Becoming Ghaniyah- A Tale of Bondage and Submission Page 9

  Leslie thought that she was done. But Captain Khalil’s lusts had been resparked by the vision of her gemauching his partner and the handling of her delectable flesh. He pulled her up and bent her face down over the sergeant’s desk. He lifted her hips, spread her legs and pierced her slit.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh! So good! So good!” he repeated over and over as he fucked her. The iron pole energized Leslie’s puss once more and he soon had her panting and gasping with pleasure. She gave out powerful, unrestrained moans as the relentless rod traversed her clit. She wanted to cry out for mercy. The pleasure was so intense, her lusts were raised so high, that she thought she might explode. When the captain gave out a great groan and his cock began its dance inside her, her pussy erupted into fierce, body wrenching throbs.

  She lay there listlessly as the captain readorned himself with his tunic. Malikah emerged from her chair and slapped her viciously on her ass. “Don’t get his cum all over my desk, whore,” she spat out. Leslie struggled to her feet. Malikah unlocked her handcuffs and handed her her limp, dirty brown dress. “Put this on!” she ordered.

  Exhausted by her ordeal, Leslie pulled the thin garment over her head and drew it down her body. She fumbled as she tried to button it. Malikah brushed her hands aside and completed the job for her. She pointed to a spot in front of her desk and told her, “Stand over there.”

  Leslie watched as the captain and sergeant gave each other an impassioned kiss. Khalil picked up his baton from the desk, gave Leslie an ironic smile and left. Sergeant Malikah sat down at her desk.

  She opened a drawer and pulled out a hairbrush which she quickly ran through her jet black hair. When she was done, she tossed it back in the drawer and looked at Leslie. “You will find that I am very generous person, Ghaniyah,” she said. “But everything depends on your cooperation. Do you understand?”

  Leslie had placed her hands back behind her and was standing with her legs apart. “Y,yes, sayyadati,” she murmured morosely. Her backside still burned and she could feel the captain’s spunk dripping down her thigh. She still had the taste of the Queen’s quim in her mouth. Her eyes were pointed downwards, unable to look in the face of her jailer. There was a moment’s silence. Malikah picked up the phone on her desk and punched in a number. She rattled off an order in Arabic into it and then placed it down into its cradle. A moment later a guard came in. “Take inmate Ghaniyah back to her cell,” Malikah said in English. And then, to Leslie, “I will see you again tomorrow.”

  It was late afternoon when Leslie got back to her cell. She could tell by the quality of light being admitted by the long, narrow, barred windows across the corridor from her cell. She knew that Jamilah would soon be back from her work detail. She lay on the bed, on her side, due to the injuries to her bum. She didn’t cry. She felt like she had used up all her tears. She kept thinking, “Twenty years! Twenty years! It can’t be true! It can’t!”

  Interspersed with her mourning over the seriousness of her predicament, she castigated herself for her easily drawn out lust while being used by Captain Khalil and Sergeant Malikah. The captain had been right. She had been wet when he examined her. There was something about the powerlessness she felt when under the Queen’s orders, something about being subject to the whims of the captain that had sparked her lust. It wasn’t that she didn’t hate being degraded. She resented it horribly. It was just that something triggered inside her when someone gave her a command that she knew was a prelude to her use.

  Leslie was still lying disconsolate on her bed when the other inmates were brought back from their work details. Jamilah came in, repeated her ritual from the day before and then sat down on her bunk. She lit a cigarette.

  “So, you see Queen today?” she asked Leslie after a while, her voice low, just over a whisper.

  Leslie turned to look at her and nodded.

  “She make you dance to her whip?”

  Again Leslie nodded.

  “Poor little whore,” Jamilah said. “But it can be good too. You see.”

  A little while later, one of the guards came by. She was holding a cardboard box in her arms. She maneuvered it so that she was holding it with one arm and unlocked the cell. She placed it on the floor and kicked it in. When she closed it, she gave Jamilah an order. Leslie heard her new name, Ghaniyah, mentioned.

  “Naäam, sayyadati,” Jamilah replied respectfully.

  Jamilah immediately pulled the box over to her bunk and began to rummage through it. She pulled out a thick, soft, white roll of toilet paper and smiled. “See,” she said to Leslie.

