The Sad, Sad Tale Of Araksia Manuelyan

The Sad, Sad Tale Of Araksia Manuelyan

Copyright © 2004, Dave Potter


In the Shadow of Mount Ararat

Far out to the East, way beyond where the Berlin Wall once stood, onwards, past the lands of the South Slavs and the Bosphorous where the Turk sits proudly between Europe and Asia. Beyond there, and the vast expanse of water known as the Black Sea, lies a land. It is a small land, a land of mountains, a beautiful land, and an ancient land. And besides that land is one of the greatest and most ancient of all the world’s mountains. It is the mountain where Noah’s ark rested after the Great Flood and the mountain that has been holy ever since. It is Mount Ararat and in the shadow of Mount Ararat lies a city, a small city, of concrete blocks and domed churches. It is the city of Erevan, the capital of that land, the Land of Armenia. And in that city beneath that mountain there is a grey apartment block, a block most similar to countless others found across the vast expanse of what was once known as the Socialist World. And in the bottom of that block is a small internet cafeé and at one of the computers in that cafeé is a girl.

She is a pretty girl, with long dark wavy hair, large dark eyes, a well-proportioned bosom and a curvaceous posterior. She is well-mannered, intelligent and hard-working. She is a typical daughter of Armenia.

She is Araksia.

But what is Araksia doing in that internet cafeé, staring at a computer screen on a brilliant sunny day such as this? Why, she is doing what alas, so many of her contemporaries are doing, looking for love, opportunity and a life beyond the boundaries of her humble homeland by the medium of that miracle of the modern-world, the internet. She is chatting. Not actually chatting of course, but cyber-chatting. To a man. A man named KevCali. Well, that is not his name of course. His real name is Kevork. She knows this because she asked him. He is Kevork and therefore he too is an Armenian. This pleased her. She never thought that she would be so lucky as to find a fellow Armenian there. But where is there? Look at his handle – Cali. Why yes indeed, California, America, the dream world of the movies! Kevork in California, although she has never met him, he is the man that she is trying to marry.

She smiles. But why? Why, she has reason to indeed. For KevCali, who she has now been chatting to for several months, has just stated his intentions. He too is looking to wed. And he is coming to Erevan.

The very next week.

Leaving on a jet plane

She could not believe her luck? How many girls get someone like this handed to them on a plate? He was a gift from Heaven! How many times had she thanked God in the church for this?

From the moment that she met him coming through the immigration she knew that he was for her. He was young for starters. Much younger than she’d imagined he’d be. Most of the men that went on were old, with paunches and receding hairlines. Yet he turned out to be but twenty-six, only six years older than herself, and what’s more, rather handsome, muscular and well-toned. That was not all however, he had dress sense. Oh yes, so it wasn’t standard, no blue jeans and a tight T-Shirt like most of the gallants on the Erevanian  streets, but in his immaculate white suit, he looked, well… if only James Bond had been an Armenian…

He lived in California, near LA. His parents had moved to the States as children, escaping the onrush of the Russian Civil War. His grandfather had done well, in gold and jewellry and then his father too. Kevork, what did he do? Nothing much really? He made money playing around on the Stock Market, but for most of the time he read books, wrote poetry, (oh, an artist!), and enjoyed life. Was he financially secure? As financially secure as any twenty-six year old with fifty million dollars in the bank is.

It was arranged quickly. She loved him ravishingly and he heaped praise on her. ‘Will you marry me?’ he asked on bended knee. She said yes in an instant and they went back to his hotel room and made love. My! What sex that was, he was as stylish and different in bed as out of it. “None of that standard stuff, my darling,” he said, producing a pair of golden handcuffs. She’d never been restrained before and entered into the game with glee. The experience was out of this world. Looking back now, she shudders at where it was to lead to.

“There is only one small matter my dear,” he said, when they were talking the next day.


“In LA, in the States where I live, we have a tradition. Oh, I don’t like to bring it up, but…”

“Whatever is it?”

“Well it seems like I’m trying to kill the romance but I’m not, it’s for both of our good…”


“We always insist on a marriage contract. If you wish to marry me, I would like you to sign this.”

The document was not large, and Araksia perused it in detail. It was legal stuff mostly. In case of divorce… Actually the terms were rather generous to her she thought. In case of divorce where none of the clauses of the contract had been broken, she would be entitled to fifty per cent of his estate – twenty-five million dollars! But what were the clauses – no adultery, no living apart for more than a year, the usual. But wait, here’s one that was not standard. ‘You are to wear whatever garments Kevork Manuelyan insists whilst whilst on his property. However, after putting on the garments for five minutes, if you are not comfortable with them, you can remove them yourself with no detriment to your legal position.’

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Oh that, well to be honest, I like women wearing kinky underwear, but sometimes you girls are a bit shy…”

Araksia grinned. She was wearing a thong at that moment that he’d bought her. He’d complemented her on her ass several times already, (she had always thought it a little large but he liked that, ‘The Armenian girl’ he’d said, is ‘The Asian Lass with the Latin Ass’), so she was wearing skin tight jeans on top that had been a struggle to get on.

“Plus there is a serious side to it as well. I am an important man and renowned for my dress sense. I was worried about my wife letting me down by wearing unsuitable clothes. Therefore I get to choose, but as I wrote there, if you don’t like what I choose, you can take ‘em off.”

“That’s sounds fair enough,” she said.

Two days later they signed the contract in front of an Advocate. The day following that they were married in a simple ceremony at the Registry Office. Araksia Sarkisyan became Araksia Manuelyan. Her ageing parents were overjoyed, delighted that she’d married one of their kind, and a rich and well-mannered young man to boot.

The night before they were due to leave, Kevork presented her with a box. “My darling Araksia,” he said. “This is a small leaving present from me. I would be honoured if you’d wear it tomorrow.”

She looked at him a little confused and opened it. Inside was a beautiful corset, exquisitely made, and covered in blue silk.

“It’s b-b-beautiful,” she stammered, “but…”


“But I’ve never worn a corset before?”

“My love, you should try. They make you look fantastic and elegant. If you like it I have a suit made for you to wear over the top on the flight.”

“But how do I put it on?”

“Let me show you now.” He got out the garment and fastened it around her waist, hooking up the busk. The corset had cups for her breasts and once fastened felt quite tight, pleasant and snug. “now for the lacing!” said Kevork. He went to her rear and started to pull on the strings. She felt the stays contract. “Oh my God!” she said.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t know, well, it’s different, my breathing…”

“Just a little more,” he said. He tightened until her chest was beginning to heave and then tied the laces off.

“Wow!” she said, “This really does do something for me!”

“I told you it would. Will you wear them tomorrow or not?”

“Well, I don’t have much choice do I, the contract and all?”

“That’s only in my house, our house my love.”

“I will wear them anyway, to please you. I kinda like them anyway.”

“Good, then wear them now, and these!” He got out the handcuffs and grabbed her wrists, fixing them together behind her back. “Now my Asian Lass with the Latin Ass, let’s fuck like rabbits!”

And so they did. And not just once.

It was a tired Araksia Manuelyan that said goodbye to her family and left for a new life and new world the following morning.

And a corsetted one.

Home Sweet Home

The plane started it’s descent and Araksia stared out of the window. Down below was a land of sunshine, palms trees, wide highways with huge cars travelling on them, and luxurious villas. It was not the real world, she thought, but instead a dream. A dream that was hers for the living.

Once they were through the customs they headed out to where a black stretch limousine was stood parked. “Get in,” said Kevork.

“Why? This… it’s yours?”

“Ours my love,” he corrected.

Once inside he poured a drink from a cabinet in front of them. Outside the world of the movies passed by. “To us my dear!” he said, handing her a bubbling glass of champagne.”

“To us!” They kissed.

“How do you feel so far?” he asked.

“Well, it’s all, it’s all so big, and different, and new. I don’t know. The only thing is, you tightened this corset up a little too much, it’s killing me. I can’t wait to take it off.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be taking it off soon enough.” He grinned. “And the rest of your clothes!”

She smiled sheepishly. Hmm… that she was looking forward to.

The journey to the mansion took about an hour. An hour of palm-lined highways with millionaire’s homes on the hills behind. Then, they turned off into a drive themselves. The drive of her new home! It was huge, unbelievable. A white castle almost, in the Spanish style, surrounded by manicured lawns and palms.

“Home sweet home!” declared Kevork, as the chauffeur opened the door for him. He got out and helped Araksia. “I’ll show you round later, come on inside… to the bedroom.”

Stood on the steps by the doorway were two pretty Asian girls, dressed in elegant flowing silk. “Araksia, these are Linh and Hoang. They’re our two maids. They’re Vietnamese and don’t speak English, but I’m sure you’ll get on fine. Hoang is assigned to you.” The two girls bowed and smiled. They were ravishingly beautiful and if Araksia weren’t so sure of Kevork’s love for her then she’d have thought he’d employed them for other reasons aside from their housekeeping abilities…

“Their gowns, they’re so elegant!” she exclaimed.

“They’re ao dais, the Vietnamese traditional dress. Beautiful aren’t they? I insist that they wear nothing else. I can have some made for you if you wish?”

“Ooo! If you can!”

“Of course my love. Come! Let’s go!”

He took her by the hand and hurried her down endless corridors into a large white room with French Windows. In it’s centre was a vast, king size bed, also in white. “Our Chamber of Love!” he declared. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes and freshened up!” He stripped his young wife and led her to an en suite bathroom where hot water gushed out of a shower. He then proceeded to do the same, but they didn’t stay in that shower for long. Within ten minutes they were both gasping and panting on the bed, before finally collapsing in ecstasy and exhaustion.

“I’ll ring for a drink,” said Kevork.

He did so and within a minute Linh appeared carrying two classes our fruit juice.

“Here you are my dear,” said Kevork, handing Araksia one.

She gulped the juice down in one.

Within a minute she was fast asleep.

Good Morning Sunshine

‘It is all just a dream! A wonderful, glorious dream! Too good to be true!’

