Maid to Measure

by Sarah Forth

  I knew what was likely to happen when he arrived. As his new ‘wife’ I would have to give him what any husband would demand on his wedding night. My little tunnel had been moulded to the shape he required but apart from the shaping process, it had never been used. Tonight, soon, I would lose my ‘virginity’. Until then, I had never thought of myself as a virgin, but what other word could I use. My tube had been specially constructed to fit his member. There would be little slack and since I had not been stretched even with the specially made dildo for more than three months, I might already be too tight. I had been given every chance to study the weapon he would use at close quarters, to appreciate its size since I had been made to suck its replica regularly. But since they had caught me playing with myself while still at that brothel, I had not had the chance to inspect myself there nor keep myself in shape. I couldn’t even guess what it would feel like - and I didn’t want to think about it.

  He kept me waiting for hours. With my wrists securely bound, there was little that I could do except imagine what would happen when he arrived. To some extent I wanted it all to be over, wanted him to come and do his worst so that I could relax again. But I also hoped that he would never come, would never use me like the woman he had helped to create. I still dreaded the thought of having him inside me, hated to think of him filling that space and leaving me wet there. And I did know that I would not be able to prepare myself to receive him, would still be dry and unlubricated. I could only imagine the pain it was going to cause me, could still remember the agony as he had turned and twisted that thing in my newly created hole, before I really knew what they had done to me. My bonds were firm but I could move a few paces around the end of the bed although I did not dare to sit. I knew that I had to be ready to please him whenever he did appear and that my future depended on the degree of pleasure I could give him. Although I hated the thought of being penetrated, the possible alternatives were so much worse - and I would be penetrated anyway, whether I tried to please him or not. It was an agonising wait. Every time I screwed myself up to accepting the inevitability of what was going to happen, my mind kept reminding me that I was a man, that this could not be happening, should not be happening, would not be happening if only I had been cleverer, more determined, had taken more care. And then I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrors and saw the frightened looking woman in her fine clothes, tied helplessly to the post of a large bed, a new, captive bride waiting to receive her new husband.

  While I waited, I became more aware of my surroundings. The room was large and elegantly furnished. The hangings were richly embroidered with gold and silver, contrasting with the deep maroon colourings. The bed was the centre piece of the room. It was a very large four poster and from my position I could see the mirror set into its canopy. And I also became aware of the little video cameras mounted all-round the bed and the rest of the room. There must have been at least ten in various positions, all of them obviously remotely controlled from somewhere. I wondered who was watching me, who would be allowed to see my shame. The bed itself was of an ornate design but the cameras seemed to have been built with it. I wondered what other little technical tricks were included in its design. But I didn’t guess all of them. My scrutiny of the room was intended to distract my attention from contemplation of the fate which would befall me when he arrived but I found it hard to divert myself from those thoughts. I wanted it to be over; but I also wanted it not to happen. I waited, almost beginning to hope that he had found something better to do, that he would not come.

  But, of course, eventually he did come. If I had always been a woman, I would know whether he was handsome. He was strong and fit, was only about forty or so and certainly dressed well, whether in his traditional robes of western dress. When he arrived, he had changed into a loose flowing robe, held around his waist by a jewelled sash. Even though I was expecting him, I had been waiting for so long that I started as he walked into my chamber. I looked at him, wondering what was expected of me. I had been taught to please a man in such a variety of ways but no-one had told me what he would want me to do. It surprised me that he was so rough. He slipped the silken bonds which fixed my wrists to the bed, but he didn’t release them. The first thing he did was to throw me to the ground. With those heels and my arms bound, it took very little effort and then I found it impossible to get up. Especially as he held me down with one sandalled foot if I even tried to move. Then he slipped one foot under my neck, raising my head and signalled, without speech, just gesture and eye movement, that I should kneel in front of him. He sat on the couch above me as I struggled up to kneel before him and then he indicated that I should remove his sash. With only my teeth that was difficult but it was only loosely tied and slipped off quite easily. Then his robe fell open and he indicated that I should take his flaccid member into my mouth. Remembering what I had been taught, and personal experience, I carefully touched the end with my tongue, lifting it gently towards my lips. This was why I had been taught to do it without my hands, I thought. Gently, I eased it between my lips, letting them squeeze it just a little as I sucked it further inside. It began to grow as soon as I licked it and was swelling more and more as I sucked. I began to move my head to take it deeper, stroking the underside with my tongue, relieved that this was all that he required of me. Soon I would get him to a climax, he would shoot off in my mouth and it would all be over. As he got more excited, I tried to respond by moving my head more quickly but suddenly he reached out and grabbed my ears and hair, forcing me to keep still. Did he want me to stop? But he didn’t take it out of my mouth and he had certainly not finished. My masculine memory told me that he didn’t want to finish too early, that he had other plans, that what he wanted was just to be excited and stimulated. I wondered what might happen if I inadvertently spoiled his plans and pleasure by making him come in my mouth. I struggled to keep myself still round him, although I was not always able to prevent my swallowing reflex as my saliva built up in my mouth. And as I swallowed, he dragged himself out of my mouth and threw me across the room. He clapped his hands and two of the harem women came in. My arms were still bound and I was a little bewildered but they took me over to the head of the bed. The silk bonds which had held me so securely were slipped off and the specially made gold bracelets were used to clip my wrists to the posts. I was confused but then I felt my ankles also being fixed. My wrists were held level with the surface of the bed and with my ankles fixed and held apart, I was obliged to crouch down. But that was only the beginning. After I was fixed, my owner came and touched some control so that a large part of the head of the bed came out underneath me. It was a long, padded cylinder which had looked like a round bolster at the head of the bed, held on large telescopic rams and it kept moving inexorably towards me until it lodged under my hips. The pressure then was quite intense as I was stretched back by it, forced to bend forward with my bottom in the air. The Emir inspected the mechanism, adjusting it until I was held almost completely immobile in that rather obscene position. He had a drink in his hand as he worked and when he was satisfied, the women disappeared, leaving me at his mercy. I have had some opportunity to study his ‘mercy’ and I have come to expect very little evidence of it. But I had not anticipated the humiliation he would inflict on me next.

