by Paul Blades
When Zarifa began to unbutton her dress, Leslie started to cry. When she had the bodice open, she reached her hand inside and took possession of her breasts, massaging and squeezing them. She kept pulling the fabric until both her breasts were free and then began kissing and suckling at them, all the time issuing a lustful, revolting moan. Leslie tried again to struggle, but Zarifa took hold of one of her nipples and twisted it until Leslie screamed. When Zarifa released it, Leslie’s resistance was over.
The larger, stronger woman had her way with her. She took hold of Leslie’s cheeks, pressing them to force her mouth open, and thrust her tongue inside. Her breath was stale and sour and it made Leslie’s stomach turn. She caressed her breasts while she kissed her, swishing her tongue all through her mouth, pressing her lips down hard. Her hand then slowly descended down Leslie’s belly until she reached her skirt. She pulled it up and caressed the length of her thighs. Leslie had her legs pressed together, the other woman’s right thigh between them. When she felt the woman’s fingers take hold of a piece of her skin and begin to twist it, she relented, spreading her free leg. She moaned when she felt the hand cover her mons.
Zarifa played with her pussy, stroking it, slipping her finger down its moistening divide, pressing down on her bud of pleasure, plunging inside her. Leslie tried to fight off the feelings of arousal. But the hot tongue in her mouth, the press of the other woman’s body against her, the knowledgeable, experienced, incessant fingers on her crevasse, forced her lusts to rise. When the woman thrust two of her thick fingers inside her and began to fuck her with them, she moaned unhappily.
This sparked Zarifa into action. She pushed Leslie’s skirt up until it was around her waist and then farther and farther up until it was around her chest. She released her arms and, pulling her up by her hair, forced the dress up over her head and then down her arms. Once the dress was free of her body, she rummaged around until she found some twine that had held the bundles of laundry together. She pressed Leslie face down against the fabric and climbed on top of her legs. She grabbed her wrists and tied them off behind her.
Leslie whined as the woman pulled her up. Apparently she wanted to inspect her prize before she fully consumed it. She held Leslie’s face in her hands, licking it and turning it this way and that to get a better look at it. She felt her breasts again and moved her torso so that the dim light shined more directly on them. She pinched and twisted her nipples and then ran her hand over her belly. She turned Leslie over again and caressed her soft rear globes, pushing her finger inside Leslie’s delicate anal ring. She stroked her thighs while kissing her rear cheeks, laying her tongue along the valley between them. She grabbed her pussy again, from behind, and stroked and played with it, pushing her fingers deep inside and then pulling and pinching her clit.
Leslie moaned and cried while she was being handled. It was if she were a tiny doll in the bigger woman’s hands. The heat of her hands and the sure way that she handled her, made Leslie’s blood run hot.
Then, having satisfied her prurient curiosity, Zarifa turned Leslie’s body around again and pressed her face against one of her large, fleshy breasts.
Leslie knew what the woman wanted her to do. She opened her mouth and subsumed the long, thick nipple in her mouth and began to suckle it. Zarifa’s one hand held her face firmly down against her tit while the other caressed her back. She was moaning low and deep. She shifted Leslie’s face to her other massive orb and repeated the procedure. The ease with which the older, stronger woman controlled her, the contact between their naked flesh, she sensation of suckling on her teat, all drove Leslie’s lust. She hated herself for it, tried to deny it, but her pussy kept getting warmer and warmer and her heart was beating stronger and stronger.
Keeping a firm hold on Leslie’s hair, Zarifa laid back and spread her powerful legs. She forced Leslie’s face between them. Leslie took a deep, involuntary breath of the woman’s arousal just before her mouth was forced down upon the woman’s hairy, messy cunt. Fearful of the woman’s retribution, being totally at her mercy, Leslie went to work at once.