Araksia opened her eyes. No! It is true! She is there, in that sumptuous room. Her handsome, wonderful, marvellous husband by her side, gazing into her large dark eyes. She moves to hold him, to hug him, to kiss him. To let him know just how much she loves him. But wait, she can’t move. She tries to shift her body. No! Move her arms. Cannot! Why? What is happening? She opens her mouth and screams. “Kevork! Kevork! I can’t move! Help me! Something’s happened!” He smiles. Smiles? That’s a strange reaction. “What’s happening!”

“Welcome back to the world, my dear. I trust you slept well?”

“But Kevork, I can’t move, I can’t…”

“I know my love, I know.” He knows? Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.” He kisses her. Temporary? What does he mean? “It’s a precaution my dear, a necessary precaution.” Precaution? What the hell is happening here? “In the juice that you drank… It was drugged. A substance that immobilises the entire body, leaves you paralysed. Well, temporarily paralysed, for an hour or two…”

Paralysed? Why? What? She screams.

“Paralysed except for the mouth that is. But we can soon fix that.” He pushes something into her mouth and buckles it behind her head. It is a gag! She is gagged? But why? What is happening? Help me! She sobs.

“Ahh… now you’re quiet I can at last explain to you. Now where was I… oh yes, the drug. The drug will wear off soon. It paralyses you. I don’t like using such methods of course, I am sure this will be the first and last time, but it is unfortunately necessary. Sadly… inexplicably, many women tend to go hysterical and try to escape when their new life is outlined to them.”

She stops crying and he dabs her eyes. What is he on about?

“Yes, their new life. You see my love, my darling wife, I am afraid that I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we were in Erevan. No, that is wrong, I was entirely honest. I did however omit some things. These are what I shall now outline to you.” He smiled. He seemed to be enjoying the experience. “Yes, for you see I belong to a Society. What we are called and how many we are does not matter to you. All that you need to know is that the members of our Society all share two things in common. Firstly, that we are rich. You have to be very rich to join as our activities consume a lot of money. That’s number one. And number two is that we all hold very fixed views on how our women, or at least our wives should be looked after.”

Looked after? What does he mean?

“Yes, we all hold these views and these views are what I shall now outline to you, because you, as my wife, will be required to live according to them. But what are those views I see your eyes asking? Well, they are as follows.

Firstly, as you know, there is a belief, currently prevalent in much of the West, that women are equal to men, and that a marriage is a union of two equals. This is of course entirely false. History shows us that a husband and wife have two very separate and strict roles. The husband is the breadwinner. He looks after his wife and provides for all her needs. She does not want for anything. But at the same time, he is the boss, his will takes precedence in all matters inside and outside of the home. That is his role, thus that is my role. Your role is, as I said before, quite different. The wife’s role is to be a mother and, if the household is poor, to cook and look after her husband and children within the home. She is also there to provide her hard-working breadwinner with sexual pleasure in the bedchamber whenever he wants it. In rich households however, such as ours, where there are servants to do the housework, such as Linh and Hoang, then she need not work and indeed is not allowed to work, any work in fact, of any kind. Her sole purpose then is to bring pleasure to her husband’s life, through sex of course, but also by looking pretty and satisfying all of his desires. She is, as it were, a doll, not needing to do or to think anything, but just to be – to be pretty, sexy and ready to satisfy her husband and master whenever he wants. She is, his accessory.”

Araksia could not believe what she was hearing? Was this man serious? Surely he was joking? She, as a Soviet citizen was a liberated woman, and from all that she’d heard, the West was more so. Yet this sounded like something from the Dark Ages!

“Now, as I can see from the expression in your beautiful eyes, you are somewhat shocked by these views and perhaps do not agree with them. That is of course, immaterial. As you are married to me, you have to agree with them. However, even so, even with a marriage certificate signed and all these ground rules laid down, many women – alas, infected by that disease known as Feminism – feel the need to rebel. Now rebellion is of course wrong, and thus should be punished. There are men who do such, using the means of caning, or paddling or such. I however, am not one of them. Hitting people is violence and I can tell you now, I am a man who abhors violence. No I, and all the members of our Society, are against violence in all its forms. We are however, for obedience. But how do we achieve obedience without violence? Why my love, the answer is simple. We eliminate the opportunities for our wives to be disobedient. But how do we do that?  Do we lock them up in little cells? Why of course not? Such tactics are from the Mediaeval Times, not our Enlightened Days. No, we do nothing of the sort. Instead we just insist that our wives where certain garments, or even just one particular garment, which, if worn eliminates those opportunities for disobedience.”

Araksia looked confused. And petrified.

“You don’t understand my love, why then I shall explain further. Think of the human body. To do anything, what do we need. We need all of it of course, but some parts are more important than others. For example the eyes. They are important. If we cannot see, then how can we do anything? But wait, no. We can do things without sight, look at the blind and the marvellous things that they achieve. Why, they are remarkable people indeed, I’ve always admired the blind. And our ears too, now they too are superfluous. And our mouths? Well, you seem to be getting along quite well without your at the moment, though of course, the mouth has many uses… No, I don’t wish to deprive you of the use of any of these, nor even of your legs. Quite frankly would I want to do anything with your legs, they are just perfect as they are, as is you wonderful ass too… No, your legs are safe my love, but, your arms… He took those now flacid and useless appendages in his hands. What can you do without these my dear, eh? Why, very little, very little indeed. A person without arms is dependent on those around her for everything. That is why my dear, something has to be done about these.”

Araksia gazed at him in horror.

“Hoang! Linh!” he called. The two pretty Vietnamese girls came in straight away. They must have been waiting outside Araksia thought. “Now my love,” Kevork continued, “as I said before, Hoang here is to be your maid. You will be reliant on her… and me… for everything. Don’t worry though, you won’t get to know her. She, and lovely Linh here don’t speak a word of English, let alone Armenian and Russian. We used to have Filipinos you know, a very pleasant race, and their ladies, why their butts can almost rival yours. But, they’re so good at English, they learn from infancy I believe, so they talk too much, and get to know our Society Wives too well, sometimes they mistakenly become friends and try to help them. But we’ve learnt, no such problems with the Vietnamese, they seem absolutely impervious to the English tongue or indeed any language but their own, which is full of screeches and whistles – quite fascinating to listen to. Of course their butts aren’t up to Filipino – or Armenian – standards, nor the breasts, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? No, fear not, you will not be becoming friendly with Linh or Hoang. Their duties instead will be to dress you every morning and… no, we’ll stick to the dressing first. Yes, they will dress you as you will be unable to do so yourself. Everyday I expect you immaculately turned out, in an evening dress, coiffured, made up, nice long lashes, that sort of thing. And wearing what will become your new best friend, the Venus.”


“The Venus, a name taken from the Venus de Milo, you know, the statue without arms. And why is it called such, because this Venus makes you appears much the same. Hoang! Linh! Let’s show Mrs. Manuelyan her new Venus. The two maids lifted her limp body up and carried it to a side room which turned out to be a dressing room. “All your garments are in here,” said Kevork, showing her a vast wardrobe full of dresses. They then proceeded to pull out a strange white garment. It looked a little like the corset that she’d worn the previous day, but contained two major differences, firstly that it was longer, reaching up to her  neck, and secondly that it contained no openings for her arms!

The two Asian girls fiddled with the garment whilst Kevork held her. Then Linh came up and crossed Araksia’s arms behind her at the top of her back. Then Hoang fitted the garment around her and fastened up the hooks at the front. It was already very tight and constricting. Then Linh started pulled the laces at the back. The Venus corset contracted, and contracted. Very soon, even without the drugs in her system, Araksia realised that she would be completely immobile from her waist to her neck. Hoang then attacked the waist lacings. Like with the corset, it became difficult to breathe and then nigh on impossible. But unlike the corset her breasts could not surge up and down in the Venus as there was no place for them to go. What’s more, her efforts to respirate were not helped by the fact that this garment, contraption, call it what you will also had a very high neck that was also laced and caused her to hold her head high. Once they tied the laces off, she felt like a rigid helpless doll. Which is after all, just what she was.

“Perfect! Declared Kevork. “You look stunning. Now I can show you the true genius of the Venus corset, look!” He took her over to the mirror. “With it fully tightened, your arms crossed against your back like that, how does it appears?” She looked. She was shocked. Tightened as it was it appeared as if she had no arms at all, and never had. Where they were, compressed against her back, why you couldn’t tell. She looked like one of those mannequins in shop windows. She wanted to cry but was too shocked to. “Now, I must do something which I didn’t have chance to earlier. Hoang! Linh! Di ve phong nho.” The maids nodded and left. Then to Araksia’s surprise and dismay, her husband whipped off his shorts, turned her over, draped her over a chair and started thrusting his erect penis into her huge and virgin ass. The pain was unbearable and tears streamed down her cheeks. What the hell had happened to her?

Here Comes The Bride

Within fifteen minutes Linh and Hoang were back in the room. The movement was starting to come back into Araksia’s body and she found that she could wiggle her toes a little and a few minutes later, flex her knees, though nothing above them of course! After Kevork had finished he’d sat her down and the Asian girls had set to work on her face and legs, giving the latter a thorough hair removal and the former a complete makeover, with Kevork removing her gag so long as she promised not to make a din. The there was her long black hair which was curled into sausage like ringlets. By the time that was finished, Araksia found that she was able to stand. “Now my love, Hoang here is about to introduce you to another of your new daily routines, the enema.”

Araksia had no idea what word meant and she said as such to Kevork.

“An enema, well, let me explain. As you know, we all, both ladies and gentlemen, are required by nature to visit the bathroom several times daily, at irregular times at that, to do well, what we must. This contraption however eliminates the need for those visits to the bathroom. It is used once daily and that is that, no more toilet!”

