Becoming Ghaniyah- A Tale of Bondage and Submission Read online

  It did not take Jamilah long to come. Her body quaked and her motions accelerated. She grunted and moaned. Her excitement was contagious and Leslie’s well worn purse renewed its throbs and convulsions. The two women groaned and moaned as their passions overwhelmed them.

  The callous woman was not satisfied with one orgasm. She continued her motions, grinding her pussy harder and harder against Leslie’s. The pleasure was so intense that Leslie began to cry.

  “Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes, my pretty little whore! Make Jamilah come! Make Jamilah come! Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  Slowly, Jamilah’s hips wound down their assault. Her body went limp and she collapsed upon Leslie’s. Her chest was rising and falling intently as she began to recover from her paroxysms of pleasure.

  Finally, she withdrew. She patted Leslie on her belly and sat up. “You good whore,” she said happily. She got up from the bed and rummaged around in her box under her bed. Leslie watched in the slight light as she rolled herself another cigarette. She dipped her head under her blanket and lit it, causing a brief explosion of light underneath. Then she came out and returned to Leslie’s bed.

  While she smoked, she gave Leslie’s mushy crevasse gentle, loving strokes. “I been here five year,” she said. “Four more to go. You the best I had. Pretty, little whore. We have many night together. You love Jamilah. You see.”

  Leslie moaned at the prospect. She prayed that what the woman said was not going to come to pass. She didn’t know how she could live like this. She would go insane. It wasn’t right! It wasn’t fair! She began to cry again.

  The other woman noticed her sobs. “No cry little whore,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “It be okay. You see. Jamilah take good care of you. You Jamilah pretty little whore now.”

  Leslie moaned at the prospect.

  Jamilah finished her cigarette. She crushed it against the bedpost and then tossed it into the toilet. Her hand had continued its caresses to Leslie’s puss and her thumb had entered her canal. She began to rub it over Leslie’s sensitized clit. Her pussy had begun to get warm again. She sighed.

  “We go one more time, okay?” Jamilah said. Then she lowered her head and put her lips to Leslie’s quim.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jamilah eventually let Leslie go back to sleep after two more explosive climaxes. She untied her ankles and retreated to her bed, but not without giving each of Leslie’s teats a warm suckle. Leslie was so exhausted by their encounter that she passed into somulance almost at once.

  She awoke to the sound of one of the guard’s whistles. Another one came down the line of cells and dragged her baton along the bars making a noisome clatter. Leslie suffered some confusion at first, trying to figure out where she was and why she couldn’t move her hands. When she figured it out, a pall passed over her.

  Jamilah jumped out of her bed and took a long pee. Then she washed her face at the sink and dried it off using Leslie’s fresh towel. She brushed her teeth with the new toothbrush. She pulled on her dirty, light brown dress and then sat on the bed smiling at Leslie. There was a spark in her that was not there yesterday as if claiming Leslie as her property had presented wonderful, new horizons for her.

  Another whistle blew and Jamilah got up and stood by the door. Leslie struggled at her bonds. She was desperate that she would not be given a chance to eat breakfast. Her stomach ached with hunger. Jamilah just smiled at her.

  The guard came by and unlocked the cell. Jamilah dutifully stepped outside, turned right and waited. The guard came inside and gave Leslie a studied look. Her skirt was still up around her neck. Her breasts were dangling out. The guard gave Jamilah a sidewise look and then smiled, having put two and two together. She leaned over and unfastened Leslie’s gag from behind her head and then undid her wrists. When Leslie got up to get in line behind Jamilah, she gave Leslie a little pinch on her ass.

  All the way to the cafeteria, Leslie agonized as to whether the big woman who had assaulted her yesterday would make another appearance. Just before they entered it, Jamilah surreptitiously stepped out of the line for a second and let Leslie pass. Then she got in line behind her.

  A few seconds later, the big woman appeared and made to cut into the line behind Leslie. Jamilah made a hissing sound and uttered something that sounded like a curse as she shoved the woman away. The woman cursed back and got in line behind Jamilah.