  There was a small chocolate bar, some fragrant soap, a hair brush, a small tube of salve, a small, plastic razor, skin lotion and some shaving cream. There was also a small clear plastic bag with three cigarettes in it. Jamilah beamed. “We rich now,” she said. She looked at Leslie. “You good whore.”

  She put most of the stuff in the box under her bed. “We eat chocolate later,” she said. “Guard give me order. I have salve for your stripes. I put on, make you feel better.”

  As much as she disdained any assistance from her cellmate, Leslie relished having something soothing put on her wounds. She nodded, “Yes,” and turned to her stomach. Jamilah came over and flipped up the skirt to her dress. She gave a whistle of astonishment.

  “Oooh!” she exclaimed. “Queen get you good.”

  She opened the tube, placed some salve on her hand and started to delicately apply it to the damage inflicted on Leslie’s rear. Leslie cringed when the older woman touched her wounds, but the salve really did make them feel better. Jamilah could not resist the opportunity to give Leslie’s ass a gentle caress.

  “You name Ghaniyah now,” she said. “Pretty name. You very pretty. I like.”

  Jamilah’s attentions were going beyond the medical and Leslie began to feel uncomfortable. Jamilah got off the bed and rummaged in her box again. She brought out the razor and the shaving cream. She came back to Leslie’s bunk.

  “You turn over,” she said.

  Leslie turned and looked at her over her shoulder, suspicious of the woman’s intentions.

  “Order from Queen. Shave pussy,” she replied.

  “Shave my pussy!” Leslie exclaimed. “No way!”

  “Shhhhhhhhh!” Jamilah warned. “If not, we both get whipped. Must do. Turn over and spread legs.”

  “I will not!” Leslie insisted.

  Jamilah slammed the flat of her hand on Leslie’s wounded ass. “Oooooooooooh!” Leslie moaned.

  “You do what I say,” Jamilah hissed threateningly. “Jamilah no get whipped for Ghaniyah. I hurt you bad first.”

  Realizing she had no choice, Leslie reluctantly turned over. Jamilah flipped up the front of her dress. “Spread legs,” she told Leslie. “Raise knees.”

  When Leslie had complied, she squeezed some shaving lotion out of the tube and applied it to Leslie’s pubic region. It frothed up in her wiry hair. Her cellmate jumped up from the bed and went over to the sink where she filled one of the tin cups with tepid water. She returned and insinuated herself between Leslie’s upturned thighs.

  Slowly, Jamilah swiped away the shaving cream, bringing with it the evidence of Leslie’s sexual maturity. Leslie had her eyes closed. She cringed each time the razor slid over the tender flesh surrounding her sex. She fought back her tears. She wondered dismally how many more indignities she would be subject to. She knew that she was utterly under the Queen’s thumb. She would be virtually a slave to her, and, through her, to Captain Khalil. Tomorrow, she would suffer her abuse again. And the day after and the day after and the day after.

  Jamilah’s efforts were making her pussy tingle. As she shaved, she placed her hand here and there, pushing and pulling her skin, pulling taut her love lips, so that she could do a complete job. When she was done, she patted Leslie’s denuded quim. “Very pretty,” she said, smiling. “You wait here.”

  She got up, washed out the cup and went back to her box. She pulled out the tube of skin lotion and returned t
o Leslie’s bed. She put some on her hand and began to rub it into the skin surrounding Leslie puss. Despite her hard hands, she had a gentle touch. Leslie felt herself relaxing and getting into the feeling of the soothing lotion being applied. When she felt Jamilah’s thumb slip through her love lips and ascend to her clit, he eyes popped open and she went to move her legs together. Jamilah laughed.

  “You nice and soft,” she said. “And you all wet.” She laughed again.

  That night, at dinner time, Leslie was able to eat her meal in peace. Apparently having been selected as Malikah’s sex slave made her out of bounds for the other inmates, at least for tonight. As long as the sergeant kept Jamilah supplied in cigarettes, maybe she would not be tempted to whore her out, Leslie thought.

  As at breakfast, Leslie held on tightly to her spoon and showed it dutifully to the guard as she exited the cafeteria.