This sounded strange. “But, how? How does it work? And why? What is wrong with going to the toilet? Going to the toilet has nothing to do with being a submissive obedient wife. It’s…”

“Oh yes my sweetheart, I know, I know. To be honest with you, the enema, well, it’s got nothing to do with our Society and stuff. It’s my own little idea, my tiny contribution to your new lifestyle as it were. You see the thing is, as you said, going to the toilet, why, it’s a natural thing, everyone does it. You however, as my wife, are not to be like everyone. You are special, so you should live in a special, and what’s more, an entirely artificial manner. I love artificiality, don’t you? Dolls are artificial. They smile, play, do whatever you want, when you want. And you my precious, are my little doll, to hold, kiss and fuck whenever I want.”

‘Oh my God!’ she thought. ‘This guy is seriously sick!’

“And how is it administered? Why, through that charming ass of yours of course. Hoang! Den!” Now see, she sticks the pipe in here,” (Araksia groaned), “flicks this switch here, and your insides are filled with water. The, once filled, they will be sucked out again. Clean, hygienic and totally artificial! Clever, eh?” That particular enema, with her husband and the two Vietnamese girls stood in attendance, was possibly the most humiliating experience of her entire existence. Even today, she winces at the thought of it.

“So my dear? Do you feel better now? Emptier, cleaner?” She said nothing. Her mind was in shock. “Oh, you are adjusting to all of this jolly well, better than I expected. Now, where were  we. Oh yes, enema done. Artificial you see, and that’s not the only part of your life that will be. Your meals also. I have a nutritional compound which Hoang will prepare for you daily. It tastes of nothing, is artificial as well. That will be your new food. Well, unless I decide, as a little treat, to feed you something else, when I want to. But don’t worry, the compound is healthy, has all the vitamins and such that you need. I should like to feed it to you now, but time is running short. You are not dressed yet. Hoang, oi! Ao cuoi!”

Not dressed? Time is running out? For what?

The answer was not long in coming. Hoang reappeared carrying a dress. A white dress. A wedding dress.  A sheath of white silk that once fitted clung to her like a glove, (Oh, to be able to wear gloves!). It was long with a train of two metres or so and it was tight, and when she viewed herself in the mirror, she could see that it made her look beautiful. She was like a fairytale princess. Well, a princess without any arms…

Hoang proceeded to fit some dainty white shoes on her feet. They had incredibly high heels and she had to lean on Kevork for balance. “Ten centimetres, my love,” he said by way of explanation.

She managed to find her voice. “But why?” she said.

“Why? For we are going to get married, my darling! Well, not really. We really are married anyway, that in Armenia was real, and we have a contract, a contract that allows me to dress you how I please, to prove it. However, none of my friends were present in Erevan, and it was awfully basic wasn’t it? So now we’ve the big party! Come!”

And with that he led her out of the room, down a corridor to some large white double doors. “Are you ready?” he asked. She said nothing and moved not. Hoang and Linh, who were obviously to act as her bridesmaids nodded and picked up the train. The music started and the doors opened, and her husband leading her, down the aisle she walked, through a room packed full of people, the men all in smart suits and the women all exquisitely dressed, and armless. It was like a strange, hallucinatory dream, nay, a nightmare. A sort of priest read the service but she took none of it in and remembers nothing. Not of the ‘I do’ which Kevork said on her behalf anyway, (‘She does’), nor of the fitting of a golden ring around her neck, (well, they couldn’t put one on her finger now, could they?), with a leash attached, nor of the huge cocktail party afterwards. No, to this day all that she remembers following the opening of those white doors and the procession down the aisle is of her husband’s repeated rapes of her that evening in their oh-so-sumptuous bedchamber.

The Hum-Drum Pattern of Daily Existence

The days and weeks that followed that mortifying and expensive wedding passed by like a bad, monotonous dream. Her life from Day One assumed a very definite routine. In the mornings she awoke clad in her Sleeping Venus. The Sleeping Venus, which Kevork introduced her to on the evening following that of their wedding night, (for the wedding itself he couldn’t be bothered with changing her attire, his desire had been so overwhelming), differed from her everyday Venus, or ‘Foundation Venus’ as he termed it, in that it was shorter, leaving her private areas entirely free, was a little less tight, (which was a relief), and had two cut-outs for her breast, cut-outs that it must be said were a little on the small side, causing her already fine tits to balloon out to an incredible size, and causing her husband to caress them almost as much as he did her equally impressive ass. So, she awoke in the Sleeping Venus and usually he took her there and then in the morning.

After this initial bout of unwanted exersize she was escorted by Hoang to her dressing chamber where she was released from her Sleeping Venus and whilst her arms were still sleeping, put into handcuffs that were attached to a golden chain that dangled from the ceiling. Then Hoang  herself would undress down to a skimpy bikini, and wash her charge thoroughly, before shaving her entire body below the neck. She would then dry her and apply her make-up and sort out her hair, which was at the time long and straight, before getting the day’s Foundation Venus out of the wardrobe, releasing Araksia, and transferring her straight into another state of bondage. Once the Venus was fully laced  and tightened, (Kevork, a lover of small waists, insisted on a circumference of fifty centimetres), she would then head over to the wardrobe and pick out the dress that Kevork had chosen for her that day, and of course the shoes that matched. Every day, without fail, she was required to wear an evening dress, virtually always quite difficult to wear due to a high collar a clinging shape that emphasized her considerable derriere, and often with high heels to complement it.

Once fully dressed and her marital ring and leash reattached over the collar of the dress, she was led out to her Relaxation Room, a vast chamber decorated in the minimalist style that Kevork had set aside for her enjoyment. There she could sit on one of the high and somewhat uncomfortable chairs whilst Hoang held a book open for her to read or order a drink, (only fruit juice allowed though – women in Kevork’s society were denied the pleasures of alcohol), from the metallic bar where Linh served. Music was allowed, but no TV, save for at ten in the morning when the Armenian news appeared on a screen, broadcast live from Erevan. That half-hour she lived for, as the rest of her day was dull, monotonous and boring. No interests or hobbies were allowed to her, let alone her being able to follow her previous profession, (an armless secretary is a bit useless after all), as, as Kevork had explained before, a woman in his society was nothing more than a pretty doll whose only purpose was to provide pleasure for her husband and at some later date become a mother. So there she sat, ‘out of arm’s way’ as Kevork joked, day after day, immobile, frustrated and getting more and more bored and lonely as each minute passed.

“You look sad, my dear,” Kevork said in bed one night after sex. “What’s the matter?”

What’s the matter? How could he ask such a question? Would it not be better to ask, what is not the matter?

“I am lonely,” she replied.

“You have me.”

“I have no girls to talk to.”

“What about Linh and Hoang?”

“Girls in my… situation.”

“Fair enough, we can go and visit some of my friends who are also married.”

“Can we?” (Oh for a change of scene, and some new faces!)

“Yes of course, no, wait… sorry, no can do.”

No? Then why bring it up? Cruel, cruel man!

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because of our contract. As you remember, we signed a marriage contract, entitling me to dress you how I saw fit.”

“But you said I could remove the clothes if I wanted!”

“And you can! If you choose to!”

“Then take this blasted Venus off me then!”

“No, sorry. The contract says the YOU can remove them, no one else. And, oh dear, it seems like you don’t have that ability, so it looks like the Venus is staying. Don’t worry my sweet, everything that I am doing is entirely legal.”

“No it’s not. You’re torturing me, hurting me, abusing me…”

“No, not at all. Have I hit you once? No. Have I forced you to have sex with a man other than your husband? No. Have I done anything that isn’t in the contract that YOU signed? No. And instead, I have provided you will expensive clothes, a nice house, a life of luxury. No Araksia, as you well no, everything that I have done is entirely legal. However, it wouldn’t be if we were to leave the house. Remember, the contract is only valid on my property.”

“But I so want to meet someone new! To go somewhere!”

“No can do, sorry… unless…”


“Unless you sign a new document, in addition to the contract, stipulating that all the terms of the original contract are valid off my property and perhaps a few more as well…”

“A few more?”

“Mandatory daily blow-job for your husband, permission to enlarge body parts according to my whims…”


“Fair enough then, no trips out.”

Araksia Manuelyan held out for over a month. However, one evening, sat drinking fruit juice in her relaxation room, she could take it no longer. “I’ll sign!” she screamed.

Kevork was brought immediately.

“I’ll sign,” said repeated, “but on one condition.”


“That it is written in the contract that I can eat proper food everyday, and that we leave this house at least once a week, and that I can watch TV.”

“Sorry my love, I can’t stand girls who are always watching soaps and quiz shows. No TV, and proper food on Sundays, our Holy Day only.”

She held out another week.

Then, on the following Sunday, she was taken to Kevork’s office, released from her Venus and for the first time in over two months, her hand held something, a pen. She shakily signed her name before being ensconced within the leather once more.

“Jolly good!” said Kevork, once the lawyer and maids had left. He whipped out his throbbing penis. “I’ll have a celebratory blowjob I think, as in the terms of our contract.” Araksia sucked his aching rod hard, but not for long. Within a couple of minutes she was enjoying the first nourishment other than her compound for over two months. “Thank you, my dear. You have obviously practiced that before. And to show you that I mean it, I have decided. We will travel to my mate Rob Steinwald’s house tonight!”

Packing for the Journey

Kevork called the maids and both Hoang and Linh appeared. “Toi va voa toi dang di nha Rob,” he explained. The maid’s nodded and Linh took Araksia by her chain and led her to the dressing room. ‘They’re probably going to put me into something more easy to wear for the journey,’ she thought, (at that moment she was clad in a skin tight silver silk dress, dripping with diamonds, and with twelve centimetre high heels in celebration of the signing). However, when she entered the room, she was surprised to discover what appeared to by a large, human-sized rubber doll lying on the floor.

Hoang stripped her of her shoes and dress and tied her hair back in a ponytail which she proceeded to wrap around the top of her head and then secured by means of a hairnet. Then to her surprise – and horror – instead of releasing her from the Foundation Venus, she was led over to the doll which Linh opened up using buttons, to reveal a hollow inside. This was no doll, Araksia realised, but instead a tight rubber cocoon, and the maid’s gestures showed that she was to occupy it’s interior! “No! No! No!” she said, shaking her head in fear, but Linh just grabbed her and pushed her roughly inside whilst Hoang started buttoning up the front, all the way until she was completed enclosed within it’s rubber confines, the only access to the outside world being her face.