Zarifa sighed and moaned as Leslie serviced her. Leslie licked and suckled energetically, knowing that she would not be permitted to remove her face from the musky, mushy organ until she had satisfied the cruel woman. The hand held her head tightly, pushing it down, moving it up and down, encouraging Leslie to suckle at this place or that. When she pushed her head down hard, smothering her face and nose with her flesh, Leslie took this as a signal to probe deeply into the gushing canal. She wriggled her tongue, washed the inner walls, tickled the delicate roof. When her breath became short she began to struggle. She tried desperately to raise her head. Her hands writhed in their bonds. She called out frantically into the deep cavern which yawned before her. Zarifa apparently got the message. She lifted Leslie’s head for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath and then pressed it back down.
The woman’s need was approaching swiftly. Her mighty thighs began to tremble. Her back arched. Her grip on Leslie’s hair became tighter. She began moving Leslie’s head up and down rapidly, pausing every few strokes to press it down hard on her clit. Then she grabbed Leslie’s head with both hands. She pressed it down hard. Her hips thrust her pussy up, pressing the bone of her pelvis hard against Leslie’s forehead. She roared her pleasure. She groaned and shouted something out in Arabic again and again.
Suddenly, as if having become electrified, she raised Leslie’s head and pushed her to her back atop the spongy fabric. She reversed herself, throwing her leg over Leslie’s torso and then lay down atop her. She spread her legs, pushing her pussy once more against Leslie’s face and then leaned down and covered Leslie’s mons with her widespread lips.
She attacked Leslie’s pussy as if she meant to consume it. She licked and bit and suckled frantically. She pressed her coosh hard against Leslie’s face, grinding her hips, thrusting them back and forth. Leslie’s lust took off like a rocket. She began to moan and groan too. She spread her graceful thighs as far as they would go and began pumping her hips against the mouth that was tormenting her. Zarifa put her hot, meaty hands on Leslie’s inner thighs, pressing them down, raising her hips. Her tongue was snakelike as it twisted and turned inside her, slithered over her engorged, throbbing lips and then pressing down, circling and taunting her rigid love button.
Leslie came first. Her body felt like it was a huge knot that someone was pulling tighter and tighter. Her pussy throbbed and contracted, overriding all other sensations. Enflamed by the rabid tongue and lips that possessed it, it burned brightly as if it were the center of the universe.
Zarifa groaned and her body shuddered as she came too. Her thighs closed around Leslie’s head, her arms snaked around her thighs, her hips ground against Leslie’s face.
When her assailant’s excitation began to wane, she slid off of Leslie’s body. They were both straining to catch their breaths. Zarifa let her hand flow across Leslie’s belly and breasts, happily.
There was still time left before the guard would return and demand Leslie’s release. Zarifa spent it caressing and stroking Leslie’s body. She cooed and murmured Arabic phrases. She had Leslie on her lap, her hands still bound behind her, and she kissed her again, a long, impassioned, languorous kiss which Leslie had no energy to resist. She turned Leslie over and spread her across her thigh. Forcing her to spread her legs again, she returned to teasing and tickling her puss, her other hand in possession of her breasts, until Leslie’s lust began to return. She slipped two of her long, fat fingers inside her and began to fuck her with them while pulling on and pinching her nipples. Leslie came again almost right away, her moans of pleasure echoing through the room.
Leslie was still cooling down from her forced climax when the door to the room opened. The guard knocked her club against the door and called out something imperative. Zarifa brought Leslie to her feet, scooped up her dress and brought her to the front of the room. Leslie was mortified to have the guard see her naked and boun
d, her face and chest still flushed from her bout of passion. The guard laughed.
Zarifa gave Leslie another forced kiss before she released her. “Ghaniyah pretty,” she said smiling. She left Leslie standing by the guard while she retrieved her own dress. She put it on happily. She gave Leslie’s breast a tweak as she passed and exited the door.
The guard did not let Leslie dress, but escorted her back to her cell, bound and naked. When she locked her back into her cell, she threw the dress in after her.