  A wave of relief passed through Leslie. She would be able to eat her meal in peace. There was some benefit, she saw, from her assault last night. Jamilah must be one tough cookie, she thought, if she was able to oppose the big woman so fearlessly. Maybe having her as a cellmate had some advantages. Wasn’t it better to be subject to one woman’s abuse without having to worry about the others?

  When they went through the chow line she picked up a large, brown, wooden bowl and carried it in. She took a spoon and held in firmly in her hand. One of the women behind the counter spotted her right away and nudged the woman on her right. She, in turn, nudged he woman to her right. It was the woman who had made a kissy face at her yesterday. She made another kissy face today and gave Leslie an extra large portion of mush. It was brownish and looked like some kind of oatmeal. The woman at the end of the line handed her what looked like a mug of black coffee. She too gave Leslie a pleasant smile.

  The line continued further and filed in between the tables. Leslie took a seat on the same bench she was on yesterday. The same women were sitting on the opposite side and a couple of them smirked when they saw her. There was a slight commotion to Leslie’s right. Jamilah and the big woman were jostling for position. The big woman put her bowl of mush down on the table and reached into the pocket of her uniform. She brought out two tightly rolled cigarettes. Jamilah set her bowl down, took the cigarettes and let the big woman pass. She smiled as she sat down next to Leslie.

  It was just like the day before. Her big, hot hand started in on Leslie’s thigh right away. Leslie closed her legs, but the woman gave her skin a pinch and she reluctantly opened them again. She realized that Jamilah had sold her use to the big woman for two cigarettes. She knew now what Jamilah had meant when she said that she owned her. She was her whore to be rented out at her pleasure and for her profit. A wave of misery passed through her even as the big woman’s fingers began a tantalizing drumming on her puss.

  This time, Leslie made sure she ate. It was hard to concentrate on the meal as the big woman’s fingers expertly raised her lusts. She had to stop when the tell tale surge in her loins told her that her climax was imminent. She grabbed her bowl with her free hand so no one would take it away. She bowed her head as the waves of pleasure went through her. When they passed, she tearfully resumed her meal.

  Leslie hadn’t peed yet that morning. She had been too anxious not to miss her meal so she had skipped it. Her need came on her intently as the line of women worked its way back to the cells. As soon as the cell opened, she dashed for the toilet. She uttered a sigh of relief as the water passed from her making a loud splash in the bowl. When she was done, she went to take a piece of toilet paper from the slender roll, but Jamilah snatched it away. “Paper for shit,” she said caustically.

  Grimacing, Leslie got up and went to her bed.

  They lay on their beds for about a half hour before the whistle blew again. Leslie glared at Jamilah the whole time, cursing her in her heart. The older woman just smiled and took out her Koran.

  When the whistle blew, Jamilah stood and waited by the cell door. Leslie got up behind her. The guard came and opened it. When Leslie started to step out, the guard barred her way. “No work,” she said curtly and slammed the door shut.

  Leslie went back to her bed. Forlornly, she watched the line of women pass by. She didn’t want to spend the whole day alone and locked in her cell. Even Jamilah, as evil as she was, was better than no company at all. When the last inmate passed out of sight, Leslie lay down, turned her head to the wall and crunched up into a little ball.

  She was distraught
beyond all belief. Who could ever have imagined her life plunging so low, to such a desperate state? Her comeliness, her beauteous aspect, which had once been her pride, was now her curse. Everyone she came into contact with seemed to lust after her. She no longer belonged to herself, but to those who had power over her. They had forced her to spread her legs, to surrender her most private places. She thought of that sweet divide between her thighs. It had become the most important part of her.

  And yet, her pussy began to tingle when she thought of her helplessness last night when Jamilah had assaulted her. She had never had such body wrenching orgasms before, ever. She would never have surrendered willingly to the coarse, callous older woman, or to any woman for that matter. But something inside her yearned for it to happen again.

  Her hand drifted down between her thighs and she discovered that she was wet. She glided a finger along her crevasse, gathering her moisture and spread it over her love button, making it slimy and slick. She rubbed it tenderly, luxuriating in the delicious messages it was sending her.