“My dear, how do you like your new travelling cocoon?” It was Kevork. He had just entered the room and was wearing his usual grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” she cried, tears flowing from her eyes.

“Why, my love, I forgot to tell you. Our Society, whilst it does permit our ladies to travel outside of their homes, it does not allow them to do so freely. After all, you might bring harm to yourselves, or more importantly, bring harm to us. How do you think the world would react to seeing a horde of armless beauties such as yourself? No, it is necessary that you, like all precious gems, be kept hidden, and safe. And that’s where this travelling cocoon comes in. You see in this ahem, how shall we call it… garment, perhaps? Well, anyway, in this cocoon I am able to transport you wherever I want to. Firstly you are placed inside such as now, and then these lovely ladies, (he signalled to the two maids), lace you up, just as they do with your Venus Corsets.” And then, as if to proved this, Araksia was turned over onto her face, and the two Vietnamese girls proceeded to tighten up lacing that ran all the way from her toes, (which incidentally, the cocoon forced into a rather uncomfortable en pointe position), to her crown, compressing every part of her body so that not a muscle could be moved and so that her head ached from the pressure. The whole process took, Araksia estimated, twenty minutes or so. “Now,” Kevork continued, “we come to a part in the preparations that will differ from time to time. When you go on a long journey, we will insert be inserting a breathing mask and nutrient supply over you mouth at this point, and perhaps some drugs to relax you and help you cope with the ups and downs of the journey. Rob’s house though, is but a few miles away, so today, you’ll be happy to learn, we won’t be bothering with any of that, and instead we’ll just be using this,” (he stuffed a pear gag in her mouth), “to stop any unnecessary noise coming from the boot of the car,” and this, before we put you into your travelling case.” He gestured to a large padded suitcase that Linh was taking out of the wardrobe. The ‘this’ that he’d mentioned was a mask which Hoang now produced, a pottery mask of a pretty doll with features not dissimilar from those of the Asian maid. It was beautiful, yet wholly artificial, which Araksia guessed, was why Kevork liked it. This he fastened over her exposed face. She realised that inside it was padded and had no openings save for two miniscule breathing holes. Now she was blinded, but it wouldn’t have mattered much if she weren’t as she soon felt herself being placed in the padded case and this being zipped up. Then she heard male voices, the gardeners most probably, and felt herself being lifted and carried out before being dumped somewhere. An engine started and she jolted. For how long they travelled she knew not. In her cocoon time had no meaning, though it cannot have been long. Then she felt herself being carried out and heard Rob talking to another man. Her mask was removed.

“Araksia, this is Rob Steinwald, an old friend of mine.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” a youngish man, quite handsome in fact, though with a face that betrayed his depravity, replied. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

She was then carried by two servants through to a large bedroom done in pastel. To her surprise though, she was not undressed, and it was only when Rob arrived six hours later that she was released from her sweltering prison and laced into her usual Sleeping Venus, so that he could enjoy his nightly pleasure before falling asleep exhausted.

Sunbathing by the Pool

That morning Araksia was awaken by Kevork nuzzling himself against her face. “Good morning, my darling! Did you sleep well in this strange bed?”

‘As well as can be expected,’ thought the girl, though to be fair, she had slept no differently that she always did. The lump in her back still irritated her – it always would – but no more than usual. Certainly the change in surroundings hadn’t affected anything.

“My dear,” he continued. “You’ll be making a new friend today, Tatyana, Rob’s charming wife.”

‘A new friend! Oh for a real friend!’ thought Araksia. Someone whom she could share her plight with.

“Tatyana?” she asked.

“Yes, my friend Rob’s married, a charming girl. They met much the same way as we did my dear. There was one time of day when I wished I’d captured her for myself, but these days I know that I ended up the luckier one of the two.” He kissed her on the cheek. She felt, as she always did at that time in the morning, sick. “Come on my love!” Picking her up by the torso he hoisted her onto his now erect and throbbing penis and started bouncing her up and down, clasping onto her compressed waist. The rape didn’t last long. “My God, Araksia, you look so stunning in that Sleeping Venus. It does it for me everytime. Now, I’ll get Hoang to prepare you.”

He rang the bell and the lithe Asian entered holding what looked like another Sleeping Venus. Araksia looked puzzled and Kevork caught her look. “No my dear, you are not going back to sleep. I thought today that you should enjoy a bit of this Californian sunshine. You’re going sunbathing. Tatyana loves to bath and so you can go and join her.”

“But? But? How can I? I mean, wearing the Venus? I mean, well, isn’t the point of sunbathing to get brown, and well, doesn’t that cover… too much?”

“My darling, you are right, that is why I am not having you put into a Sleeping Venus or a Foundation Venus, but instead, a Bathing Venus, which holds your arms, not high up, at the top of your back, but instead, lower down, crossed against the small of your back. This of course would look stupid underneath a gown, as held in such a way, the arms cannot be compressed into an almost unseen shape, nor can a tiny waist be achieved, but it does mean that we can cut the top of your suit lower, exposing the tops of you delightful breasts and shoulders. And of course, as the legs are left free and the garment incorporates a thong, then whilst we will be denied the pleasure of see your exquisite waist, your long pins and gorgeous buttocks will still be on show for our amusement.”

Araksia, even though she had only been with Kevork for several months now, was already virtually immune to these outbursts. That she was little more than a doll to be admired by him and his cronies, she had already fully realised.

Hoang led her away to the dressing room adjacent to the guest bedroom and untied her Sleeping Venus. As always, her arms were numb and useless once released and as always Huang used this opportunity to handcuff her wrists together and then attach them to a chain suspended from the ceiling so that the Armenian was immobile whilst the pretty Vietnamese girl washed her body and hair and shaved her thoroughly before rinsing her off. She then released the arms and uncuffed them before crossing them in the small of Araksia’s back and fastening the new Bathing Venus around her.

This new garment, she was pleased to discover, was not so uncomfortable as her normal Foundation Venus, or even the Sleeping Venus. Not that it was comfortable mind, no garment that restricts the use of one’s arms and renders the wearer absolutely helpless can ever be described as ‘comfortable’ but this one did possess several advantages. Firstly, the fact that the arms were contained crossed over in the small of her back she found less irksome and constraining, but also, because they were contained there, there was virtually no waists constriction at all, with the garment containing only light lacing, just enough to halt any movement of the arms, and for the first time in months – since her arrival in America in fact – she found that she was able to breathe deeply. This, to the poor girl, seemed at the time, like a gift from Heaven.

Once dressed, and her hair combed out, and her silver lead attached, she left the dressing room, barefoot, and re-entered the bedroom. “My dear, you look gorgeous!” exclaimed Kevork, who was still in bed and looked as if he’d just been enjoying seconds with Linh, who was sheepishly fiddling around with his breakfast tray. “Yes, this garment suits you indeed, although your breasts, alas don’t heave as they do when in your Sleeping Venus. Oh, well, we can’t have everything, can we now? And at least your beautiful ass is on display for all to see.” He got up and slapped that oft-mentioned part of her anatomy, which, at that particular moment Araksia was more aware of as usual, it feeling naked with only the thong of the Bathing Venus to cover it.

“Hoang dear, Chi Ara Sia di Chi Ta Ta Ya Na, hieu khong?”

“Hieu.” The Vietnamese girl nodded, took Araksia’s lead and led her out, through the white corridors of Rob’s mansion and out into the blazing heat of the Pacific, into a garden, in which was located a large blue pool. Rob, she could see was splashing about in the pool, and besides it, sat on a sun lounger was a woman.

As she approached Araksia was able to make out the woman better. Kevork had been right when he’d said that Tatyana was a looker. She was. With long dark hair reaching down past her shoulders, and a slim, yet curvaceous body, dreamy brown eyes and a finely-chiselled Slavic face, she was any man’s dream. It was not of these however, that caught Araksia’s attention. Instead she was transfixed by the young lady’s clothing. Tatyana Steinwald was wearing naught but a tiny, two-piece bikini!

“Ah! Araksia! Good morning!” Rob waved and swam to the edge of the pool, where using his muscley arms, he hoisted himself out of the water, (‘Oh! To be able to hoist myself out of a pool!’ thought Araksia), and dripping, made his way over to her, kissing her on the cheek and his hand, she found in horror, straying towards her buttocks. “Araksia, meet my charming wife, Tatyana.”

The bikini-clad beauty rose and walked over to them. Wearing only a bikini! Where was the restriction? Surely all the women of the Society Men, (well barring the maids), were restricted? Araksia was still in shock!

“My darling, this is Araksia, Kevork’s new wife.”

“Glad to meet you,” said the girl with a soft Slavic accent, but she did not hold out her hand. “Araksia, will you come and bathe with me, so we can talk?”

Then she turned and Araksia saw why Rob allowed her – ordered her most probably – to wear only a bikini. Whilst from the front she appeared totally free, once viewed from behind her restriction was all too evident; her arms were pinned together behind her back and held, side-by-side, palms touching in a long single glove, made of black leather, (black to match the bikini, she later learnt), laced up tightly. She was restrained if not more so than Araksia herself!

Araksia followed her over and lay down on an adjacent lounger. Tatyana, she noted, could not lie down, her arms pinned behind her so, so she sort-of semi-sat, supported by cushions.

“My dear,” said in a low voice. “You are Armenian, no?”


“Good, then you speak Russian?”

“I-I do. Why, are you Russian?”

“No, I am Bulgarian, but we learnt it in school; under the communists we had to. Rob however, doesn’t speak it. Can we talk in Russian?”

“That’s fine by me.”

The Bulgarian smiled. “Araksia, I’m so happy that you’ve come. I heard your tale, how Kevork tricked you, how you thought you come to the Land of Milk and Honey. It’s almost identical to my own, I regret the day I ever replied to Rob’s email on, I truly do. Oh, Araksia, the life, here, living like this…” Tears began to well in her eyes.