Leslie was lying on her bed, naked and bound when Jamilah returned from her work duty. When she saw her like that, she drew the correct conclusion. “You let Zarifa fuck you!” she said accusingly. “You filthy whore.” She gave Leslie several smacks of her hand on her bottom and back. Then she laid back on her bed, opened her Koran and lit a cigarette, one she had earned by pimping Leslie out. It was only when the guard came to call them to dinner that she untied Leslie’s bonds and let her dress. At dinner, Zarifa smiled lustfully at Leslie, winking and smirking. She left her alone though. As they were leaving, she dropped a piece of hard candy in her pocket. When they got back to their cell, Jamilah took it away from her and ate it.
That night, Leslie refused to let Jamilah fuck her. She rolled up into a ball and tried to hide herself away. Jamilah jumped on top of her, gave her several hard punches to her body with her fist, reached in and twisted her breasts, pulled her hair savagely and slapped her across the face. Leslie, weeping, gave in. Jamilah made her come three times before she presented her her quim to suckle.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Leslie had given up all hope that Mr. Moussa would come and save her. Frankly, she didn’t know if he had the power to, even if he had the inclination. It had been a week since she was arrested. Sergeant Malikah had given her a beating one afternoon for being slow to obey. Captain Khalil had her brought directly to his office one night where he fucked her for two hours. She had been brought again to the laundry room on her sixth day where Zarifa used her again, this time with one of her friends. One day, three of the guards took her to an empty cell where they all took turns having her suck their pussies. It seemed that she was condemned to be the prison’s pass around whore, doomed to languish there forever.
Therefore, she was surprised, on the eighth day, that when she was brought to Sergeant Malikah’s office, she saw Mr. Moussa and his factotum, Faraq. They were sitting in padded, steel chairs in front of Sergeant Malikah’s desk and were both wearing Western style suits. Leslie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw them. She broke out into a cold sweat and began to tremble all over. She prayed that they had come to take her away. A vast chasm opened in her belly. She dared not look at them directly, casting only tremulous glances. In conformity with the Queen’s number one rule, she said nothing.
Mr. Moussa eyed her with his typical aloofness. Faraq, however, had daggers in his eyes. They lingered on her bare legs. Although she had provided with a clean dress each day before she came to Malikah’s office for her daily abuse, they kept giving her the same size as before. The edge of the hem was at least three inches above her knees and her bodice pulled tightly over her breasts.
No one said anything to her. Mr. Moussa was having a pleasant conversation with Sergeant Malikah. They were all sipping cups of tea. Leslie’s hopes rose when she noticed darkness flash across the Queen’s face like she was being deprived of a favorite toy.
While they talked, Leslie remained utterly silent, her arms crossed behind her back. She felt a little like a small child in the principal’s office listening while the adults discussed her latest escapade. Finally, the tone of their conversation and their body language indicated that the discussion had come to its termination. Leslie’s stomach fluttered as she wondered what the end result would be. She suppressed a desperate whine. Would she be released or sent back to her cell? For Leslie, it was a life or death question. She was so tense she felt like she was going to throw up. Bile rose in her throat.
It was Malikah who addressed her. “Mr. Moussa is a very influential member of our community,” she said calmly and slowly. “He has agreed to go surety for you until your trial. You are to be released into his custody. You are to obey all of his rules to the letter, or he will return you here. Do you understand?”
Tears came to Leslie’s eyes. A wave of heavenly relief passed through her. She just prayed that it was not some cruel joke. Her body shuddered and she felt like she was going to faint. “Y,yes, sayyadati,” she said, her voice low and tremulous. “Thank you, sayyadati.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Mr. Moussa. I don’t believe a person with offenses as serious as your should be allowed out in the community, but, as I said, Mr. Moussa is a very influential man. He is also a very honorable man and considers it his duty to assist you.”
Leslie’s lips were trembling. He knees felt weak. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible in case Mr. Moussa or the powers that be changed their minds. It was going to be wonderful to be able to be her own person again, to be able to walk around as she wanted, to speak when she wanted. And most of all, to be free from abuse. She would contact the American Embassy in Tripoli as soon as she got out and see what could be done to get her home. It had been a terrible, terrible experience, a nightmare. The things that had happened to her seemed as if they had emerged from her worst nightmare. But soon it would be over.
Malikah spoke again.