  Then, when she realized what she was doing, when she realized the despicable nature of her thoughts, she quickly drew her finger back.

  “I’m not like that!” she asserted to herself tearfully. “I’m not perverted. I don’t want it to happen again! It’s just horrible!”

  She spent the morning tossing and turning on her bed. She looked into the box underneath it and brought out her personal copy of the Koran. It was, naturally, in Arabic and she couldn’t read a single word. After flipping through it a couple of times, she put it back in the box and lay down again.

  After a few hours, an old inmate came by pushing a cart. She was accompanied by a guard. She stopped at Leslie’s cell and passed a wooden bowl of mush under the bars. It came with a wooden spoon. Leslie scooped it up and ate it quickly. It was salty and pasty and had little kernels of something in it. When the old woman returned, Leslie passed the bowl and the spoon back out to her.

  That was her excitement for the morning.

  A little while later, she decided to make use of her relative privacy to move her bowels. Although she was full, she had a hard time getting her wastes to pass. When she was done, she took a small piece of toilet paper and wiped herself. She didn’t know how long the tiny roll would have to last. She washed her hands with the coarse soap, dried them on her dingy towel and went back to her bunk.

  Some time in the middle of the afternoon, one of the guards came by her cell. Leslie was floating in between sleep and consciousness. The guard banged on the bars twice with her baton and barked something out to get Leslie’s attention. When Leslie stood up, she opened the cell door and motioned for her to come.

  Leslie followed the guard with foreboding, her hands behind her back. Sergeant Malikah had said that she would see her today and she was sure that that was where she was going. They entered what appeared to be the administrative wing of the prison and walked down the hall. They passed the door where Leslie had gotten her supplies yesterday. Leslie thought for a moment about asking the guard to let her stop and get a better fitting dress, but she gave up the idea when she realized that she would just be inviting a blow from the guard’s baton. Her body was already black and blue in several places and her wounds were sore. She didn’t want to add to them today if she could help it.

  They stopped at a door and the guard knocked. There was a sign on the door with Arabic lettering that looked official. A voice shouted out from behind it and the guard opened it. She stood back and invited Leslie to pass her. When Leslie entered he room, she closed the door.

  Leslie was standing in front of a large, heavy wooden desk. It had a two level tray of papers on it. There was a tall, ornately decorated cup holding some pens and pencils, a stapler, a tape dispenser, a black telephone with numerous buttons. One of the batons that the guards carried was lying next to the phone. Besides the large, green desk pad, that was all there was. The walls of the room were bare except for what looked like a diploma or certificate on one wall covered with shiny glass with a black frame around it, and on the other side of the room, a picture of the country’s ancient dictator sitting behind a desk and smiling. In one corner of the room was the national flag hanging limply on a pole. In the other was a coat tree. A bright blue ayala was hanging on it as well as what looked like a multi strapped whip. The tips of the strands were tinged red.

  Behind the desk was Sergeant Malikah. She was dressed in the green uniform of the guards. She had a thin file opened and she was reading it. Leslie stood there anxiously, her hands behind her. After a few moments, the sergeant looked up.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington,” the woman said. Her voice was pleasant but had a steel edge to it.

  “Good afternoon, sayyadati,” Leslie said uncertainly. It was the first words she had spoken all day.

  “I’ve been reading your file. Assault on an officer, immodest dress, prostitution, bribery, failure to carry documents, blasphemy. These are all serious charges, Miss Harrington.”

  Leslie trembled as she heard the list of charges. Assault on an officer and blasphemy were new to her. And there was the bribery charge. She started to shake and tears came to her eyes.

  “I,I didn’t do anything, sayyadati,” Leslie blurted out. “I was out for a walk. They assaulted me. And I was raped,” she said. Her voice had a distinct element of panic to it.

  The sergeant raised an eyebrow. “Should I add slander against the state to these charges?”

  “N,no, sayyadati,” Leslie whined. “Please don’t. Please!”

