top ones and the clamps passed over my wrists. They were in a comfortable angle a little out from the 180° axis of my body.
So were my legs - when I climbed up on the table, but once my ankles were properly secured, one of the assistants took a controller and pressed a button that rotated them outwards, until I was doing the splits - literally. Now I knew, or thought I did, why I had been suspended on the rods. In this position, my groin and therefore my sexual organs were perfectly exposed and the surgeon now seated himself on a rolling stool, right in front of my vagina.
I was terrified of the coming operation, whatever it was but now another thought entered my mind. There didn’t seem to be an anaesthetist and certainly there was no equipment near my head to put me out to it. Neither had I been given an epidural injection to numb my nether regions.
I was fully conscious and fully sensible to all sensations. I didn’t say anything, however. Ondoka was there, capped and gowned like the others but I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to punish me if I opened my mouth. Masoud was also there, standing alongside the surgeon, waiting to watch him perform the operation he had ordered for me.
They didn’t anaesthetise me. Not properly, anyway. One of the assistants sprayed my groin area from a steel atomiser and I immediately felt the effects. It deadened sensation but not totally.
And then he started. Of course I couldn’t see what he was doing. Even if I could have raised my head, which I couldn’t because of the neck strap, I couldn’t really see my vagina or what he was doing to it.
I felt things. Not fully. I didn’t feel his cuts or later his stitches; only that he was doing something down there. The trouble was, Masoud had told me what he was going to do and that alone was enough to make me shudder in horror. I was going to end up with a hugely enlarged clitoris that would resemble a boy’s penis and it was going to poke out of the top of my slit permanently. It would be so obscene; so degrading - for by now I had no illusions that I would ever be allowed to cover my nakedness from Masoud, or his father for that matter.
Of course I had thought endlessly about his threat that I was to be a canine of some kind but he hadn’t said any more about it and by now I knew better than to open my mouth. Painful punishment always followed and so I had learned to stay quiet and to force my inquiring mind to go into neutral; to wait until things happened with as little anticipation as possible. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever made myself do but I managed it. I had to, at least until that fateful moment when my self-control just gave way.
Right then, though, I made myself just lie there, wondering what the hell the man was doing to my body and hoping desperately it was not going to be too bad.
Eventually he finished, got up without as much as a glance at me (at my face, that is) and left the room. I watched Masoud bend over and examine my vagina with a small smile on his face then moved around to my head.
“An excellent result, slave. You now have what resembles a penis and you are going to discover that the desires you have been experiencing over the last few days will be nothing to what will course through your body now ...”
I stared up at him, appalled by what he was saying without really understanding it. How could I possibly have greater desires that those that had been tormenting me recently? Surely it wasn’t possible!
I was to discover, once the wounds down at my groin healed, anyway, that it was most certainly possible.
I was also to discover, once the bandages were finally removed a week or so later, that I now boasted a truly grotesque appendage to my vagina. I knew what a hermaphrodite was although I had never seen a picture of one. Actually I don’t think I believed they really existed. I know differently no
w but that aside, that’s what I now looked like!
I still had my vagina, totally naked, you will remember, but now, at the top, there was this penis-like appendage poking out. I touched it tentatively but withdrew my hand in shock at the sensation. It was incredible! I have no idea how the surgeon managed it, but I was now ten times as sensitive down there as I had been. The whole surface area of that weird-looking thing sent thrill after thrill of pleasure to my brain. Even a waft of air on it felt exciting.
And this with the aphrodisiac absent. When they resumed it in my food, as I had no doubt they soon would, I suspected I was going to go mad (perhaps literally) with desire for a man. Any man!
There was only one good thing about my recovery period. They didn’t make me back my body into that dreadful, so tiny cell in the cellar. I was actually allowed to sleep on a wooden bed in a part of the little clinic. There was no mattress, linen, pillow or blankets, and my limbs were spreadeagled to the four corners, but at least they let me pass my wastes relatively normally (into a bucket) and the wood was far warmer than the cold stone in the tiny cell.
I was kept chained to that bed all day and all night except when they fed me, allowed me to pass my wastes and when Ondoka came to take me for my exercises. These were not as violent as they had been. The Arabs were good doctors and the surgeon had obviously imposed limits on what I was to do over the next few days. Still, he made sure the other parts of my body were not allowed to go soft and then I was returned to the wooden bed, to lie there, alone, naked and with the as yet unseen appendage rapidly healing.
I wasn’t allowed anything to read; my attendants weren’t allowed to talk to me and I therefore had nothing - nothing at all to occupy my mind. I resolved that by mentally rehearsing every text book in my current year. I think if I had been examined then, I would have topped the class! At least it kept me from going mad, anyway.
Once they removed the bandages and I was able to look at it, I wept a little at the obscene thing poking out of my womanly slit. But they didn’t give me much time to mourn over what they had done to my body.
I was put back on the aphrodisiac regime and that terrible desire started to mount in me all over again. I wanted nothing but to reach down and touch the penis thing but I was prevented from doing so by having my thumbs cuffed behind my back. They also made sure I wasn’t near any surface against which I could rub it and then they took me across to Waleed’s male harem to further inflame my libido.
You are shocked? Don’t be. Arabs are much more practical about sex than we are. Homosexual love is not flaunted there but many wealthy men have a harem of boys as well as the more well-known female one. Waleed certainly did and I was led, on the end of a leash, into this suite of rooms.
On a leash? Yes. When it was sufficiently healed, they used a laser to burn a hole through the tip of my new penile thing - I couldn’t bring myself to call it my clit - it was far too big to even resemble that tiny bud - and then ringed it. All they had to do was snap a leash onto that ring and I would follow them anywhere.
