Dr. Edwards’ Special Birthday Present

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Author’s note

This tale is set in the United Kingdom in the year 1967. It is however, not the United Kingdom that we know. Instead it is an alternate United Kingdom set in an alternative universe. Therefore, much of it is familiar to us, but conversely, much isn’t. In the universe of the story, the United Kingdom is an inward-looking, reactionary society that lags behind many of its neighbours. It is governed by a powerful elite formed of an aristocracy of hereditary landowners and the Church. The Great Reform Acts of the 19th century never happened and the place of a woman is very much that of a second-class citizen… or subject. She has no rights and no property, she is owned by her father, after his death her brother or uncle, and upon marriage, her husband. Wives are expected to be virgins and all women are corseted.

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At precisely 7 o’ clock in the morning the alarm clock of Dr. Daniel Edwards rang as it did every morning.

And at precisely 7 o’clock in the morning the good doctor woke up just as he did every morning.

This morning however, he felt rather happier than usual, for today was a most auspicious day indeed. For today was the occasion of his seventieth birthday.

And if that were not enough, it was also a Thursday.

Thursdays were the highlight of the good doctor’s week and he looked forward to each and every one. Ever since his retirement from the position of headmaster at the local school five years before, Dr. Edwards’ life had fallen into a very distinct – and mundane – pattern. He’d wake up and dress; eat the breakfast prepared by his housekeeper Mrs. Salt; read the contents of the Times and complete the crossword; relax until lunch also prepared by Mrs. Salt; either go in his garden, take a stroll or read depending on the weather; have his dinner prepared by Mrs. Salt and then finally go to the club to meet with some old colleagues for a port and game of bridge before retiring at around nine at night. Such were his days every day except Sundays with the exception of Thursday mornings.

For on a Thursday morning he always received a visitor.

A few months before his retirement, Dr. Edwards – whose Doctorate, I must mention, is in Education and not Medicine – began feeling ill. He was continually tense, his heart was beating fast and he regularly got severe migraines. So, he paid a visit to his medical doctor who delivered a most unexpected diagnosis. “Dr. Edwards, it is clear to me that what you are suffering from is an excess of sexual tension. It seems that, like many intelligent and respectable gentlemen, you have an extremely high sexual drive and that since the death of your wife ten years ago – and her companion some two years following that – you have had no outlet for sexual relief. This is what is causing all the tension and headaches and if it continues it could endanger your life. Sperm is being produced but it has nowhere to go and so your health is impaired. May I ask how often you masturbate?”

Dr. Edwards replied, quite firmly and correctly, that, as a practising and devout Anglican, he viewed such an act as a sin. The GP did not disagree.

“Then may I ask another personal question? Do you ever suffer from dreams of an erotic and inappropriate nature that result in you spilling seed involuntarily during your sleep?”

Dr. Edwards had to confirm, somewhat shamefacedly, that he did.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of man,” replied the GP, “this is a common situation amongst widowers. The fact is that you need some sexual release. Have you thought of remarrying?”

Dr. Edwards confirmed that he had but it was not a viable possibility. Firstly, he felt that it would be inappropriate to marry a girl too far below him in social status but those of his level had high dowries which were beyond his reach. Secondly though, he confessed to his doctor that he didn’t find women of his own age – or indeed any age beyond around thirty – to be sexually exciting and, more than that, he had several preferences that would be hard to find even if he could find a younger woman willing to wed him. “My late wife and her companion were both Ladies of Leisure, and what is more they tight-laced to admirable sizes. For me there is nothing more exciting than being able to circle a waist with my two hands and if I cannot then I am afraid that I would struggle to accept the girl in question.”

To his surprise, the GP nodded sagely, made some notes and then said he would get back to him.

And once he retired the doctor did just that. “You shall receive a visit from one of the young ladies at the Berkhamstead School for Girls every Thursday morning at ten precisely,” he announced. “It is part of their Community Service Education.”

And so it had been that for the past five years a young lady in the last year of her studies before marriage had paid him a visit every Thursday with her maid. Then the maid would depart and he would help the young lady with her education whilst she would help him with his tension issues. Every Thursday morning, as soon as they had finished their initial cup of tea – which his maid would feed to her as her arms would be ensconced within binders hidden within gigot sleeves – the young lady in question would kneel down before him, take his penis in her mouth and gently suck him to eruption after which she would swallow his seed, lick him clean and then, once he had refastened his trousers, he would sit her on his knee, circle her minute waist, (for fifteen inches was the maximum allowed at the school and many were smaller than that), and they would enjoy a pleasant chat before her maid returned an hour or two later.

Dr. Edwards sat back in his chair, the very chair in which he always sat when the ladies arrived, and mulled over his happy memories, taking out the photograph he kept with photos of each girl in. He’d had five female visitors so far. The first, Jennifer Dawkins, had been an exceptionally pretty little thing with blonde ringlets and cornflower blue eyes. She’d been very shy at first but he’d coached her well and by the time she left to wed a millowner in Manchester she’d been a capable sucker indeed and he had been sad to see her go.

The second girl had been Annabel Hartley. She had been far plainer than Jennifer but what she’d lacked in looks she more than made up for in enthusiasm and technique and many were the days when she’d managed to bring him to eruption twice within a single hour. Dr. Edwards smiled when he thought of her husband, a young Baronet from Norfolk, who had seemed rather soft and easily led and wondered how he was coping with such a tour de force of sexual energy.

His third girl had been one Charity Curzon. To be honest, of all the girls that he’d been served by, she had been the most disappointing, both in terms of conversation and looks, (and indeed ability initially), but then something dramatic had happened: Charity had been caught copulating with a boy and as such her arranged marriage fell through. In place of the original husband – whose name Dr. Edwards could not recall – she was betrothed to Lord Stafford who then proceeded to specify a most extensive range of enhancements. All the girls at Berkhamstead School were enhanced before marriage of course; it was part of their fiancé’s claim to ownership of them, and Jennifer Dawkins in particular had received a lovely pair of 40F breasts, but what Lord Stafford had specified for Charity was out of this world. Over the course of the year he saw her transform from a plain brunette with a boyish figure into a pneumatic lovedoll of dreamlike proportions. Her breasts were expanded into 52MMM balloons of titflesh whilst her face became virtually unrecognisable from that of the girl whom Dr. Edwards had been introduced to at the start of the year, her lips being inflated to such a size that they appeared as two pillows on her face that she could not close them completely and so continually drooled without her fleur de bouche. And when she did have that implement removed, her speech was now somewhat slurred and with a lisp, caused by the fact that her tongue had been deliberately shortened and inflated and a large piercing driven through it. Furthermore, her nose had been reduced to a mere button whilst her eyes were now large and staring like a doll’s, bright blue in colour caused by contact lenses decreed as mandatory at all times whilst her hair was dyed to a platinum blonde hair which finished off the illusion of vacant minded lovedoll. And Dr. Edwards, who had always secretly admired that look – and the impression on his member caused by the new lips and piercings – had been brought to such height of sexual ecstasy by the sucking of her new, vagina-like mouth on his member, that when Charity left he was sadder than at any time before.