  “The report says that you were naked in your cell and enticed a guard to have anal intercourse with you. I’m surprised that you weren’t charged with crimes against nature and adultery. The guard, I understand, was married.”

  Leslie started to cry. “It’s not true, sayyadati,” she moaned. “It’s not true. And I didn’t blaspheme!”

  “Three people at the scene have sworn that you called out, ‘A curse on your Allah!’ when you were arrested. Are you saying that they are lying?”

  “Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie moaned. “It’s not true!”

  “Well, there will have to be a trial. You are fortunate that blasphemy is not a capital offense in Tunisia, not like some other backward countries. But it does carry very stiff sentence. Twenty years.”

  “Twenty years!” Leslie cried out. “Oh my god! It can’t be true! I didn’t do it! I didn’t!” Her knees went weak and she became dizzy.

  “And 100 lashes,” the sergeant added.

  “Ohhhhh, no!” Leslie screamed. She fell to her knees. It was a nightmare! A horrid, horrid nightmare! It couldn’t be true! How would she ever stand it! It was like a death sentence! She would never go home!

  “Get up!” Malikah shouted. She stood from her chair and slammed the baton down on it. “Get up on your feet or I’ll give you a beating you’ll never forget!”

  Leslie jumped back to her feet. Her face was awash with tears. She put her hands behind her back. Her lips were trembling. Her chest was heaving. She felt like she was going to throw up. She stared at the angry guard, her eyes pleading.

  The sergeant calmed herself. She sat back down in her chair.

  “Of course,” she continued, “that is the maximum sentence. A lot will depend on your behavior while you are our guest. I’m willing to help you. And, let me say, that can mean a lot.”

  “Ohhhhhhh, pleeeeeeease! Plllllleeeeeease, sayyadati ! Pllllllllleeeeease help me! Pllllllllleeeeease!” Leslie begged.

  Sergeant Malikah sat back in her chair. She still had the baton in her hand. She was patting her palm with it slowly. She was staring at Leslie intently. She licked her lips. Her eyes seemed to be devouring her hungrily.

  She slowly rose from her chair and walked around the desk. She walked around behind the prisoner and then back again. Leslie was sniffling. The administrative wing was air conditioned, but she had started sweating heavily, even though her body had run cold. She felt the eyes of the ‘Queen�
� running over her body. She jumped slightly, although she was not surprised, when she felt the woman’s hand on her rear cheek. It caressed it and then took hold of the fabric of her skirt and slowly began to edge it up.

  “You are a beautiful, young woman, Miss Harrington. Or should I call you Leslie?” Malikah said. Her voice was husky. When she had brought the fabric of Leslie’s skirt up to her waist, exposing her rear mounds, her hand slid along Leslie’s exposed flesh, ran under the curve of her cheeks and up the divide between them.

  Leslie’s stomach was churning. She didn’t know what to do. It seemed unreal that she was facing all of those charges. She thought of Jamilah who had only spent 5 years as a prisoner here. Was that what she would be like in 5 years? Would she have to spend years and years as somebody’s, maybe everybody’s, fuck toy? If she gave in to the Queen, would she keep her word? Would she help her? Or once she had her in her power, would she make sure that she stayed here forever? How was she to know?

  The Queen drew her hand back from Leslie’s ass and stepped in front of her. “No,” she said. “I think I’ll call you Ghaniyah. It means ‘the beautiful one.’ For you are very beautiful. It’s no wonder that you were able to inflame the lusts of a happily married man. I will give you lessons every day. Right here in my office. When you have learned to be holy, I will help you convert. It will help you before the judges to show your repentance. Do you want to repent, Ghaniyah? Will you suffer the lessons I will give you?”

  Leslie knew that she had no choice. If the Queen could help her, she could hurt her too. She would do anything to shorten her stay in this hell. Even if she was lying, and would be no help to her at all, she could make her life very, very difficult. She knew that the whip hanging on the coat tree as not just there for show. She was at the mercy of the guards and the other prisoners. She needed all the help she could get.

  “Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie murmured. “I’ll do whatever you say.”