  While I was held down helplessly, he played with me. I saw him slip off his sandals before he moved behind me. I could just see him standing behind me with his drink in one hand as he started to touch me. But he didn’t just touch me. He played with my clothes with his foot, lifting the skirt and slip, letting his bare foot slide up the insides of my legs. I have enjoyed the feel of stockinged legs myself, can appreciate the attraction. But I had to use some self-control to keep quiet as he played. After a while he started to lift up my skirt with his hand and eventually it was lifted right up to my waist. Soon afterwards, the slip was also raised and my knickers were exposed.

  He took advantage of my position, letting his hands roam all ov
er my body, stroking and squeezing, making me as aware as he was of the softness which had been built into it with all those hormones and the lack of vigorous exercise. He unbuttoned the front of the blouse and began to play with my breasts inside my basque, squeezing and manipulating them until one slipped right up over the cup. Later he turned his attention to my bottom. I felt his hands roaming over me and then felt the knickers being slid slowly down to expose my arse. He slipped them down as far as they would go - I could feel them lodged taut around my open thighs - but they no longer provided any sort of protection, either from his eyes or from his probing fingers. I expected his hands to slide up between my thighs, anticipated the touch on that place which had no right to be there. But as he touched me, I realised why he had fixed me in this position. He touched not my newly created space but the one I had always possessed, even if it was now enhanced by its surroundings. I was going to be sodomised!

  The touch of his finger at that entrance made me realise why he had chosen to have a woman created out of a man. He was one of those evil perverts who did such unspeakable things with other men. And now he was going to do it with me. It was not enough that he had deprived me of my manhood, had robbed me of almost every source of natural pleasure. He was now about to subject me to his unnatural vices. The touch made me shudder. I dragged at the chains at my wrists and ankles, trying to avoid his vile fingers as they probed near that entrance. I could get very little movement, however much I struggled but I had to try - my body was moving without my direct control anyway. Every touch sent a paroxysm through me. I was forcing my hips into the padded support, sliding them sideways to get his fingers away. But he was only teasing me at that point, testing the extent of my movement.

  At about that time, the women came back and lubricated me. They squeezed some of the oily lubricant into both available entrances, as if they knew that my master would want to use my anus as well as, or instead of, my female entrance. I wondered about him. Did he have all his potential partners prepared in this way, or was this arrangement just for me? If he had really wanted to bugger me, why had he spent so much time and money having me converted? Was he just a secret sodomite who preferred others to think him normal? What chance did I have of persuading him not to sodomise me when I was held so securely and so helplessly?

  He sent the women away and continued to let his fingers play round the entrance to my arse. I still didn’t want to let him think that I would ever willingly submit to such treatment and jerked away. I suppose that my movements were largely involuntary, brought about by my revulsion at the prospect of being made the victim of such an unspeakable act. After teasing me like that for a while, he came closer, standing behind me. He leaned over the top of me so that he could grasp both breasts in his hands. As he leaned forward I realised that what was now touching my bottom was his awful weapon, sliding out from under his robes. I felt it touching the entrance to my back passage. I couldn’t help it; not only was I struggling to get away from that awful contact but I found myself emitting a sound closer to a scream that I have ever heard myself make before. I was shouting, begging, pleading with him not to do it as I struggled. He leaned down over me, holding me still against himself. I became aware that he was talking quietly to me in English, although in my excited and frightened state that awareness came slowly. He was telling me that he had enjoyed playing with me but he was ready to start fucking now. He pointed out that he could take me however and whenever he chose, that my feeble struggles were useless, that there was nothing I could do to prevent him from doing exactly as he chose. But I was going to be allowed a very special privilege. He would let me choose which entrance he would use. He would position himself behind me with his loaded weapon cocked and ready, resting against me. All that I would need to do was choose which entrance he would use and then get him inside me. He would not help, although he would not resist either. It would be entirely my choice - he intended to enjoy himself however I chose. I might not expect such a choice in the future, and unless he was completely satisfied with the outcome there would be other, different occasions to look forward to.