  Leslie was full of apprehension when she returned to her cell. Soon it would be lights out and she expected another assault from Jamilah during the night. She tried to think of ways she could resist her. But the woman was hard as nails and would certainly hurt her if she did not cooperate.

  As promised, Jamilah broke out the chocolate after dinner. Leslie had to admit that it was a little bit of heaven to taste its sweetness. And to give Jamilah her due, she did split it evenly with her.

  About a half hour after lights out, Jamilah came over to Leslie’s bed. She did not resist when she insisted she remove her dress. What was the use? Jamilah lay down next to her, already naked. She stroked her hair and cooed little Arabic sayings to her. She draped her leg over Leslie’s thigh. The heat of her body was raising Leslie’s passions. Her voice was so surprisingly soft and gentle, that Leslie began to cry. It was what she needed, comfort and love. While she knew that the hardened convict did not love her, she accepted the illusion.

  “It be okay,” Jamilah said sympathetically. “You see. Jamilah take good care of you. We be happy together. I give you pleasure every night, kiss you and hold you tight. You Jamilah’s little whore now. I make you feel good.”

  The hard convict’s words were comforting. Leslie could not help but snuggle up against her. It was a stark contrast to how the Queen had treated her. When Jamilah put her lips to hers and slipped the end of her tongue between them, Leslie gave out a great sigh, opened her mouth and accepted it.

  They made love for about an hour. It was strange for Leslie to feel Jamilah’s hand caress her now hairless love lips. It made her feel more naked than naked. Jamilah turned her body and, after drifting her tongue along Leslie’s belly, brought her passionate attention to her loins. When Leslie began to moan with pleasure, she threw her leg over Leslie’s torso and presented her own sex to Leslie’s lips. Without hesitation, Leslie reached her arms around her muscular thighs and buried her mouth in her quim.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning, after Jamilah and the others went off to work, a guard took Leslie to the showers. She watched while Leslie cleaned herself with the soap she had been given. Leslie felt ashamed for the guard to see her rudely displayed love lips. She snickered when she saw it after Leslie had undressed.

  She had brought some fragrant shampoo and Leslie used it on her greasy hair gratefully. When she was done, there was a clean towel and a clean dress. Leslie brushed her hair out with the brush she had been given. She was bought back to her cell afterwards to await her summons.

  The next few days developed into a routine. On only one of those days was Captain Khalil there. After giving her three strokes of the whip for her prior day’s blasphemy, this time across her belly and thighs, he had her suck him off and then, when Malikah had taken her pleasure, he fucked her, this time in her rear passage, making her squeal with pain.

  On the next day, Khalil was absent. Malikah used a large, black dildo strapped to her waist to fuck her. She sat back on her chair and had Leslie kneel over her lap, her quim pierced by the rigid device. Leslie raised and lowered herself passionately over the thick prong while Malikah kissed her lips and played with her breasts. After she had come twice, Malikah had her kneel on the floor and service her. On the third day, she laid Leslie back on her desk with her legs spread and mouthed her hairless loins while Leslie screamed with pleasure. She then laid Leslie on the floor, covering her face with her coosh, and made her return the favor. She had spared her further abuse from the whip and Leslie tried desperately not to give any reason to complain.

  Every afternoon, following her sessions, she received a care package consisting, mostly, of candy and cigarettes. When she came back from work, Jamilah made sure that she shaved and lotioned Leslie’s loins so that they would be smooth and pleasant for the Queen’s use the next day.

  At night, after lights out, she and Jamilah coupled passionately.

  Otherwise, Leslie’s days were spent in absolute boredom and unhappy lassitude.

  On the fourth day, though, after both Captain Khalil and Sergeant Malikah had made use of her, Leslie’s journey back to her cell took a detour. The guard took her through a steel door that led to the work areas. Leslie’s hopes brightened. If she had to be a prisoner here, at least they could give her something to do. Otherwise she might die of ennui. They walked down a corridor that Leslie took, from the smell of steamed cotton, to be the laundry area. The prison, in order to offset the costs of confining its inmates, took in laundry from the town’s hotels and restaurants. They also did their own wash, of course.