Whilst no Charity Curzon, last year’s girl, Cassandra Parker-Heath had also been interesting. Her fiancé, one Simon Armitage, an MP in Wiltshire, it transpired liked to use a penis pump to enlarge his member and so, unlike all the others whose arms were always bound in gigot sleeves, every other week she arrived with unbound arms and began her session with him by pumping his member using the device before then having her arms laced firmly into a monoglove by the delighted doctor, (who had always especially loved the shape that a monoglove creates), and bringing his enlarged and rampant tool to eruption, working hard to accommodate its new expanded size in her tiny mouth.

And then now there was Rebecca Huntingdon, pledged to become the next Duchess of Devonshire following the death of the currently Duchess last year aged fifty-two, caused, some said, through excessive tight-lacing. She was as pretty as Jennifer Dawkins had been and Dr. Edwards couldn’t wait to see what she would look like when the 40E implants ordered for her by the Duke had been fitted. He stared at her photograph in the album and smiled, imagining the ecstasy that she would bring him too in only a few short minutes. What better way to spend one’s seventieth birthday could there be?

He was jolted out of that reveries by the doorbell. He glanced at the clock. A quarter to; she was a little early. Still, it didn’t matter. All the more time to bounce her up and down on his knee whilst he ran his hands round her waist and breasts.

Mrs. Salt opened the door and announced, “Miss Huntingdon has arrived with her maid, Doctor, but she has asked that, before she enter, you wear this blindfold as she has a little birthday surprise for you.”

Mystified, the doctor took it and fitted it. Then the housekeeper added, “and she has also requested that you say nothing until the blindfold has been removed.”

Still more intrigued he nodded and she left. He doctor heard the girl come in and kneel before him. His crotch was opened and she took his flaccid tool in her mouth. “Ahh!” he gasped as she carefully and skilfully brought it to hardness and he was really enjoying it when she abruptly withdrew with a slight giggle. Confused, he sat stock still when she came back again and started sucking once more, this time much hard and more vigorously. Ahh, that was the life and he came close to eruption when she again withdrew. He began to soften when she commenced once again, this time using her tongue once more. He noticed that there was a piercing rubbing against his member that stimulated it all the more. So, this was her surprise! She had been pierced! But oh, it was good! But then, just as he was coming close, she withdrew with another giggle and his member, now aching for release, strained. She returned, skilfully licking in a manner that he had not experienced her do yet. She had been studying well; this performance was up to that of Annabel Hartley! He groaned in ecstasy, unable to control himself but then she withdrew once again and he was left high and dry and desperate for more. Then she enveloped her mouth around him once again and it was… it was different! There were more piercings there and the tongue was thicker and the mouth tighter, almost like a vagina. “What on earth!” he exclaimed, forgetting his promise and he withdrew his blindfold to see to his astonishment, not Rebecca Huntingdon with her mouth around his member but instead the doll-like vision of Lady Stafford – once Charity Curzon!

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Daniel! Happy birthday to you!” chorused four other girls standing all around him before erupting into three “Hip! Hip! Hoorays!” as he erupted into Charity’s modified mouth. It was all his old students come back to make his day one to remember!

“Girls!” he exclaimed, “This is so kind of you! You are all so lovely!”

There were tears in his eyes but Jennifer replied, “No, you were the kind one and we all loved coming here. You were so gentle and considerate and never criticised our efforts and the training you gave us has helped us all provide much happiness for our husbands and made our marriages a success. When we realised this date was approaching, we all knew that we had to mark it and so we contacted the school and they helped us to arrange a special present for you.”

“And what a surprise it has been! Girls, all five of you, this has been the greatest present that I could have ever received, it really is. You have made an old man very happy indeed!”

“Do you think that was the present?” exclaimed Annabel, at which all five fell into a fit of giggles.

“It isn’t?”

“Not at all. Remember how when you were training us, you used to say about how you missed your late wife?”

“Yes.”

“And how you loved the actress Olivia Capulet?” added Cassandra.

“Yes.”

“Anth show thoo thloveth the enthanthmenths thath I thad thone thoo me?” slurred Charity through her inflated lips.

“Yes.”

“Well, we all clubbed together, the school too, and we’ve bought you a present that will keep you happy for the other six days of the week when we can’t be here!” announced Rebecca.

And with those words the girls parted and Miss Martin, the Headmistress of Berkhamstead School for Girls led a seventh woman into the room. This woman, like his five students, was a Lady of Leisure, her hands firmly laced into a cream monoglove that matched her dress and with a waist that was thirteen inches at most, but unlike them, where a human face should have been, there was a delightful doll’s head made out of pottery to look like his favourite actress Olivia Capulet with jet black ringlets cascading from her crown.

“She’s beautiful!” he exclaimed.

“She’s yours,” replied the headmistress. “She is a living doll just graduated from our sister institution, the Chesham Doll Academy which has been producing high-class doll wives from working class girls for over forty years. Her fiancé died in a motor accident last week and so she has been entrusted into your guardianship until you should die or choose to marry her to someone else. She is your companion from this day on!”

Dr. Edwards looked at the vision of artificial loveliness that stood before him, her enormous and obviously enhanced breasts heaving up and down as she struggled to bring air into her lungs so difficult has she found the short walk across the room. To have her to talk and play with every day was just too delightful a thought to contemplate!

“But what is her name?” he asked.

“She doesn’t have one. All the students at the Chesham Doll Academy are simply referred to a “doll” as it reinforces the doll-mind. She is yours to name although, as we designed her to look like Olivia Capulet, we all thought that ‘Libby’ might be a nice moniker.”

“Then Libby she shall be!” declared the doctor, as he rose, placed his hands around the waist of his new toy and, as the fingers met, planted a kiss on her rubber lips whilst the entire room cheered.

“And now to the garden for tea and cake!” he declared, “I wish to celebrate my best birthday ever with all my favourite girls!”

Written June 2016      

Copyright© 2016, Dave Potter

Mastana: Part 5

Part 4

Again she was disturbed from her reveries, this time by her servant tapping her on her veiled shoulder. Mastana got up knowing what was to come, for it was the same everyday. It was time for the Zuhr prayer. She followed her three other shrouded sisters into the Rang Mahal where their prayer mats were laid out ready for them. They got into position and waited and after a minute or so the sound of the muezzin in the palace mosque echoed across the courtyard and into the chamber. Mastana performed her prayers as she did everyday. Prior to her incarceration in the palace she had never been particularly religious and deep down she suspected that she still was not, but recently she had begun to find strength and solace in the reflective ambience of prayer.

Not that reflection was something that she would be unable to do later, quite the opposite in fact for everyday following the Zuhr prayers the king had decreed that all of his wives must enjoy a Contemplation Hour… well, all of them unless he had an urge for something else!

Silently her girl servant climbed under her burqa and guided her arms to the back. Then she fastened the sleeve around them so that they were fixed, elbow to wrist behind her back. Of course, she was pretty much unable to use her hands anyway, but this further immobilised her and forced her into an upright position which encouraged contemplation. It was all based on the practices of the suspect pir whom the king was much influenced by and who, like many Sufis, advocated the quiet reflective life.