  What followed was the most humiliating and degrading situation he could have created for me. I had spent months accepting the inevitable; that I would have to submit to being fucked, to being raped, to having to try to please him by letting him use my altered body. But this was so much worse than anything I had imagined. Somehow I had imagined that I would be able to pretend that it was happening to someone else, a woman called Sarah perhaps, but not to me. After all those internal struggles as I had come to terms with the awful alternatives, this would be so much worse than I had anticipated. I had prepared myself to go through with the pretence; I would be that make-believe woman but although I would make myself perform the task he demanded, it would not be me, the man who still lived inside this imitation female’s body but her who would be fucked. But the man inside me could still be buggered, and in order to avoid that I would have to be present when the woman all round me gave herself up to her ordeal. He had forced me back to the surface, back into existence and now I had to act as a willing woman, co-operating fully in her own violation.

  He stood behind me with his penis resting against my anus, exerting just enough pressure to hold it there, inviting me to thrust back at him and accept its entrance. The amount of movement I could manage was so small that it took all my strength to dislodge it from that position and get it closer to the tunnel which had been so carefully prepared for his use. I can still wonder at the way that I had managed to accept this as the ‘right’ entrance, but somehow I had. Despite the difficulty I did manage to dislodge it several times but each time it slipped right down between my legs. If I was to avoid being buggered, I would have to catch it at my other entrance. On each occasion it slipped down between my legs. Each time I dislodged it, he replaced it and stood behind me again, exerting slightly more pressure against my anus with each replacement. It was beginning to slide in, filling me with horror and disgust. I had to get it away and to catch it at the other entrance.

  Even when I succeeded, it was not over. He just stood behind me, as he had promised, waiting for me to ease his entrance. I had so little movement that it took massive efforts to get the tip inside and then more and more effort to pull him right inside me. It slipped in by the millimetre rather than the inch and I was almost exhausted when I finally felt that he was securely lodged deep inside me. Although I could feel him there, solid and unyielding, there was no sense of triumph and no feeling of pleasure. I was too degraded and humiliated for that. I waited for him to begin to fuck me so that it would be over, incapable of offering any resistance and knowing that there would be no pleasure for me, however much he enjoyed using me. I knew that I had too little freedom to do more than just gently wriggle against him - I would certainly not manage enough movement to bring him off. So I pressed myself back at him as hard as I could and braced myself for the expected onslaught. I could feel myself stretched and distended inside, could feel the slippery ooze they had squeezed inside me beginning to leak wetly down the insides of my thighs. And the tears starting to drip from the end of my nose.

  My humiliation was complete. But instead of fucking me as I had expected, almost demanded after so much degraded effort, he just stood still behind me. And then, and I knew what would follow, he began to pull himself out. I went frantic. It was so unfair. I had done everything he had demanded; had even put myself round him and yet he was still going to bugger me. I struggled to keep him in, clenching my legs as much as I could in the chains, begging, pleading, crying out to be allowed to let him fuck me. But it was useless. He was determined and I was just a possession. It had all been an awful trick to enforce my degradation and humiliation; he was going to bugger me anyway.

  I was surprised by what happened next. He pulled right away from me and called the women back to deal with me. I half expected a beating for failing to please him. I knew that my artificial fanny had not hel
d him as I had liked to be held. It had felt loose and stretched even to me; not likely to give a man an enjoyable fuck. But it was all I had to offer and it had been rejected. So what I really expected was another dose of lubricant up my back passage or a whipping. So, as I said, I was surprised instead to find my legs released before I was upended and tipped over on to the bed on my back. My wrists were still firmly secured to the posts so my arms were still outspread but I was lying on the bed, my knickers round my knees and my skirt and slip in some disarray. I noticed the video cameras fixed to every bed post above me, others around the walls, all pointing at me, now with little glowing red lights above them. My every movement was being recorded, might be observed even now by unknown, unseen watchers. I was still an exhibit, an object, an imitation woman to be subjugated and humiliated by my owner. I was only a possession, a sex toy, available to give him pleasure just because it gave him pleasure to so treat me. As I lay there, I became aware of the reflection in the mirror over the bed. I saw the disturbed and frightened woman lying there, her blouse fallen open to reveal the pert breasts which had emerged from the restraint of the basque. Her legs were revealed as her skirt and slip bunched up round the tops of her thighs. Although she looked distraught, she also looked charmingly available, fixed so securely to the bed. I watched her writhe as she struggled to get her legs back under the disordered skirt. Just looking at her was exciting, even though I knew perfectly well that she was me. I felt myself responding to her as I watched.