“I know Tatyana, I know.” She wanted to comfort the girl, to stroke her hair or wipe the tears away from her eyes. But of course with no arms, such basic human reactions were not possible.

“I too…” she said.

“They’re monsters,” continued Tatyana, “absolute monsters. To keep women like this, as helpless playthings. Fuck toys almost! And yet he seemed so sweet…” Her voice trailed off. “Do you know, before I was here, I was a scientist, a Masters in Chemistry. ‘You will never see another lab nor mix another potion in you life,’ he said to me. I am not allowed to work, to do anything. Just sit here and look pretty and helpless!”

“Me too, my lot is the same, exactly.”

“But at least you are allowed a Venus.”

Araksia had of course never viewed her Venus as a blessing before, but seeing Tatyana’s garb, she wondered. She decided to ask further. “Does Rob not allow you a Venus then?”

“No, never. Says it is not elegant enough. He says that arms should be seen not hidden, but of course they should be rendered useless. Plus the Venus, well, by and large it appeals to men who are into corsetry, due to the waist lacings, but Rob’s not into that. Not that I haven’t worn corsets of course. At last year’s Victorian Ball I was forced into the tiniest little wasp waist and the hugest crinoline imaginable, but the mono-glove still stayed.”

“The mono-glove?”

“Yes, this that I’m wearing now. I always have to wear then, well, ninety-nine per cent of the time at any rate. They’re dreadfully uncomfortable…”

“How exactly?”

“Well you see, my arms are forced together, palms touching, and then the glove is laced up over then. In a Venus you can wiggle your fingers and such like, but in a mono-glove, you are completely immobile, plus it wrenches your shoulders back. Mine feel like they are constantly on fire.”

“That sounds awful! But… well… it does look more elegant than this Bathing Venus.”

“Yes, that’s not the most becoming of garments, though what would I give to wear one? They’re so comfortable I’ve heard.”

“Well, yes… But, not much good for a tan. You’ve a lovely even tan, but I’ll be half white by the end of today.”

“Well, I can ask, if you want, I can lend you a mono-glove tomorrow.”

“We will be bathing again tomorrow?”

“We will be sun-bathing together all week. Rob is allowing no other form of recreation.”


So they did just that. Araksia lay and sweltered in the sun all day, talking to Bulgarian Tatyana who turned out to be a delightful girl and with whom she shared much in common. At the end of the day though, when Huang was lacing her into her Sleeping Venus and administering her enema, she was dismayed to find that her body was by and large white, aside from her breasts, shoulders and legs. She mentioned the mono-glove and bikini to Rob in bed and he assented immediately. “My dear, I am so glad that you are beginning to enjoy this restriction. I shall inform Huang tomorrow. You have a lovely tiny black bikini that will match Tatyana’s and I’m sure we can find a nice tight mono-glove to complement it.

The next morning Araksia felt positively naked and unhindered as she walked out to the pool in her bikini and mono-glove. After an hour or so of lying there though, she began to have second thoughts. Her arms were dead and her shoulders – as Tatyana had said they would be – on fire! “My God!” she gasped, “How can you stand this daily?”

“I can’t,” Tatyana replied distantly in a defeated tone. “But I have to.”

Not only was the pain greater with the mono-glove, but also relaxing was far more difficult to. As she’d noted immediately, with her arms behind her she was unable to lie on her back as she liked, but to lie on her front or sides, she found that she had to ask a maid to turn her as she was unable to do so herself, and when lying on her front, her arms stuck embarrassingly up into the air like a flagpole. And all day long the sun beat down causing drowsiness, tiredness and irritability. She looked longingly at the blue pool in front of them.

“Tatyana, can we not take a dip in the pool? To cool off.”

“No, Araksia. Rob doesn’t allow it. Says that it is too dangerous as if we stumbled and fell we are not able to pick ourselves up again and we would drown.”

“Oh, what a shame!”

“But, there is one way that we could though…”


“Though it’s not that pleasant.”

“Nothing in this life is. What is it?”

“The Star…”

“The Star?”

“Yes my dear, The Star! Do you wish to try it?” Both girls looked up with a start. Standing over them was Kevork, who could of course understand their conversation in Russian. “Rob! The girls want to try relaxing in a Star apiece!”

“Do they? Jolly good, I shall get the maids to fix two up for after lunch.”

After lunch in the conservatory where Kevork fed her shrimps which she did not like, Araksia found Hoang waiting to lead her back to the pool. Once there however, she was shocked to find two large, five-pointed stars made out of what looked like gold lying on the lawn. Then she was even more surprised when Huang proceeded to remove the irksome mono-glove from her arms leaving her entirely free for a split second before leading her over to one of the stars where she was ordered to lie, her legs and arms outstretched along four of the points. Cuffs were then attached to her wrists and ankles and neck and then the extremities pulled until she was stretched, unable to move a muscle across the golden star, the hot metal burning her back and buttocks a little. She turned her head and found Tatyana, as resigned as ever, being fastened to the other one.

“This my darling, is The Star,” Kevork announced, a unique device that enables you to achieve an even tan all over your body, and enjoy the pool, without getting into danger or mischief.”

Then to Araksia’s horror, three male servants lifted the huge and heavy contraption up, with her on it, and placed it on the pool. “Stop! Stop!” she screamed. “I’ll sink!”

“Don’t worry Araksia,” said Rob who was also viewing the events. “You won’t sink. There are polystyrene floats under the star. You’ll just bob there, the water lapping against you body. And of course, it’ll keep the metal cooler so you won’t be burnt so much on the butt.”

And he was right, she did just bob there, for the rest of the day, staring into space, motionless. And this was worse than the mono-glove or Bathing Venus, as Tatyana bobbed away to the other end of the pool where she was too far away to talk to, and so once again, Araksia was alone and helpless. Her sufferings could not get worse she thought. And at least she could revert to the mono-glove the next day.

But of course, Araksia is not a lady whose sufferings tend to ease, and getting out of the Star proved to be far more difficult than getting into it. That evening the servants lifted her out of the water and instead of releasing her, instead carried her to the bedroom floor where Kevork took her forcefully with her spread-eagled and defenceless like that, before leaving her to sleep in the same position, crying into the night.

And the following day, after being released, washed and having her enema administered, Araksia found that she was fastened back onto that hateful contraption this time, face downwards with Kevork giving the simple explanation, now we need to make the other side just as brown.

And she wasn’t allowed back into any other sort of clothing until it was time to leave at the end of the week.

A Bike Ride

Araksia felt groggy when she was released from her travelling cocoon back at Chez Manuelyan. Much to her annoyance, Kevork had left her in it overnight, (preferring to sleep with Linh for a change she suspected), though was eager enough for his usual morning session despite her dirty and disorientated state. Once that was finished however, she was sent to Hoang to be prepared for the day in the usual manner, her enema being administered and her daily feeling of the tasteless compound being undertaken whilst she was still encased with the Sleeping Venus that Kevork had hurriedly laced her into.

After that though, she was more than surprised to discover that events did not then take their usual course, for whilst she was chained to the chain hanging from the ceiling and washed and shaved thoroughly, afterwards, instead of a Foundation Venus and evening dress being produced, tight-fitting leggings and a sports top were fitted onto her body, and instead of a Venus, instead a long pole was produced. This pole was fitted across her shoulders, her arms draped over it, and then handcuffed to the ends, so once her dressing was completed, she felt like Christ on the cross with her arms outstretched and of course, as per usual, entirely useless.

Kevork grinned as she re-entered the bedroom, having to walk in sideways due to the width of her outstretched arms. “My dear,” he said, “that suit certainly does show off your many, not inconsiderable, assets indeed.”

‘Why am I not wearing a Venus?” she asked.

“Why? Because look!” He walked over to her and grabbed her ass. “Your ass, as I have often said in the past, is remarkable, it truly is, but this morning I noticed that it is somewhat softer, and flabbier than usual. Now I am a man who appreciates a large ass as you know, but not a soft shapeless one. I like toned muscles Araksia, but yours… too many days spent lolling by the pool and relaxing around the house! But fear not, you will be getting fit once more! Come!”

Hoang led her by the leash down the corridor to a room that she had not been allowed to enter previously. It was empty save for an exersize bike sat in the middle and an ominous-looking pair of golden chains hanging down from the ceiling.

“Your fitness room, my love!” declared her lawfully-wedded husband.

Hoang led her over to the exersize bike which she proceeded to sit on. Then the two chains were attached to either end of the pole and the slack taken out of them. “Great!” said Kevork. “Now I shall explain. “From now on, twice weekly, you will be spending considerable time in this room. You will be expected, every day that you spend in here, to cycle forty kilometres – Look, we have a little device that measures how far you’ve travelled here –  and that is all. You come in, are attached and cycle. Once completed, a bell will sound and Hoang will enter, release you and give you a drink of water should you require one, and help you back to the dressing room for bathing and a change of clothes. Ok, my sweet, bye bye.” He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her ass and then departed, as did the two Vietnamese and she was sat there alone. What was she to do? Cycle? Well, there was nothing else to do, and she knew that she wouldn’t be leaving until her forty kilos were completed, so off she went. It was a hellish experience. After fifteen, her muscles, used to lying unused after her month or so’s existence as a lady of luxury, were killing her, as were her arms, forced into a position that they were not accustomed to and that would hardly have ever been comfortable even if they were. And there was no respite from that position. All that she could do was stretch her legs out, that was all. After thirty kilos she felt like she would die, yet still she kept on – she had to. By the time that the bell rang, poor Araksia Manuelyan was half-unconscious and had to be carried over the shoulder of the maid back to the dressing room. For the rest of that day, she sat motionless and exhausted in her relaxation room, her mind blank.

The following day however, both she and Kevork noticed, that her muscles had become a lot more toned and much as she hated doing so, she had to admit that she felt considerably healthier.