The girl exited and then helped her mistress to stand. A thick black shroud was then draped over her so that her world became totally dark and her hearing was further muted. Then she was led to the wall where her Contemplation Cushion was positioned. She knelt on this and then the girl crawled under her layers and fastened the straps the went over her legs forcing her to stay in the kneeling position. Then with her back against the wall, she was left to contemplate.

When their husband had introduced the Contemplation Hour to his wives he had instructed them to focus their minds on Allah and His Prophet but even though she tried hard, Mastana was never able to do that for long. Always, after but a few minutes her mind drifted to the topic that occupied most of her thoughts both waking and sleeping. Rather than relaxing her, the forced position made her more aware of the rings in her nipples and clitoris and the more she was aware of them the more she thought of them and the more she got aroused. She felt her breasts pushing hard against the tight fabric of the salwar kameez due to the position her sleeve forced her into. In the past her breasts had never pressed hard against her clothes and had never been that impressive at all, mere handfuls if that, but immediately following their marriage the king had had all his wives checked into the Cure Hospital and gifted them with generous implants. The result was two firm globes that jutted out from her chest lewdly, without any sag whatsoever. She remembered when she’d woken up in the hospital bed and felt the extra weight on her chest and been angry, angered that she was being turned into some sort of sex object. But at night when the king lay with her and caressed them, tingles of joy had fluttered through her body and she had felt very sexy and desirable.

Except that she wasn’t, Mastana wasn’t sexy and desirable at all, because Mastana no longer existed. Her head encased in black plastic she was a nobody these days. Valeriya had had large fake breasts and so he had given his wives fake breasts. Was it Mastana he was making love to or was it Valeriya? She did not even need to answer her own question yet despite the awful truth she still longed for his touch, still obsessed about him and…

What’s that, a hand on her shoulder? Surely the Contemplation Hour is not over yet. It’s impossible to measure time in a silent black world but it doesn’t seem long enough…

She is guided along the corridors and she knows, yes indeed, Contemplation Hour is not over at all, her three sisters are still knelt their in silence. But he has an urge and today she has been chosen! Excitement pulses through her veins and her beauty lips moisten. Not that she will receive what she wants there, that is haram, but even so, even the other type, to provide him with pleasure, that is enough.

The walking stops and first the shroud and then the burqa are removed. Then the sleeve is unlaced and she is allowed to flex her stiff arms. Then the rest of her clothes are removed until she stands there in the middle of the king’s bedchamber wearing just her hood and hands.

Across the middle of the bed is a stiff leather bolster. Mastana knows well its purpose and she gets onto the bed and crawls up to it, positioning in under her stomach so that she is provided with support. Then two padded rods are produced. The first goes in front of her thighs and the second behind them so that she can neither move forwards or backwards. Then the girl fastens her wrists to the head of the bed and then it is time for the final piece of her bedtime preparations. Her servant brings out an item of rubber with long golden tresses attached to it. Locked into place as she is, she cannot see it, but she knows all too well what it is. The servant takes the rubber hood and fits it over her blank plastic head encasement. The fit is perfect as it was expensively made to her own particular specifications. Once smoothed out and the eye holes carefully aligned then she is ready for the king and the two servants retire. Mastana merely waits in anticipation and as she does she gazes at the image that confronts her in the large mirror at the foot of the bed.

The doll-like unsmiling face of Valeriya stares back at her with her long blonde hair and huge blue anime-like eyes. Inside her blood boils as she realises that once again, she has been turned into someone – or something – else purely for the satisfaction of a man whom she never chose, who stole from her a promising career and life of freedom. The anger fills her veins and she wishes to explode with rage.

Then the door opens and she hears him come in. In a second the anger disappears and desire takes over. Like her mother said to her when she last visited two days ago, she was called ‘Mastana’ for a reason.

She hasn’t got a care in the world.

Mastana: Part 4

Part 3

Six months later

The Harem of the King’s Palace

Queen Mastana of Afghanistan, one of the four Wives of Equal Standing of King Muhammad Akbar Khan, stretched herself out on the grass in the Women’s Garden of the Darul Aman Palace. Not that she could feel that grass of course, these days all that Queen Mastana felt was cloth and plastic, but it was nice to be out there, the warm sun beating down on her and the faint song of birds in the air. Just across from her sat the three other queens playing with a new kitten that the king had given them all that morning, but Mastana has lost interest in both the cat and her ‘sisters’. For a few minutes she wanted to be alone.

“What am I? What is my life?” she said to herself silently. She could not say it out loud because of the solid gag that filled her mouth twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She hadn’t spoken a single word or indeed made even the faintest sound with her mouth for over four months now and she wondered that, if the gag ever were removed, she would remember how to do so. To think, she who had once engaged in debates, chatted to her friends – male and female – on the phone and in cafés in no less than four different languages. But that was when she had not been a member of the Royal family, now everything had changed.

For starters there was her dress. She was clad in the most beautiful and expensive outfit imaginable. From the outside all that was visible was her burqa, and what a burqa it was! Yellow silk with the finest embroidery. No arm holes of course, since they weren’t really needed these days, but beautiful pleats billowing out at the back when she walked. She always wore a burqa these days, it was mandatory for a queen to be covered at all times, but even though she had rebelled against the garments at first, now her favourite part of the day was after she awoke in the mornings and she chose which burqa she would be wearing that day. She had dozens to select from, all of the highest quality and uniquely crafted by some of the finest fashion designers in the world and she loved viewing herself in the mirror as she tried them on.

But under that burqa there were other fine clothes. A silken salwar kameez set in deep blue with more exquisite embroidery and on her hands black embroidered silk gloves. Under the salwar kameez she had the finest black panty hose and her underwear was an extremely alluring lacy bra and knickers which made her feel very sexy indeed. She loved the feeling of them on her and of the silk brushing her skin. It made her feel special, hell, she was a queen, she was special!

Mastana shifted her position onto her side and two tiny bells tinkled. They reminded her then as they always reminded her of the places where they were attached to, her aroused and pierced nipples. Instinctively her hands rose to caress them but of course, she could feel nothing. She longed to relieve her frustration but it was impossible and so the frustration just grew and grew.

With these feelings, Mastana’s thoughts turned to her husband. She remembered when she had first seen him, dimly through the pinholes of her hood and the grill of her burqa at the coronation. And then that night when the four wives, all identically dressed had been led from the banqueting hall to his bedroom. They were all stripped naked save for their blank black plastic hoods and blank black plastic hands. That was the first and only time that she saw her sisters’ unclothed. It was weird, they looked like anonymous robot clones, inhuman almost, created merely to pleasure a man. Then she realised with horror that she looked identical to them, she was a sex droid as well and at that moment she hated the king for what he had done to her.

His bed was huge and they were all made to lie down on it, Mastana the second from the right. Her outstretched legs were raised and fastened to two chains hanging from the ceiling of the bed, her equally outstretched arms fastened to two other hanging chains. All the other wives were similarly restrained, all four identical, chained and helpless in a row. Tradition insisted on virgins being taken like that in case they might try to harm their Master.