“I have told Mr. Moussa that your civilian clothes are on their way here. He will wait outside while you get dressed.” Then she said something to Mr. Moussa in Arabic. He nodded, gave Leslie another dispassionate look and got up from his chair. He and Faraq, after appropriate salutations to the Queen, left the room.
When they were gone, Malikah leaned back in her chair, her eyes pinned on Leslie. “As you can imagine, Ghaniyah, we are sorry to see you go,” she said imperiously. “We’ve enjoyed your little visit with us. But don’t worry. I will speak to Captain Khalil to see what he can do about moving up your trial. Mr. Moussa’s influence only goes so far and our courts have a 95% conviction rate.”
She let this sink in for a moment. Leslie shuddered as she received the information.
“Oh, and Mr. Moussa has surrendered your passport, so don’t think of going anywhere. You don’t want to come back here with new charges, do you?”
“N,no, sayyadati,” Leslie stuttered.
There came a knock on the door. Malikah shouted out an Arabic word and the door opened. It was one of the guards. She was carrying a clear plastic bag. In it were Leslie’s blue skirt and her white blouse. Her underwear was nowhere to be seen.
Under the watchful eye of her oppressor, Leslie stripped off her light brown dress and then stepped into her skirt. She took her blouse from the guard and put it on. They had not returned her shoes. When she had finished buttoning it, she stood at attention and put her hands behind her back again, awaiting permission to leave.
“Goodbye for now, Ghaniyah,” the sergeant said ominously. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She nodded towards the door to the free world. Leslie hesitated, took a deep breath and then walked to the door.
Mr. Moussa and Faraq were waiting for her in the hallway. Mr. Moussa said nothing. Faraq ordered her to come with them.
They walked down a long hallway, through a locked steel door which was buzzed open for them, down another hallway, past a reception area with a big, wooden desk. There was a pair of glass doors. They walked to them. Faraq pulled one open, and then they were out.
A huge wave of relief flooded Leslie’s mind. “I’m out! I’m out!” she exclaimed to herself. She started to cry. The day was sunny and hot. Bright, wonderful colors were everywhere. A woman and a child were walking on the street nearby. There were stores and cars. The air was clean and fresh. It felt so good to be free. A huge weight had been lifted from her. She felt like dancing.
Mr. Moussa’s limousine was waiting for them. The driver opened the right rear door for Mr. Moussa. Faraq took hol
d of Leslie’s arm, gripping it tight, and led her to the other side of the car. When he opened the door, Leslie went to get in, but he held her back. There was a pile of steel chains on the seat. Faraq picked it up. Leslie blanched when she saw what they were. He quickly fastened the handcuffs to her wrists in front of her. Then he crouched down and fastened a set to her ankles. These were connected by an 18” long chain. Leslie suppressed a whine. While she was clear of the awful prison, she was still, clearly a prisoner. Sergeant Malikah’s words came back to her and she shivered.
It was about a half hour’s drive to the Moussa mansion. Faraq rode in the front seat next to the driver. Leslie looked over to Mr. Moussa several times, trying to gauge what his reaction was to all this, but he stoically kept his vision straight ahead as if she were not even in the car. It was not of a nature to reassure her. She knew that things would not go back to the way they were. Too much had gone on. They would certainly make sure that she never left the house again. But she had been forming what she thought was a warm relationship with Mr. Moussa and she didn’t want that to go by the boards.
The limo pulled in front of the house. Mr. Moussa’s side was closest. Faraq opened his door and he got out of the car and strolled up the six or seven steps and entered. The driver opened Leslie’s door. Due to the chains around her ankles, she had to step carefully out of the car. By the time she got out, Faraq was there. He took custody of her and, holding her by the arm, walked her up to the front door. She had to take little baby steps, especially going up the stairs. When they were inside, Faraq locked the deadbolt to the door and withdrew the key from the lock, putting it in his pocket. He began to usher her towards Mr. Moussa’s office.
As they were walking toward it, who should come out of a side room, but Mrs. Moussa. She took a look at Leslie and scowled. She released a string of Arabic epithets, concluding with the English word, “Whore!”