  They passed a room where several of the prisoners were folding tablecloths, sheets and napkins. None of the busy women looked up as they passed. A little further down the hall, the guard opened a door and waited for Leslie to pass into it. The room was filled with piles of dirty, white laundry. It was dimly lit. At first, Leslie thought that there was no one there. Then, a tall, heavyset figure stepped out of a shadow. It was the inmate who had been assaulting her in the cafeteria. Leslie gasped. She turned around and made an effort to dash from the room, but the guard barred her way and pushed her back. She kept prodding her and pushing her with her baton until she was several feet in.

  The inmate came closer to her, smiling. She reached into the pocket of her light brown smock and pulled out a small wad of currency. She handed it to the guard. The guard placed it in the pocket of her uniform, smiled at Leslie and then left the room. Leslie heard the door lock.

  A wave of fear passed through her. Where did the woman come up with money? She had heard tales of corruption in prisons, seen the movies. She realized that the inmate was probably the leader of a drug ring, or perhaps just a perpetrator of plain old extortion. The other inmates undoubtedly paid her tribute so that her gang wouldn’t harass them or worse. The guards didn’t mind since they probably got a piece of it. Friends and family on the outside would send their loved ones money so they could pay for drugs or protection.

  The other inmate began to unbutton her dress. Leslie backed away from her and ran to the door. In her desperation, she tried the handle to see if she could get out, but it wouldn’t turn. She watched as the inmate pulled her dress over her head. She had large breasts, a broad chest and thick, muscular thighs with a large, hairy bush between them. Her arms were long and looked strong. Ice filled Leslie’s belly as she realized what was about to happen to her. Her palms started to sweat. She could feel her body shiver.

  When the woman started to come towards her, a look of lust in her eyes, Leslie quickly ran past her and went further into the room. She circled around a large pile of white laundry. She heard the woman calling her name. “Ghaniyah!” her deep voice called out sweetly sickly. “Ghaniyah!” And then she said something meant to sound enticing in Arabic.

  Leslie’s heart was beating wildly. Her throat was dry. She knew that she would not be able to avoid the woman for long, but she knew that she had to try. When the woman’s head peeked out from around the corner of the laundry, Leslie took off again. They repeated their charade several times, the woman calling her name, Leslie retreating further and furth
er into the room. Then, she realized she was cornered. She waited and waited for the woman’s head to peep around the corner so she could run the other way. Suddenly, the whole pile of laundry came down on top of her. She fell to the floor. She was still struggling to untangle herself from the winding pile of sheets and tablecloths when the woman pounced.

  It was not much of a battle. “No! No! No, please!” Leslie yelled as the woman started to take control of her body. She pushed her aside and was about to get away when the woman grabbed her arm and pulled her back. This time, she covered Leslie’s body with her own. Her leg trapped Leslie’s. She took hold of her hair and began to pull it. Her other hand took hold of Leslie’s wrist and began to twist it cruelly.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Leslie cried. “Let go! Let go! Owwwwwwwwwwww!”

  The woman snaked her arm under Leslie’s back and grabbed her other arm. She locked them together under her while shoving her knee hard up into Leslie’s crevasse.

  “Ohhhhhhhhhh!” Leslie cried as her pussy exploded into pain. The woman’s free hand snuck under her skirt and took hold of her delicate love lips and twisted them meanly. Leslie screeched. “Oh, please let go! Please! Please! Owwwwwwwwwww!”

  The woman slowly loosened her grip. Leslie’s body went limp. She knew her struggles were over. Her arms were held fast behind her and her leg was trapped. The woman outweighed her by at least 100 pounds. Tears flooded her eyes.

  Pleased with Leslie’s surrender, her thick, naked body shoved up against her, the woman began uttering some sweet sounding phrases. She used her free hand to stroke Leslie’s breasts and belly over her dress and then down her naked thighs. She leaned over and let her tongue flow inside Leslie’s ear and then across her neck and under her chin. Leslie moaned and arched her back, but the woman held her firmly in place. “Please don’t do this,” Leslie whined weakly. “Please.”

  The woman paid her no mind. “Me Zarifa. You pretty girl,” she said in broken English, her voice scratchy and low. “I like.”