Then they waited, in the dark and the silence. After some time he came. He stripped slowly, but she couldn’t see him, only the ceiling above her head. Then she heard him kneel down next to him and a gasp as he entered the wife to her left. He pumped in and out of her for a minute or so then exited and came to her. This was not how she had envisaged losing her precious virginity! To a husband, yes, but chained like a mare, unable to see or move! But whether it was what she expected or not, it was what happened. She felt his hands caress her breasts and play with the rings and bells adorning her nipples and then his manhood pressed against her beauty lips. Slowly but surely he entered her now moist passage and with a powerful thrust he broke through her virgin hymen. Oh how degrading! How awful! She felt so violated and used and yet, perversely, at the same time, it excited her beyond all measure. She began to enjoy his thrusts and feel her long-awaited climax draw nearer but then, without a word he exited. No!! No!!! She wanted him in her! Come back! But he was already penetrating her sister to the right. She listened with intense jealousy as he plunged in and out of her, before exiting and entering his fourth wife. It was only with that last wife that he came and how jealous she was, surely she should have had his seed! Oh how she hated her husband yet at the same time, oh how she longed for him… oh how she longed.

She recalled a conversation with Taahira, the wife from the Barakzai clan about a week or so after they became queens. Conversations between the wives were difficult and limited. With their encased hands they could not write and with their gagged mouths they could not talk, but every day for an hour in the afternoon the King allowed them to communicate with the aid of special computers. These had enormous over-sized keyboards which her blunt and rigid hands could operate, albeit very slowly. They typed their messages laboriously letter by letter and they appeared on the screen. That was the only time that they could communicate with another human being.

They were talking that day, as they did most days for there was little else to talk about, about their husband. Although he was not particularly handsome and some of his sexual predilections a little strange, Mastana found herself longing for his attentions which was awful since he only slept with each wife every fourth night. She wondered why and so decided to ask her sister.

So is it surprising that I find myself longing for his touch and dreaming of him?

And I dream about him, too replied Taahira. It’s partly those pictures everywhere on the ceilings. They’re the last thing you see at night in the bedroom and the first thing you see in the morning.

It was true, in each of the queen’s rooms there was a large portrait of their husband to gaze at on the ceiling above their beds. And it was no normal royal portrait but instead a view of him naked, his manhood jutting out firm and strong.

Yes, they really understand women in Afghanistan added Mastana. In some ways I hate him for how he has destroyed my old life and turned me into some sort of sex slave but I also simply can’t help secretly admiring him.

All the queens in the harem do. He’s so strong and virile! So ruthless! It makes you jealous, jealous of the other wives.

It is brainwashing, I know it, yet I can’t help it, I need him right now and I need him every minute of every day!

It was true, he used psychology to transform her. Six months ago her mind had been focussed on study and the future, now all she thought about was pleasing him. She imagined lying in his bed, wearing the…

A gong sounded. The other wives stopped playing with the kitten and Mastana was shaken from her reverie. They all got up off the grass and trooped indoors, their colourful burqas billowing behind them like the sails of a great fleet of galleons. Inside they walked noiselessly, their soft slippers making no sound on the marble floor, across the Rang Mahal to the Moti Mahal where they all sat cross-legged on the floor, their burqas draped elegantly around them. It was lunchtime and today the same ritual was followed as everyday. Firstly the first four servants would bring each queen a glass of water to wash out their throat so that the food may be tasted better. Each servant, a young girl of about twelve dressed in a gorgeous salwar kameez in colours that matched her mistress’ burqa, would approach the queen bowing, then kneel down before them, carefully lift the burqa so that none of the person beneath was revealed and climb underneath. Then they would attach a drinking tube to the hood of the queen and guide the other end into the glass of water.

When the water was finished the girl would remove it and place it outside of the burqa. The second four servants, all of these grown women dressed in burqas of matching colour but lesser quality than the queens and who had served their apprenticeships as the young girls were currently doing under the last four queens, would then approach, remove the empty glass and replace it with a bowl of soup. The girl would take this and guide it under the burqa to the drinking tube and then tap her mistress on the breast to signify she could “eat” her meal. This she would do and then when finished the empty bowl would be placed outside the burqa and replaced by the second servant by a glass of fruit juice. When this is finished the final course would be provided, a bowl of yoghurt or perhaps some blended fruits. Then, to wash it all down there would be tea.

As Mastana sucked down today’s meal – lentil soup with mango juice and then plain yogurt – she mused on how her mealtimes had changed. She so used to enjoy her food! She loved lamb kebabs and in India some of the hot curries! But now she was always hungry and although the soups, yoghurts and fruits were tasty, they were more like drinks than foods. Still, they had one positive effect: she had no need to worry about putting on weight. They also contributed to her new toilet routine which at first she had found most strange and humiliating but now, perversely, like everything else about her royal life, quite normal.

On her first day in the palace after the king had taken her virginity along with those of his other wives, after she had woken she was led by her two servants to the bathroom which adjoined her chamber and was lit by tiny skylights in the domed ceiling. Looking around she’d noticed a cupboard high up on the wall that had been opened to reveal three large glass bottles, each containing a different coloured and strongly scented liquid. The liquid in the first bottle was green and soapy-looking, the next was bright red and fizzy like sherbet and the third was bright blue. The sides of all three bottles were graduated to show how much liquid each had dispensed.

Hanging down to the floor from each bottle was a long length of rubber tubing. The tubes terminated in a strangely shaped nozzle made of stiffer rubber. Little taps at the end of each tube enabled an operator to use his experience to repeatedly close down the supply of one liquid to the nozzle and to momentarily open one of the other two.

The work of the operator, who turned out to be the older servant in the burqa – the girl in the salwar kameez was there to assist and to watch and learn as she was undergoing her apprenticeship – was thus not unlike that of a skilled barmaid making up a complex cocktail.

The end of the nozzle itself was gently pointed and covered in grease, but it then quickly became quite large, like a lozenge. However, a few inches back from the tip of the nozzle, there was a strange circular indentation where the nozzle became much smaller. Mastana did not at first realise the purpose of all this. However, she was soon to learn that this was a traditional harem enema and it was very different than those simpler ones used in health clubs such as she had tried once when on a trip to Malaysia with some fellow students at the university. With its choice of different highly scented liquids, it was designed to give a better and more carefully controlled clean out and finish. This was not for medical purposes but rather, in the harem, to prepare the way for the king to enjoy to his heart’s content a popular Afghani pastime – the penetration of the cleaned and scented rear orifice of a wife.

King Muhammad Akbar Khan had the reputation, to everyone outside the women’s quarter of his palace, of being a rather puritanical and religious man. And this was in fact partially true since King Muhammad Akbar Khan had “found” religion some four years ago at the Shrine of Khwaja Abu Nasr Parsa. However, before that life-shattering event he had been quite a different man indeed. He had gone to Moscow to study at the university there and whilst in the decadent West had indulged in all manner of haram sexual activities. In particular he had fallen under the spell of a beautiful blonde Ukrainian woman named Valeriya who had pushed forward the boundaries of his sexual knowledge more than he would have thought possible. She was a strange woman indeed, incredibly skilled in the harem arts and with an appearance almost like a cartoon doll which, Mastana was told, is a fashion in that part of the world.