A Present for the Birthday Girl

The trip to Rob Steinwald’s had obviously had an effect on Kevork as afterwards he became far more inventive and introduced much greater variety in Araksia’s clothing and manner of restriction than he had before. Previously she had worn an evening dress over a Foundation Venus everyday, but now she never knew what she was going to get. Some days he would decree a Foundation Venus with tight trousers, others a mono-glove, min-shorts and boob tube. The evening dresses still played a major role of course, but not always with a Venus. Now, he had some made that were to be worn with a mono-glove and others involving the Snake and the Wave, two new, (and incidentally rather welcome), forms of restriction that had entered Araksia’s life.

The Snake was called so, as wearing it, Araksia’s arms looked a little like that said reptile. Sometimes worn behind her back and sometimes in front, it encased her arms in one long tube, a little perhaps, like a muff in the days of yore, only in the Snake the hands were not removable. This Araksia enjoyed as it allowed her the use of her shoulders and on the days when it was decreed, she gained infinite pleasure from lifting her bound-together arms up and down and using those oft immobile muscles.

The Wave was more peculiar though equally pleasing. This peculiar form of restriction bound her wrists together with her shoulders, a strap going under the armpit and around the wrist, leaving the arm folded and immobile, and the hands pointing upwards. Incorporated within a dress, it looked strange, her shoulders ending in a flounce of ruffles or a ballooning sleeve similar to those popular in the 1830s, but out of the tops of those sleeves, two free hands poked out, looking as if they were waving, (hence the name). Having her hands free as such, (though often encased in tight gloves), was a blessing for our beleaguered Armenian girl, more that compensating for the pain on the elbow muscles that this unique form of bondage caused.

Overall, Araksia was pleased with these changes in her restricted lifestyle. They gave some variety to the monotony and boredom of her tightly controlled and restricted existence, and what’s more, it had to be said that she enjoyed how some of the clothes made her look, coupled with the fantastic new figure that she was achieving due to her regular sessions on the exersize bike.

In fact, by Araksian standards, her life was now rather full and jolly indeed. Since the visit to Rob Steinwald’s, Rob had kept his promise and taken her out regularly, to the mansions of many of his friends, friends who often were married to girls in a similar position to her own. To be honest none of them she got on with as she had with Tatyana, some she absolutely detested in fact, such as Maria, a Filipino girl who was married to Jake. Previously she had been the maid to his wife, but had gotten so close with her master that he’d divorced his old spouse, (although she had quickly been remarried to another Society member), and married him, knowing full well the restriction that marrying a Society Man who inflict on her life. Contrary to rebelling against this however, she instead entered it with a gusto, often thinking up new and inventive forms of restriction, (the Star had been her doing apparently), and her latest request, which her husband was purportedly mulling over, was to go to hospital and have her arms amputated! Even more surprisingly, she was not the only girl who revelled in the restriction and actually enjoyed it, though it must be said that Society Members tended not to encourage this, as tying someone up is always less fun if they are actually asking you to do it.

Araksia also began to realise that by Society standards, Kevork was not that bad at all either. Ok, he was sick, and had a bit with the maids, she knew, but compared to Ruud, the Dutch corset freak who kept his wife, a Brazilian named Katerina who sported huge false tits, squeezed in at 36 centimetres night and day, or even Rob who had Tatyana sleep in a cocoon that rendered her blind, deaf and dumb for the night every Saturday and Wednesday, (whilst he enjoyed his Colombian maids), Kevork really was quite middle-of-the-road.

And so it is that one sunny June day we find Araksia sat in her Relaxation Room, dressed in a Foundation Venus and an armless sky blue silk Vietnamese ao dai, (remember, Kevork had promised her one), with Hoang holding a magazine open before her eyes, when Kevork burst in, a huge grin upon his face.

“My dear!” he announced. “It’s ready! Will you please follow me to the dressing room. Your going on a trip out!”

“Ready? What’s ready? What trip?” She was confused. He had mentioned no trip previously.

“Araksia! Araksia! What date is it today?”

“The twenty-first of June I think…”

“Actually, it’s the twenty-second, and do you know what will be happening exactly a month from today?”

Araksia shook her head.

“You do not! But my darling, you should! Why, is not the twenty-second of July your birthday?” The twenty-second. Of course it was. In her misery though, such happy thoughts as birthdays had gotten swept away by the ill wind. “Yes indeed, my sweet, your own birthday. And what’s more, not only is it your birthday, but also, by chance, this year on the twenty-second, is to be held one of, nay, the main event of the Society’s annual calendar: The Victorian Ball!”

“The Victorian Ball?”

“Yes my love, why what a night that is! All us men dress up in cravats and dinner jackets and all you ladies are clad in the most gorgeous gowns and crinolines imaginable, and we journey to an old castle in Hungary, (it’s cheap to hire you see), and all night long we swirl around the dance floor to the strains of the Blue Danube and such.” Araksia had to admit that this sounded rather fun. However, since the Society was involved, she was sure that there had to be some sort of catch.

“So where are we going now then?” she asked.

“Now? Why, as it’s your birthday, you will be needing a present. And this year, as it is the first of our happy married life, I am paying for something extra special. However, it will take time to prepare. That is why we have to start now.”

“But what is it?”

“My sweet, sweet Araksia! Aren’t birthday presents meant to be surprises?”

She was led to the dressing room and encased, as expected, in the travelling cocoon. However, to her surprise, once fully laced up and enclosed, Hoang approached her with a glass of tea, motioning for her to drink.

“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“A sleeping draught,” replied Kevork. “Drink it, you’ll be needing it.”

What could she do but oblige? Any fight that had been in her had been beaten out long ago. She swallowed. A minute later she was dead to the world.

When Araksia Manuelyan came to she felt groggy and her head ached. She felt like she had been asleep not for hours, but for much long – days or weeks. She felt dirty and disorientated. She also noticed a nagging ache on her torso. She looked around her and found to her surprise that she was exactly where she had been when she’d last been conscious. Or at least but a metre or two away, lying in her own bed. Why prepare her for travelling if she were not going anywhere?

It was then that she realised that she was no longer in the cocoon, but instead clad only in a mono-glove and extremely tight under breast corset. The upper part of her torso was bandaged. What the hell had happened? She lay there for around an hour until Hoang entered. Seeing that her mistress was awake, she disappeared once more and came back a moment or two later with Araksia’s husband. Kevork smiled, came over to his wife and sat her up.

“What’s happened?” she asked quietly.

“My dear, your birthday present!” he declared and then to her surprise he started unwrapping the bandages that covered her chest area. Once done he motioned for her to look. She started in surprise. Her tits, never small, had now ballooned in size. They were easily 36DD now. They looked like the tits of a cartoon character, not the breasts of a real girl. “My love,” he said, “Happy Birthday! How did you like your new silicone tits?”

The Belle of the Ball

Getting over the shock of the two fake footballs fastened to her chest took Araksia longer than she’d expected. She was mortified by them, and hated them and would have beaten them to a pulp had she of course the ability to do so. But as we know, she did not, so instead, daily they sat there, teasing her, and Kevork who loved nothing more than to play with those gigantic love toys.

However, gigantic breasts were not the only new woe to enter our beleaguered Armenian’s restricted existence. The Victorian Ball, whilst something that she was looking forward to, was also something that required much preparation, as the Society insisted that it’s members, (and of course their wives), try to be as authentic as possible. And of course, being authentic as regards the Victorians, meant obtaining a waistline of absolutely tiny proportions, and to do so meant a period of sustained tight-lacing. Kevork of course had always been a man who had admired the effects of the corset on a woman, particularly as he was excited by the curvaceous beauty with wide hips and large tits, but a minute waist, and as such he had always insisted that Araksia’s Foundation and Sleeping Venuses be laced to a waist circumference of fifty centimetres. Whilst he would have liked to see her with a much tinier waist than that, Kevork explained that he had read much on the subject of tight-lacing and he had learnt that waists of less than forty centimetres require constant corset usage and actually deform the figure so that the wearer cannot live without her stays, (such as was the case with Katerina), and should she be without them her figure would appear unnatural and in fact, quite displeasing to the eye. Kevork went on to explain that whilst corset did attract his eye, he also loved seeing his beautiful wife in other garments from time to time, such as boob tubes and bikinis and so it was that he dared not push her below fifty for extended periods of time.

The Victorian Ball however was an exception, and for this momentous occasion the Armenian had stipulated that his wife be laced to a size of no more than forty centimetres, a size which to Araksia’s ears sounded incredibly small, and could only be achieved through a month or so of wearing unbelievably tight and uncomfortable stays both night and day. So it was that her tight-lacing regime was begun, each month the maids squeezing her torso until she could no longer breathe, and causing her new enormous breasts to heave mercilessly all day long. How many times she fainted during that tortuous period, she knew not, but everyday, as she felt the laces squeezing the very life out of her she felt like breaking down into floods of tears.

Now of course, whilst authenticity was very much insisted on for the event, this being a Society gathering, there was to be no attempt at realistically recreating the fact that Victorian women had full use of their arms. Araksia however, thought that it was perhaps worth pointing this little hypocrisy out to Kevork one day when he was waxing lyrical about her latest waist reduction, (she was by now down to forty-two centimetres and each further reduction was almost impossible). To her surprise though, when she pointed out that no matter how minute her waist was, she would never look the part wearing either a mono-glove, a Foundation Venus or even the Wave, he thought for a moment and then proceeded to agree with her. Then to her further surprise, he said, “Perhaps we can introduce something new, change the rules a bit this year.”

A fortnight before the great event, Kevork introduced Araksia to the gown that she would be wearing. It was one of cream satin, incorporating a vast billowing crinoline which she guessed would measure over two metres in width, (“Though fear not, my love,” Kevork had said, “You will be wearing heels of fifteen centimetres and stride impeders at the knee, and a skin tight leather petticoat, so your strides will be pleasingly miniscule, like your waist”), with puff sleeves, red roses all over and to her absolute astonishment, free arms. It was truly beautiful, a gown fit for Cinderella and though she would have preferred to have chosen herself, she had to admit that Kevork had done a good job.