The laser didn’t hurt, at least not much, and neither did the installation of the ring but any pressure on it did and so I was careful to keep the leash slack at all times, following my handler dutifully at all times. At least until we reached the male harem, that is.
The boys there, about a half dozen of them, were all young, extremely handsome and perfect physical specimens. They were black white and brindle, that is they represented every major racial group: Caucasian oriental and black, and the other three in between.
As we entered, they were exercising under the leadership of their eunuch. He was a smaller version of Ondoka but just as strict. He was also as naked of male sexual organs as the giant Nubian. The eunuch leading me took me all around them while Masoud sat on his father’s throne-like chair and watched. I could see from the expression on his face that he enjoyed their bodies as much as his father presumably did for his eyes told the story very clearly. As we entered however, they shifted to me and the love (or was it lust) for those boys I had seen there now changed to a mixture of triumph and hate. “Walk her around, let her get close to them but not so as she can touch them with her little prick ...”
I felt mortified. Mortified, but also inflamed. The aphrodisiac had now kicked in once more and the sight of those six beautiful young bodies, led by the sexless eunuch who was also naked, was sending me into pangs of utter passion. I was quite clearly a nymphomaniac whose one wish in life was to get free of that leash and rush on those boys, any and all of them, and make urgent and endless love to them.
It would have been easy. Each of them was as hairless as I was and each sported an erection that was so strong I could actually see their penises throbbing. When I entered on the end of that leash, I could feel their eyes boring into me and only the rigid discipline enforced by their eunuch prevented them from rushing me. I realised they too had been fed some drug that was making them as randy as I was.
For an hour, as Masoud sat in his diaphanous robe, carelessly open to expose his own rampant penis, I was paraded around and near those sweating boys, their so beautiful muscles straining under their eunuch’s lead and now I could see why they all had such beautifully formed bodies. His exercises, like Ondoka’s with me were not designed to build muscle as much as to tone it and shape it and those six boys really were the epitome of male human perfection.
Just to underline his power over me and how disdainful of my body he was, Masoud called out to the eunuch to send him the oriental boy. The eunuch barked something at the handsome youth who didn’t even hesitate, leaving his position and running gracefully up to the dais where he knelt and swooped his mouth down over Masoud’s giant penis, taking it right down his throat until his lips were touching his owner’s son’s smooth groin.
“Bring her close. Let her see how a boy can serve his master,” the Arab said, and my eunuch did just that, taking me also up to the dais and pushing me down on my knees alongside the boy so that my face was just a few inches away from that beautiful mouth lunging up and down over the iron-hard phallus.
And there I stayed, down on my knees, watching as the boy - he might have been around seventeen, I suspect, expertly fellated Masoud, taking him up to heights of pleasure and then keeping him there, just short of the brink for what seemed like an hour before being told to finish it - at which he swallowed his master’s seed, rose, bowed formally and returned to his place in the line of slaves.
I was taken back to my wooden bed and chained down once more, my lust at an all-time high and yet totally unable to fulfil it.
Masoud came in and stood beside the bed, staring down at me. “No doubt you are now regretting not accepting my love when it was offered, slut?”
I was foolish. If I had said yes, I was now repentant and begged him to forgive me, I might have got off a great deal more lightly than I did. But a fit of pique took over and I spat out at him that I would never, never, never, willingly submit to his disgusting body.
It was stupid. Another mistake! He started back as if I had slapped his face, which I had, at least figuratively, and then his face turned black.
“I was going to give you another chance, slut, but you are clearly beyond redemption. Yes, you will certainly be a dog, now ...”
I knew straight away I had been utterly boneheaded. I still had no idea how he was going to use me as a dog but already I sensed it was going to be pretty horrible. In that I was right, although horrible doesn’t begin to describe the series of events that now began to overtake me.
First I was moved.
When he said dogs, he meant dogs. The next day I was gagged with another of those dreadful ball-gags and led up to the courtyard at the back of the palace. There, waiting for us was a car to which was attached a trailer.
Have you ever seen one of those dog trailers? They are like a small caravan but very low. Not more than three
feet high and they are divided into compartments to keep the dogs apart. That is what faced me now. The trailer had those spinning air vents on top to keep air circulating inside the compartments but I knew it was going to be very hot inside once the door was closed.
One compartment was open, waiting for me. I stared at it in more horror. Okay, I had been forced to lie in a tiny eighteen by eighteen inch stone cell. This compartment was two feet wide and three high, but it was only three feet deep. At least my stone cell had been long enough for my body.
The man who had driven the trailer to the palace moved up to me now and directed me how to get in. “Squat down with your back to the opening, slave,” he said. “Now, lift one leg inside and back your body up. You will find there is room - just - for you to fit in.”
He was an Arab and clearly a favoured retainer of Waleed and Masoud who were on hand to see me off. I had to push my left leg in backwards and then, keeping the weight of my body on my hands, lift the other leg in and then back the rest of me in by back-pedalling with my hands.
When the door was closed and locked I knew I was going to be in for another bad time of it. The ventilator was allowing the hot air to escape and new air was coming in from the downward facing slats on the air grille in the door but it was still very hot. Even when we took off and the ventilator spun faster, it didn’t seem to make much difference.
I suppose we were on the road for an hour or so. Of course I had no idea where we were going and what I was going to be doing. That it had something to do with being a dog, I knew, but then since that term is used figuratively for a person of little worth, I think that’s what I assumed I was going to be: perhaps a menial of the lowest grade.
The truth was very different. Horribly different.
The palace had been located in the best suburb in the city. Where we now were was perhaps its worst. We were in a huge warehouse that had been done up (on the inside at least) for the sport for which it was used. On the outside, as I later found out, it was as disreputable as the other decaying buildings around it.