Anyway, the long and short of it was that Muhammad Akbar Khan had fallen into depraved ways, but whilst enjoying his Muscovite life in one way, he also felt a profound sense of guilt. So it was that after his return he went on the Hajj to see if he could mend his ways but he could not follow the strict injunctions of the Wahaabi mullahs who told him to stick only to his wives – who did not, of course, include Valeriya who had now begun a modelling career – and stray away from perversions. He lapsed but still wanting to attain salvation he went to the holy shrine and sought the advice of a renowned pir there.

This pir, who was from a Sufi tradition far removed from the puritanical Wahaabis of Saudi Arabia explained to him that to have pleasure in sexual activities was only natural and that he should not feel ashamed for enjoying women’s bodies. He cited the Prophet himself as an example who famously loved women and was said to have been an excellent lover. But he cautioned that Muhammad Akbar Khan should only fornicate with his wives though how he did this was of no concern. However, the issue of his having given his heart to Valeriya could be resolved in an Islamic way as Mastana was soon to learn.

But returning to her first toilet, the younger servant pointed to a rubber mat on the floor under the strange-looking bottles. She gestured for her to kneel down on it on all fours. Mystified and nervously Mastana quickly did so.

In front of her, low down on the edge of the mat, was a strange-looking wooden contraption that rather reminded her of an old fashioned stocks. It was hinged and there were small holes and it was securely fastened to the floor.

Before she realised what was happening, the older servant had put her two wrists into the bottom half of the holes and then closed the stocks. Her hands were now held helpless, down close to the floor.

Then, assisted by the girl, the older servant quickly fastened her ankles to the side of the mat with little straps. With her immobile encased hands fastened in the stocks, she could not stop him. Then a padded bar was slipped under her belly to keep her nicely raised. She was now firmly secured kneeling on all fours with her knees parted and her rear orifice well displayed.

The older servant picked up the operator’s stool and, placing it behind Mastana between her outstretched knees, sat down on it. She stroked the queen’s trembling bottom with her gloved hands reassuringly but Mastana still did not quite understand what was going to happen.

The apprentice turned on the taps of each of the three coloured tubes in turn to test that all was well. She was rewarded by little jets of three differently-coloured liquids shooting out from the tip of the nozzle onto the tiled floor. Satisfied, she handed the nozzle to the older servant.

Suddenly, Mastana felt the servant’s hands part her cheeks. She blushed as she felt the end of the greased nozzle press against her rear orifice. It slipped in and she felt the servant slowly pushing it up her. Then she stopped; the sphincter muscles round her rear orifice had closed around the indentation in the nozzle, holding it tightly in place. She would not be able to eject it.

Then the girl momentarily turned on the blue tap. ‘No! No!’ Mastana screamed inwardly as she felt a little jet of the liquid shoot up into her, cleaning her as it did so. Frantically she tried to reach back to pull out the nozzle, but her hands were firmly held by the stocks. Then she tried in vain to shake it out, opening and closing her muscles desperately. But her sphincter held it equally firmly in place.

The girl again gave the blue tap another little two quick twists, provoking further movement from Mastana who was now shaking her belly and hips to and fro, in an automatic, but vain, attempt to stop the burning liquid from going further up her

Then the girl switched taps and gave her a good dose, of the red fizzy liquid. She closed the blue tap, opened the red one and left it open.

Mastana at first calmed down as this new liquid seemed to neutralise the awful first one. Then she began to shake again as she felt its strange fizzy action inside her.

The servant got up off her stool and went and stood by the kneeling queen’s side to get a better view of her now slowly swelling belly. She nodded as Mastana writhed in vain on the mat whilst the fizzy liquid slowly and inexorably penetrated deeper and deeper.

The servant put her hand down and felt her mistress’ stomach. Yes, she would soon be ready for the green soap and then for a return to the blue burning liquid. It was, always better to do it by stages, with the belly being made to give a good little shake between each one. She sat down on the stool behind her again and turned off the red tap. Mastana let out a gasp of relief as she felt the liquid stop. But the relief was short-lived, for the servant then motioned for the  girl to turn on the green tap.

Mastana gave another little cry as she felt the soapy liquid swelling up inside her. After another minute the servant reached forward and felt her stomach again. Yes, it was getting very nicely swollen. She would let it run for another minute and then finish off with another shot of the Blue Burner, before she was left for five minutes, whilst all three liquids completed their cleaning tasks.

A minute later and Mastana writhed again as she felt the blue burning liquid shoot up inside her. Now keep still the servant wrote on a notice which she thrust in front of her mistress’ face. This was always a tricky moment. She put the bowl down on the floor between her legs – just in case. The girl was standing beside her holding a well-greased rubber plug. It had a circular indentation, like the one on at the rear of the nozzle, for the queen’s sphincter to grip. Slowly she began to withdraw the nozzle, easing it past the sphincter. Mastana gave a sight of relief. Oh how she longed to release everything. Quickly she pulled out the nozzle, grabbed the plug from the girl and pushed it in. Yes, the sphincter was holding it. She got up from the stool. It was time for a coffee.

Five minutes later the girl was feeding the queen coffee through her drinking tube whilst her mistress was still in the stocks, her belly full of the cleaning liquids. When she had finished the servant gestured to the girl to remove the plug and to hold up the bowl so that all the liquids – and Mastana’s wastes – flowed out.

Then it was time to repeat the process. But this time there was nothing left to be washed out and the emphasis was more on the liquids’ pleasing scents than on their cleansing properties. The queen was left exhausted and utterly degraded by it all but after the ritual she did not need to use the toilet all day and with her liquid diet, there were few wastes to expel anyway. The elaborate enemas had now become part of her daily life, a natural function taken away from her, but also with a secondary benefit for the king: his favourite orifice was now ready for his use.

Afghani men, many of whom are brought up without female company or indeed ever seeing an unveiled woman other than their mother or sister, are infamous for seeking sexual solace elsewhere as teenagers and so it was with Muhammad Akbar Khan. When he had gone to Russia and met with Valeriya all that had changed, but he still retained a preference for using the rear orifice and besides, it had an added advantage: his religion insisted that he treat all wives equally with regards to intercourse, only using specific wives on allotted nights. However, the pir had informed him that congress using that orifice did not count as a valid sexual act since children could never be produced that way and so, so long as he still enjoyed his allotted wife in the evening, he could enjoy additional sessions with whichever wife he fancied so long as they were of this nature.

And since King Muhammad Akbar Khan was a man with a vivacious sexual appetite, then he often availed himself of this loophole in religious law!

Part 5

Mastana: Part 3

Part 2

About an hour later the nurse and Dr. Rastagar and greeted her. She was fed some water through a tube which she gulped down thirstily but then, to her dismay, the nurse got a strap and put it over her head, fastening it securely to the bed so that all she could see was the ceiling up above her. Then several more straps were placed over her, securing her body with her arms and their now-useless hands by its side, firmly to the bed. They then turned their attentions to her feet which were lifted in the air and put through stirrups. Straps were then passed around her ankles holding them there. She was helpless and vulnerable, her most private parts exposed to the world.

Then to her surprise, she felt fingers parting her beauty lips and begin tickling her clitoris. Immediately she became aroused and started to moan into her gag. The tickling continued as the clitoris swelled and then she felt it being firmly bound around the base with a cotton thread making it extend outwards between the beauty lips.