“But the arms?” she’d questioned.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he’d replied.

A week before, she was packed into her travelling cocoon, and a catheter and feeding apparatus inserted which implied a long journey, zipped up in her case and flown together with her husband to Hungary. When she awoke they were in a beautiful Victorian bedchamber which was presumably, (judging from the antiquity of the building), in the castle that he’d mentioned, and boasted a fine view of some ornamental gardens with the Blue Danube rolling by outside. “My dear, this where you’ll be staying,” announced Kevork as he administered to her a ‘Welcome to Hungary’ session of unwanted sexual congress, and he was right. For the entire week – a week of unbelievable corsetting and continual preparations for the big day, she was not let out of that room.

The day before Kevork announced that she was to be laced into her ball corset ready, and she was hung from the lacing trapeze whilst the two sexy Hungarian maids, (Hoang and Linh had been given leave to visit their families in Vietnam), squeezed her waist into it’s now almost impossible girth and caused her tits to balloon out so that they were level with her shoulders. Then, when she was released, Kevork, (who as always, was surveying the goings on with pleasure), announced, “And now your gloves!” and to her surprise, instead of having her arms restrained as she had had every single day since arriving in California, she was led over to a dressing table and a pair of tight leather kid gloves that had been placed in stretchers overnight, were forced onto her hands. They fitting of these shoulder-length items of apparel took well over fifteen minutes for each on and once one and all the creases worked out, her hands were squeezed mercilessly, and virtually immobile. But of course, ‘virtually immobile’, was to poor Araksia, the same as ‘Free as the Wind’ is to us, and it was with glee that she moved her aching shoulder muscles up and down and flexed her wrists and fingers the fraction of a centimetre that the gloves would allow.

“And now, we must give the gloves a covering,” said Kevork, “to ensure that they keep their texture,” and the two Hungarian maids then started pasting the surface of those beautiful gloves with some sort of grey liquid. “Whatever is this for?” thought Araksia, noting that the covering did nothing for the appearance of the gloves. She soon found out. Within a couple of minutes, the liquid had dried out and had dried out completely solid. She could no longer move a muscle! Her hope and joy completely dissolved. So she was to be as immobile for the Ball as she always was. But Kevork it seemed, had not finished. The Hungarian maids then produced two life-size, dainty porcelain hands, cast in two parts, which they then proceeded to fit over her now solid arms, and glue together. “Perfect!” declared Kevork, once they’d set. “My little China Doll!’ He kissed her on the cheek and caressed her tits and ass. “Now you see why we had to lace you into the corset today. We could never have hung you from the lacing bar with these delightful dolly arms on!”

That night Araksia could not sleep. The tightness of her Ball Corset was excruciating and the blankets wouldn’t lie on her as her two solid arms stuck up in the air, outstretched, as if she was asking for someone to hold her and take her, (an invitation that Kevork had of course taken up already). In the morning though, things were better. She was administered her enema and given her compound and then the fitting began. Forcing her tiny high-heeled shoes onto her feet and learning to walk in those beautiful yet painful works of art took some time, but nothing compared to the erection of her crinoline, placing and smoothing out of her fifteen petticoats and then the fitting of that oh-so-beautiful dress, and the fixing of the hundreds of roses onto it. Then came her hair, done in a charming collection of sausage curls and her mark insisting on her usual long lashes, despite the fact that they were apparently not very Victorian. By five though, she was ready, and it was a proud man that led his charming wife down the hallway to the vast ballroom.

And what a night that was! The ladies swirled round, most wearing mono-gloves with their corsets. All admired her appearance and Kevork’s ingenuity with her arms and when Kevork even allowed her a glass or two of champagne, (which went straight to her head due to the over tight corset and fact that she had not partaken in the consumption of liquor for over six months), she almost forgot her woeful life, awful predicament and heartless husband and for an hour or two imagined herself really to be the Cinderella of every girl’s fantasy. And when she was presented with the Belle of the Ball Award at the end of the night the Birthday Girl even kissed her husband of her own free will as he received the trophy on her behalf.

Reality however, returned with a gusto that night, as that same husband demanded painful anal sex, and the dreams of a princess dissolved back into the reality of being a millionaire’s fuck toy as she buried her head into the crisp white pillow.

East is East and West is West…

Life after the Victorian Ball continued in it’s normal hum-drum manner for Araksia Manuelyan. After the event, for several months, she revelled in the double glory of being the official Annual Victorian Belle and also for being the human guinea pig for Kevork’s new form of bondage, (he had specially hired a chemist to mix a paste for him that would dry so quickly and effectively), a form of restriction that was very soon christened ‘stoning’ as the unlucky wearer was literally turned to stone. To celebrate this new-found fame that had been brought to the Manuelyan household, Kevork organised a huge party, of a new type entirely – namely a Statue Party, where all the women of the Society were dressed in tight-fitting catsuits and then painted all over in the paste, which once hardened, rendered them exactly like statues. They were then place out in the Manuelyan grounds for guests to admire and pop peanuts or fresh strawberries into their mouths if they so desired. Thus it was that our poor Armenian spent a grand total of twenty-four hours stood out on her patio, (placed next to Tatyana Steinwald thankfully), waiting until morning until their husbands could be bothered to move them. It was not a pleasant experience to say the least.

Her time in the limelight however, was soon eclipsed when it came to the time of Jake and Maria’s party when the hostess appeared wearing what appeared to be a very tight Foundation Venus, it which no trace of her folded arms were visible.

“Oh, it’s not tight at all,” she explained when Tatyana and Araksia congratulated her on it. “I’ve had my arms amputated as a birthday present by Jake. It’s great.” She paused and smiled.

‘That girl truly is sick,’ thought Araksia. “Oh,” the Filipina added as an afterthought. “And thank you and Kevork for introducing us all to stoning. “Do you know, Jake has me stoned every Thursday and Friday all day long. Well, except for my mouth and pussy of course. He needs those to move.”

‘Some people are beyond help,’ thought Araksia sadly.

But aside from her stoning fame and the seemingly endless round of parties that they went to, nothing new or of note entered Araksia Manuelyan’s monotonous existence, which was spent most bored out of her mind in the Relaxation Room or being screwed by her husband.

Nothing that is until one night in November that Araksia will never forget so long as she lives.

Her and Kevork were lying in bed, he playing with her nipples, (which he’d just had pierced, much to her disgust and discomfort), when the telephone rang. Her husband answered and at once sounded worried. “No! Seriously? How could she? What are we to do? The Plan? Right! Ok! Orders from the Council eh? I’m onto it. Be ready by six.”

He put down the receiver and looked agitated.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Rob,” he replied.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“Very bad. Come on my love, we’re leaving!”

“Leaving? Where? Why?”

“Araksia, I have no time to answer your fucking questions. We are leaving and that’s that! Now get going, quickly. You’ll find out everything in time.”

Then he virtually dragged her into the dressing chamber calling out “Hoang!” and “Linh!” as he went.

The two Vietnamese maids arrived in their lingerie, looking half asleep. He rapped out some commands to them in the native tongue and they woke up suddenly and started pulling Araksia’s travelling cocoon out of the wardrobe. So, she was going on a journey then. But to where? She was not to learn, as Kevork then left, assumedly to make his own preparations, but by the fact that the maids inserted her catheter, feeding mask and a vast quantity of tranquiliser, she knew, just before she dropped off, that it was likely to be a long trip.

Araksia awoke to find herself in a large sumptuous bed chamber. A fan whirred lazily overhead and a canary twittered in a cage. She looked around her. The windows were in the Oriental style and beautiful carpets adorned the floors and walls. It seemed like she had entered a Sultan’s Palace. ‘Hopefully not as a member of his Harem,’ she thought, unfazed – little shocked our Armenian these days –  though to be honest, even being a Harem Slave would not be any worse than what she was already used to.

A figure clad in white veils gestured for her to get up. Araksia examined her, but all she could see was the eyes. She knew those eyes though. It was Hoang. ‘Some things never change,’ she thought, wondering what new game or whim of Kevork’s this was.

Hoang took her to a dressing room where she was prepared as usual by the Vietnamese girl who was quick to take off all her Arabic clothing with a sigh. Then, tightly laced into a Foundation Venus and unusually gagged but then, once released, to her surprise, instead of an evening dress or skimpy clothing, an abayah and set of veils was brought for her, covering her entirely, even more so than with Hoang as cloth, several layers of it in fact, was placed over her eyes, so much so that she could only make out the dimmest outlines of things. Then, once prepared as an Arabic maiden, she was led out of the dressing room and the bedchamber and down countless corridors to a vast hall. And in that hall were sat hundreds of other veiled women, all silent and motionless like herself. Hoang motioned for her to sit. As always, she did as she was bid. The Hoang left.

About ten minutes later, two men walked onto a stage at the front of the hall. One was a Westerner, the other an Arab, dressed in the garb of his people. Araksia couldn’t be sure, (as she could hardly see anything through her thick veils), but she suspected that she’d seen both of them before at Society gatherings. Then the Westerner began to speak.

“Ladies of the Society. Welcome to your new home! Should you be wondering where you are at present, let me inform you that we are currently all lodged in the home of this kind man stood beside me, Sheik Mohammed al-Saud. Yes ladies, we are in Saudi Arabia and what’s more, this is where we, or at least you, will be staying.”

This announcement caused gasps amongst the cloth-draped audience.

“Our move here has been made necessary by the terrible actions of one of your sisters, Mrs. Tatyana Steinwald. On the 5th November of this year, under unusual circumstances, she managed to stray from the grounds of her husband’s house and run to a nearby police station, where she unfortunately told the authorities of her lifestyle with us. These scandalous actions caused the government of the United States to start looking into our activities, with a view to destroying our way of life. Luckily for us all though Ladies, we had foreseen such a possibility and planned accordingly. The LA Police Chief is one of us, and he stalled the investigations and gave us warning to leave. That is why you have all been escorted here to Saudi Arabia where each of your husbands owns a home. Here you will now be living, far from the reach of the American Government and the evil liberal ideas that have poisoned that country.