Then it was the turn of the helpless Mastana’s nipples to be aroused and similarly bound with cotton threat. She could feel her nipples were now greatly extended. But why she asked herself, unable to move to touch them.

She heard Dr. Rastagar saying something about leaving them to get nicely swollen, and then she heard their footsteps going away.

Silenced and secured, Mastana just lay helpless on her back, wondering what on earth was happening. What was being done to her and why? What had all this to do with treating the tribes equally?

After a few minutes, she heard footsteps coming back into the room a noise like a hospital trolley being wheeled in. As it was being brought up to the couch, she heard a rattling noise like surgical instruments on a metal tray. Astaghfirullah, what was this, an operation?!

Mastanaa heard bottles being opened. There was a sudden smell of antiseptic and she heard a liquid being poured. Then she gasped as one of the figures, Dr. Rastagar most probably, wiped a cloth, soaked in a strange freezing liquid, over her beauty lips. They seemed to lose feeling. She hardly felt it when she then parted her lips again and applied the cloth to her bound and swollen beauty bud. She felt her beauty lips being clipped back leaving her swollen and bound clitoris projecting and on display.

Then there was noise as if a little lamp was being lit. She could feel the heat of the flame. Something seemed to be being heated in the flame. She felt her swollen clitoris being pulled out. Then she felt a prick as if something sharp and hot had been gently pushed through the cotton thread binding her clitoris and was now touching it. She automatically tried to raise her head to see what horror was being done to her, but of course it was futile and she could see nothing but the featureless ceiling above. Then she screamed into her gag as, unknown to her, a red-hot needle was expertly thrust right through her clitoris.

It was held there momentarily and she then she could feel it being alternatively turned left and right. Then it was withdrawn. Mastana gasped with relief. But to her horror, she then felt something else being pushed through. It seemed to be covered in some sort of creamy grease. She felt whatever it was being pulled to and fro. Next she felt a flame being brought right up to her beauty lips making her tremble with fear. She had the impression that the flame was being used to braze something together, brazed permanently. But what? And why?

She felt the cotton threads round her beauty bud being undone. She could feel some of the swelling subsiding, but now there was a strange feeling, as if her clitoris was being held permanently extended outwards – and permanently aroused. She also felt something metallic between her outstretched legs. She felt hands admiringly touching something that seemed to be attached to her. What had they done to her? She moved slightly in her embarrassment and again felt the metal object. Astaghfirullah! What was it?

Then it was the turn of her nipples. Again she felt a cloth soaked in a freezing liquid. Then she felt something sharp being pressed against one of her bound and extended nipples. Again she screamed into her gag as it was driven right through and again turned left and right, and then withdrawn.

Then once again something else was pushed through this new hole. It too was moved to and fro, and was greased. Again she felt the heat of the flame as if something was being carefully brazed together.

Now it was the turn of her other nipple.

She felt the cotton threads around each swollen nipple being removed. As with her beauty bud, she felt some of the swelling subsiding, but there was a new feeling of it being held permanently erect. But this time there a difference. There was a weight on each breast and with every little quiver of her breasts she heard the tinkling of a little bell. What was it? She longed to sit up and see what dreadful thing had been done to her but, still strapped to the top of the couch, there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do.

The green niqaab nurse came into view, stroked her head and then unstrapped it before moving down to her body straps. Mastana sat up and looked down at herself, Her legs were still fastened to the stirrups. She saw large sized thin golden rings had been inserted into her nipples! And to each ring a small bell was attached. Astaghfirullah!

She looked down at her parted legs. From between her now hairless beauty lips hung another golden ring. It had been put through her precious beauty bud and seemed to be making her constantly aroused! She saw that it had been inserted so that it hung neatly parallel to, and between, her beauty lips and not awkwardly at right angles across them. She was now ringed in her most sensitive and private places and those rings caused great arousal. But it was arousal that she could do nothing about for when she put her rigid, plastic-clad hands to the rings, they were too blunt, too unwieldy to allow her to pleasure herself.

After being released from hospital, covered with a burqa again and driven to the family home, Mastana had to try and get used to her ‘preparations’ for becoming a queen of Afghanistan. To start with, it was hell. She longed to rip off the awful plastic helmet that most silenced and encased her. It made her feel claustrophobic and, as was the intention, anonymous. But how could with useless plastic hands, more like spoons on the end of her arms. She could grip nothing, feel nothing, all she could do was produced a soft clacking sound as she pounded at her own head in desperation. On the first night in bed, unable to sleep, staring at the world through the tiny pinholes which were all she was allowed now, she got up and started banging her head against the wall. It did nothing of course, except give her a headache and wake the entire household. There was no relief, she was a silent, anonymous droid and she shuddered as she felt her personality seemingly seep away.

People treated her differently. Since she couldn’t speak with them or indeed make any meaningful communication at all beyond a yes and no, then they took to ignoring her even when she was present in the room. Without thinking servants would talk about her as if she wasn’t there and family members began to act, not as if she were a living person with them in the room, but instead some lifeless statue whom they spoke about respectfully yet with a tinge of sadness as if she were a great hero who had died in battle.

It was perhaps that treatment that finally did it. If they were to act as if she had died, then why live? What right had the nation of Afghanistan to deprive her of everything that she was, all her hopes and dreams, even her face and voice so that its mad mullahs would no longer cause the people to kill each other? No, that was their problem; if she was gone all they would do is find another sacrificial lamb? That night she crept out of bed and went to the window. There was a drop of two storeys. She leaned out…

After her suicide attempt things changed. She hadn’t died in the fall, indeed she hadn’t even hurt herself seriously. True, the drop had been two storeys, but the blow was softened by bushes planted at the foot of the house and, cocooned in their plastic prisons, her hands and head had been perfectly cushioned.

After the suicide attempt her father had talked to her. He had chastised her for trying to desert her duty and alter her destiny. He reminded her that life is a gift from Allah and she had no right to forfeit. Then he’d bent her over, bared her bottom and given her ten whacks with his cane so that her cheeks were red raw. After that though, he cuddled her and said that whilst he had to punish her sin, he understood her frustrations and plight, and that he would do something to help. All she could do was nod silently.

After he left, her mother came. She put her arm around her daughter and then spoke softly, “We women have ways to make it bearable.” Then, she took the rings that adorned her daughter’s nipples and played with them. She turned them in her fingers and beneath her mask, Mastana groaned in ecstasy. “It is improper for a mother to do more than this,” she then said, “but I shall instruct a special friend of mine She will make life bearable for you.”

That night things were different to before. To ensure that she no longer tried to commit suicide, she was not chained to her bed, a cuff around each ankle and wrist leading to each of the four bedposts. Then, in order to stop her from banging her head, a padded cover was drawn over her helmet. It had only one hole at the nose and so left her blind and her hearing muted. So there she lay, spread out like a starfish in the pitch black. Silence reigned but then the door opened. Who was it? Footsteps came over to her and she felt her sheets being removed. Someone sat next to her. It was a female and she smelt sweet, prepared with oils and attar. She nestled her rounded buttocks next to Mastana and then started playing with her nipple rings just as her mother had. Mastana groaned and an unfamiliar voice whispered, “Aha! You’re enjoying that I see! Now, how about this.”

The mystery hands left the rings in her breasts and crept down to her exposed crotch. Mastana longed to cover herself, protect herself, but as she was all she could too was proffer herself like a wanton. She felt something being tied to the ring, a string and then pulled tight, but not so it hurt. Then it started, a soft strumming of the string, like a harpist caressing the strings of their instrument. This mystery woman was playing her and the music was heavenly. Still strumming, the woman climbed on top of her immobile charge and started kissing her and caressing her buttocks. Within minutes Mastana exploded in ecstasy. The woman slumped onto her and then moved her head next to Mastana’s ear. “You see,” she said, “it is not all bad. Forget the past and immerse yourself in your new existence. If you remember what was you shall only be miserable. Live not for studies or money but for pleasure now and you shall be happy.”

And with those words, the mystery woman left, leaving Mastana to the pitch black, panting, spread-eagled on the bed. Yes indeed, the old life had gone, she must become someone new, someone who lived for pleasure, a pleasure that she would soon be experiencing with a man, not a woman.

Part 4

Mastana: Part 2

Part 1

Cure International Hospital

Mastana was nervous as she entered through the doors of the hospital. No one could see of course for she was wearing her finest blue burqa, but to her it was as if she were naked and the whole world could feel her misery and trepidation. For three whole days after her father’s announcement she had locked herself in her room and cried. She knew that she had no choice, that he had no choice in making her for what is one life compared to so many? Yes, another Ahmadzay girl could have been chosen, her cousin Farrukh for example who was quite the traditional, religious girl and would have been far more suited, but if the Ahmadzay’s had not sent their most prominent virgin then the other tribes and the king himself would have seen it as a slight on their honour and once an Afghan’s honour is questioned, then… No, she had to marry him, that she knew but it was so unfair, so very unfair. Why her? She had always loved studying and was so close to achieving her MBA and she had dreams, plans, to travel the world, to set up in business, to marry the man of her choice… Now instead she was to become a co-wife of a king and…

…and what…?

Preparations. All queens go through particular “preparations” to ensure that they remain equal in the eyes of their lord and the nation. Preparations to ensure they remain pious and submissive and modest like a good queen should be. Examples to the Nation.

But what are these “preparations”? And why would no one tell her? Two days ago she had been taken to the hospital and her entire body scanned and measured. Then… then that was it, back home as if nothing had happened.

What exactly was in store for her?

She looked through the dense grille of the burqa at the room before her. It was a standard hospital room with a bed and a bedside table. A nurse in green scrubs stood by the side, her face hidden by her niqaab. “You may remove your burqa now, Miss Ahmadzay,” she said. Mastana was glad to remove her burqa; she hated the thing. She had never worn a burqa except for special occasions and in India not even then. Ever since she had been announced as a fiancée of the king though, there had been a surge of interest in her and it was now mandatory whenever she left the house. She took it off and shook her long black hair out. The nurse gestured for her to sit on the bed and said, “Now Miss, I’m afraid my first task is to shave off that lovely hair of yours…”

“Shave my hair! But why?”

“It is necessary for the ‘preparations’ Miss, but I agree, it seems such a shame. Still, it can be made into a nice wig and sold to help the poor. Please Miss, sit there and I shall begin.”

Tears fell from Mastana’s eyes as her beautiful waist-length locks were cut off and fell to the floor, and they continued to flow as the nurse got out a razor and shaved her head completely bald. ‘Why? Why? Why?’ she thought to herself. ‘What man wants a wife with no hair?’ She tried asking the nurse of course, but she would say nothing beyond that it was all part of the “preparations”.

“Excellent Miss,” remarked the nurse when she had finished. “Now you just sit back in bed and I shall get you a cup of tea. That’ll make you feel better.”

And when she reappeared a minute later carrying a steaming hot cup of tea and Mastana sipped it, she did feel better. It was comforting and relaxing. She lay down in the bed. “Don’t worry my dear, don’t worry,” the nurse said, stroking her head. Mastana’s eyes felt heavy and she realised that it was the tea but by then the darkness was taking over.

When Mastana woke up, something wasn’t right. Her head felt heavy and her vision somehow different. She couldn’t figure out and the thinking hurt as the drugs were still in her system. Within seconds she drifted off again.

When she came to for the second time, her head was clearer and she was more aware. Nonetheless, things did not feel the same, something was not right, something had changed. Her vision. She could see alright, it wasn’t blurred like when she put on her burqa, but it was limited. All she could view was what was straight in front of her which was the white ceiling of the room. She turned her head and the window with bright light streaming in through came into view. Yet turning her head was somehow strange. She resumed her original position and the niqaab-covered face of the nurse came into view. “You have awoken, Miss, how good!” she exclaimed.

Mastana tried to reply but she couldn’t. Then she realised why: her mouth was full of something, something solid pushing against her cheeks. She lifted her hands to feel what it was but when they came to her face all she could hear was the clunk of plastic and those hands felt nothing! She tried to wiggle her fingers but she couldn’t move them! What was happening? She held them up before her eyes and was confronted by a rigid pair of black plastic hands! What on earth did it mean? She started to struggle and the nurse came over and stroked her head. She didn’t feel a thing but felt soothed. “Don’t worry Miss,” she said softly, “you’re fine. I know it’s a big change, all the wives struggle at first with their ‘preparations’ but you’ll get used to them. Everything is fine.”

Mastana stopped moving but then asked, “What have they done to me?” But of course, no sound came out. The nurse however, seemed to understand. “I’ll get the doctor,” she said. “She can explain everything.”

Dr. Rastagar was also wearing the green niqaab scrubs but her difference in rank was clear from the confidence with which she spoke. The words that came out however, were not ones that Mastana wanted to hear.

“Right Miss Ahmadzay, you have now undergone the first and most traumatic part of the preparations for becoming a Queen of Afghanistan, a great honour indeed although so sad to think of the tragedy of the late king. Now I need to explain to you what has been done and why. The first thing that you are probably worrying about is your head. It feels enclosed, am I right? And also you cannot speak? That is because it has been sealed into a rigid plastic hood. That is why you were shaved first and after you were knocked out, measures were taken to ensure that no hair ever grows back. The hood was made in two parts, cast specifically to match your facial contours which is why you were scanned earlier. The back was fitted first and then the front sealed onto it using heat sealing. As I said it is totally rigid and it is also permanent. The only openings are some small holes at your ears to facilitate hearing – although that will probably be much reduced – and of course the two pinholes over your eyes which you are now looking through and of course holes at the mouth and nose. I think it is of interest to you to explain just what has been done with both of those orifices. In your nose, tubes have been inserted for a centimetre or so and these have an air-filtering device which will prevent you breathing in germs and thus getting ill. As for the mouth, in your mouth was filled with a gel-like substance with a tube running through it. That solidified so that it now entirely fills your mouth but the tube allows for liquid intake and breathing. I am sorry to say that consuming solids will be impossible for you from now on, but you can still eat and drink with ease.”

Hearing all this made Mastana shudder and want to weep behind the black plastic of her hood. Why had this been done to her? One minute she was a promising MBA student and the next she wakes up in hospital, her head entombed within a prison of plastic!