Sheik Mohammed’s only condition on giving us leave to live in his country was that we all convert to the Islamic Faith. This we have done on paper only. But by converting it has enabled our Society to have the government of Saudi Arabia on our side. They have stated that they do not object to our mode of life and in fact will support it. In Saudi Arabia, a women is the vassal of her husband at all times and in all places. What’s more, she is not allowed to work. We support and share these Saudi values. On top of that, our conversion to Islam has the added benefit of allowing each of our male members to marry four times, an option I hope many will take up, so Ladies, behave unless you want to lose your protector.

Ladies, these are the new facts in your life. Learn to live by them. You will be veiled at all times outside of your husband’s or other member’s homes. Veiled as now. Otherwise, life will continue just as before.

So, now I will leave you to be placed in travelling cocoons and to journey to your new homes. Enjoy your life in Saudi Arabia oh beloved, armless Venuses of the Society.”

And so that was that. Tatyana had escaped! How? Oh to do the same! But what would happen if Rob caught up with her. Araksia shuddered for her friend’s sake and prayed a silent prayer. Then she turned to her own predicament. She was now a Muslim and would be living in Saudi Arabia, that vast desert prison for women. Well, would it be any worse than California had been? She doubted it. Hoang tapped her on the shoulder and silently she got up and left, ready to be packed for the journey to Kevork’s new mansion in the desert.

A Desert Princess

Life for Araksia in Saudi Arabia turned out to be not altogether too different from how it had been in California. Daily she was confined to a huge mansion in a stifling hot climate wearing beautiful yet restrictive clothes. True the style was a bit different now, with Turkish rugs and Ottoman latticing adorning her new relaxation room, in place of the minimalist furnishings of the Californian one, but such changes in scenery were only surface deep. In fact, the only real change brought upon her life by their move to Arabia was the introduction of veiling which now became a regular and most irksome extra burden for our poor Armenian to deal with. Saudi custom dictates, (or so Kevork said to Araksia), that its women be hidden from view at all times so as not to sexually excite males, and so it was that whenever she left her quarters, (i.e. her bedroom, dressing room and relaxation room), she was required to veil fully, which meant over her eyes as well as the rest of her body. And when Kevork said ‘fully’, he meant it, her never having less than three layers of cloth covering her face, (“just to be sure that your charms are not seen by the gardeners and menservants”), reducing her vision to virtually nothing. And so it was that yet another of life’s pleasures – that of unrestricted sight – was taken from her and all her time spent away from her room was time spent in virtual darkness with only the barest outlines of things being perceptible. And on top of that, being covered in a mound of cloth is of course hot too, and at the end of every trip out of her quarters Araksia was hot sticky, sweaty and very very flustered. Such are the trials that our new Desert Princess had to endure.

Of course one exception to the veiling rule was Society gatherings and parties where Society Men still wanted to show off their trophies and admire the restricted, armless female form as much as ever. These, even more than in California were a blessing to Araksia, even though she no longer had her best friend to talk to, Tatyana having disappeared as we know and never been seen or talked of again. One gathering though, at the palace of Paolo Olivetti, an Italian Member of the Society, she was milling around clad in an extremely tight and uncomfortable corset with mono-glove with twelve centimetre heels when she came across a woman stood in a corner looking most uncomfortable with her mono-glove and crying her eyes out. Worried, and, (as she had not seen this lady before), suspecting that she may be new and unused to the Society’s restrictive way of life, she went over to ask what was the matter. To her surprise the lady, when she answered, her breasts heaving due to the tightness of her corset, answered in a way that Araksia did not expect.

She had a male voice!

“Who are you?” asked our concerned Armenian.

“I am… Fatima al-Steinwald, the new wife of Rob Steinwald…but…”


“But I wasn’t always.”

“Who were you then?”

“Ivan Kovachev.”

Kovachev. That name rang a bell. “Are you, perhaps in any way related to…”

“… to Tatyana Kovachev, or Tatyana Steinwald as she is now?”
”She is my best friend.”

“She is my sister.”

Araksia couldn’t believe it. Tatyana’s brother – or sister perhaps! What was he/she doing here. She asked and Fatima or Ivan told her his/her sad tale.

“When Tatyana left, causing the Society so many problems – she escaped by hitting her maid who by accident hadn’t secured her properly to her ceiling chain, and then running out of the house and gardens – Rob vowed revenge on her. However, she had gone into hiding, in Brazil we believe, where no one knew where she was or could touch her. So what did that evil bastard do instead? Kidnapped a member of her family – me, and brought me to live as his wife. Except of course that I am, or was, a man. So, he’s having me changed. The process isn’t finished yet, I’ve got these huge breasts as you can see, and I’m on hormones, but the, well… tackle is still there. I believe he intends to leave my, erm… cock, as a reminder of what I once was, just whip the balls off. That’s when my voice will change. Not that that will change anything for Rob. That sicko nightly enjoys taking me up the ass as much as he enjoyed raping my sister. I can’t bear it!”

“Oh my God! I know, Fatima… Ivan. But that is our lot here. You have to. But what about Tatyana?”

“She is safe now. But Rob has sent a message saying that for every six months that she does not give herself up, he will kidnap and forcibly sex change one male member of her family or a close male friend. And if she tops herself, then he will do the same. That’s why I’m crying. She got in touch today. He is leaving for Brazil tomorrow to collect her. I fear for my sister, Araksia.”

“Well, that’s sad, and I would fear for anyone in his clutches too. But at least you will be free.”

“Oh no, I’m married to him now. And that’s forever. But at least I will have my sister around.”

Araksia shuddered and thanked the Lord that she had not been blessed with any brothers.

A Mother’s Heart

It is thirty-five years to the day since Araksia al-Manuelyan arrived in the country that is now her home – Saudi Arabia. Her beauty and charms faded long ago, as did any hope that she might have had for a happy life, but her body, thanks to her regular exersize sessions, is in better shape that most fifty-five year-olds. Her arms these days, she imagines, even if they were to be released from their bondage, would be useless, the muscles atrophied after so many years of lying unused. Nowadays the first wife of Kevork al-Manuelyan just sits and waits, without emotion. There is nothing else for her to do.

It was a year or so after her arrival in the desert kingdom when she noticed her position starting to become eroded. Linh, the foxy maid whom she knew that he husband had long been shagging, emerged one birthday with the traditional Society Birthday Present – a pair of huge silicone breasts. They looked stupid on the lightly-built Asian but Kevork didn’t seem to mind. After that, and after he had some extra fat pumped into her ass, he spent more and more time with his maid, and less with his wife.

But it was Nguyen Linh who eventually replaced Araksia. He never married her and after three years of sleeping with her nightly, as he had with Araksia, he got bored and sent her packing back to her village with fifty thousand dollars, (with which they say she built a rather nice house). He got new maids in, Filipino this time, (they had no opportunity to complain or help the trapped wives under the Draconian Laws of the Saudis), but it was never to be a maid who ousted our Armenian. Three years after her arrival, Araksia got pregnant. This surprised her, as she knew that previously she’d always had the pill included in her compound. As soon as the baby, a son whom they named Hacho, was born, Kevork ‘went shopping’ as he termed it, to his homeland. A month later he returned with a new nineteen year-old bride, the fair Anoush.

At first the newcomer was wary of Araksia, seeing her as a threat, but over time their shared experiences and Armenian background brought them together as sisters in suffering. Araksia was pleased that he’d acquired a new love toy anyway. It kept him away from her bed. Nonetheless, he still visited from time to time, and within a year her second child, a girl named Lucina. Having to bring up a girl child in such an environment was the hardest thing that Araksia had had to bear yet. How many nights had she wept endlessly over the plight of her beloved daughter? And with her arms restricted so, she was never of course, even allowed to hold her child. From the moment of her initial binding at the age of puberty her daughter’s existence had been even more narrow, restricted and miserable than her own. Hacho had every freedom that he could want. At eighteen he was already seducing unwilling yet defenceless Society Maidens, and at twenty he was married for the first time, a big-assed Colombian hostess whom his father had bought for him to teach him the ways of love. Love he called it. That sick man did not know what true love was.

But today is perhaps the saddest day of all. As soon as she had turned, Kevork had decreed that Lucina was to start dating. Dating with a view towards marriage. But dating under Society rules was not like dating elsewhere. Lucina was clad in a tight Foundation Venus and stoned whilst interested males milled around drinking cocktails and admiring her. Then, those interested, contacted Kevork and were allowed to take the poor girl out. How many times had Araksia seen those leery perverts arrive at their mansion and take her beloved by the leash for a night of ‘dating’. (Though no sex was allowed, from twelve years on she had been forced to wear a chastity belt).

And the conclusion of those nights of dating? Why today? The great and glorious wedding of Lucina al-Manuelyan, daughter of Kevork al-Manuelyan. A wedding presided over by that man and his new Armenian wife, Ohana, an eighteen-year old beauty from Erevan. But Araksia, as the one whom had borne the bride had also been graciously invited. So there she sits, veiled in cloth, hardly able to see the proceedings, not wanting to see the proceedings, gagged to stop any embarrassing outbursts, and laced to forty-five inches in a Foundation Venus. Yes there she sits and watches as Kevork gives away his only daughter. Gives his daughter away to an old friend of his, a man whom has already driven his first wife to the grave, and enslaved her brother, turning him into his second wife. The man who is known to make his ladies sleep in a sleeping cocoon and has recently expressed an interest in amputation as was pioneered by Maria the Crazy Filipina.

“Lucina al-Manuelyan. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the minister asks.

“She does,” replied Kevork, smiling at his friend.

“And Rob al-Steinwald. Do you take this girl to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” says he.

Araksia, feels like dying and sinking into the ground that very moment.

But as we know, she will be living on this terrible earth for many more painful and empty years to come.

And her daughter Lucina, for many more after that.