“The reason that this has been done dates back to King Muhammad Nadir Khan. When he came to power he needed to ensure that not one tribe – and as such, not one wife – gained prominence over the others, otherwise the whole enterprise would fail. So what he did is have his wives wear leather masks, apparently inspired by Bedouin masks that he saw whilst in Oman, which obscured their features. This was an excellent solution except that before long the wives were taking them off, so he then had them modified to become full hoods which could be locked on. But even this was still not ideal as they had to be removed regularly to cut the queens’ hair and besides, as you will know well, much of the allure of a lady comes from other sources as well as her looks. When they spoke to him, he burned with longing and began to have his favourites, with some having sweeter voices and others more gravelly, some having a good way with words and others somewhat uncouth. So they were all gagged and that way he could love them all and treat them all equally, plus there was the added advantage of them not getting jealous of one another due to looks or getting into arguments over petty matters such as we women often do.”

“When King Muhammad Nadir Khan passed away and his son took over, he continued the practice and when his son, the late martyr King Mir Ahmad Khan ascended to the throne he not only held onto the tradition but had it enshrined in law and modified it. There were many problems associated with the leather hoods, the hair growth being one and skin complaints another and so he decided to employ modern technological means to improve matters. He contacted the Islamic Centre for Technology in Cairo for ideas and they provided the present-day solution. The plastic that your hood is made from is a revolutionary new material, lightweight yet extremely strong and, this is most important, your skin can breath through it. The permanent hair removal technique they also perfected and the result is ideal. Using the old leather hoods some features, a larger nose or the shapes of lips for example, could still be made out but with these hoods all four wives appear entirely identical. The fact is, your husband will not know which of you is which and so he will of course be treating all four tribes fairly.”

‘Astaghfirullah!’ thought Mastana, ‘I no longer exist, I am just a blank, anonymous wife!’

“The head casing is not all however, Miss Ahmadzay,” continued the doctor. “Whilst you were asleep similar casings were also placed around your hands which is why you cannot move your fingers at all. This has been done for a different reason than the hood. Whilst it must be admitted that some of the queens tried to remove their hoods before, impossible I may add with these new plastic models, your husband-to-be Muhammad Akbar Khan also insisted on the covering of the hands. Apparently he had a problem with his former wives in that, with them only enjoying congress with him every fourth night, they became very sexually frustrated and so used to commit grievous sin by fondling themselves. This is something that you will not be able to do now with your hands protected so. It is good that your future husband thinks of your honour so much.”

Strangely, Mastana did not feel grateful.

“And so that is what has happened to you. Today you may rest for an hour or so more and then we shall embark upon the second stage of the preparations. These are also an innovation of Muhammad Akbar Khan, and I think you shall prefer them to the first phase.”

And with those words she left and Mastana lay there trying to come to terms with it all.

Part 3

 

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 14

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 – Happily Ever After

A month after their return from London, Katie walked down the aisle with Sam at St. Mary’s Church, Bowdon and became the new Mrs. Stephen Williamson. It was the social event of the year as Stephen was the heir to one of the biggest cotton concerns in the country and she was the perfect bride, with an awe-inspiring waist, elegance and grace and a face that could have graced fashion magazines. Following the wedding they went away on honeymoon to the South of France and when they returned they moved into a newly-built mansion near to Stockport.

Their marital home was the talk of all society as it was designed by a top architect and featured all the fashionable touches. There was a pool like at the spa where Mrs. Williamson could relax and a sauna, (the hot room of wood), but whilst not there she had an entire wing to herself which was fitted with a new invention gaining in popularity amongst fashionable circles.

With the reverse prayer being de rigeur now amongst the great and the good, it was hard to see how much further ladies could go to demonstrate their wealth and elegance, until Princess Beatrice, about tenth in line to the throne, had a sort of slide rail system fitted to her quarters. This was like a railway laid around the ceiling to which a wire was attached which was then secured to the Lady of Leisure. The idea was initially that it prevented her from falling and hurting herself as she walked, (being unable to put out their arms to cushion a fall, several Ladies of Leisure had seriously hurt themselves), but then developed into yet another means of fashionable and elegant restraint. The idea was that a husband could decree which areas his wife, (or daughter), may or may not venture and also, using electronic programming, could also set pre-arranged routes. So for example, a father feeling that his teenage daughter was growing too fat, could programme that the wire force her to walk around the room continually for an hour or more in order to lose weight. Naturally, such a device was something that Katie was not going to be without.

To her surprise though, soon afterwards, Alison discovered one being fitted to her quarters. Sam had seen the one that Stephen designed and decided that his wife would not have less than her sister. So now her movements were even more restricted and, whenever he needed her presence to relieve his tensions orally, she would find herself being led into his study by the silent, uncaring wire. Her own thoughts and wants were now meaningless.

And so there we find her, sat in her chair in her retiring room, staring out across the lawn upon which rain is lashing down. The music on the gramophone has finished but Natalie has not been in to replace it. She sees less and less of Natalie these days who does not need to worry if her mistress is safe now that there is the slide wire and also a camera so she can check upon her. If gossip is to be believed, her lady’s maid spends her time playing cards and carrying on an illicit liaison with the head gardener.

With nothing else to do, she occupies her mind with thoughts on just how her life has changed over the past year. She realises that this was the day, exactly one year before when Samuel Withenshaw first gathered up the courage to ask her out. She had accepted him on her terms and had later accepted his proposal of marriage because she loved him. Looking back though, she wonders, was she right to do so. In the unbelievable year that has followed she has risen from being a humble waitress having to eke out a living to support herself and her sister, to one of the wealthiest and most esteemed ladies in the district. Her husband is now the second most important manager at Williamson’s Mill and she has made friends with some of the finest ladies in the land. She is invited to balls and garden parties and she is clad in gowns that cost her what was several months’ wages before. Furthermore, she has secured a marriage beyond all expectations for her sister, a marriage which Katie herself is happy in and which will leave their children heirs to one of the greatest fortunes in the north-west. Everyone tells her how lucky and blessed she is.

Yet at what cost have these gains come? Now she is elegant and beautiful, a living fashion plate, yet that fashion and privilege has also reduced her to a state of absolute dependency and helplessness. She can no longer feed herself or use a toilet; her life is restricted so that she may not even walk around her own house at will, and indeed requires assistance with such simple acts as sitting and climbing steps. And 24 hours a day, seven days a week her body reminds her of her new elegant and exalted status, from her stretched and constricted neck which leaves her gasping for breath, to her enormous cartoon breasts which heave up and down as her lungs gasp for air, to her minuscule waist as hard as iron, to her padded bottom plugged with an oversized replica of a male penis, to her intimate areas, shorn of hair, plugged, trimmed back and ringed, to her feet, forced en pointe so that she can only mince along at the slowest of speeds. Yes, her entire body reminds her of this, but no part so more as her arms, totally unusable for almost a year, at present dead until Natalie comes to massage them back into life.

She swallows, feeling the rubber gag fill her mouth and fidgets on her chair causing the plugs in her anus and slit to move. Her nipple rings are also tugged and ripples of pleasure flow through her. Automatically her mind turns to what it always turns to these days: sex. She longs for it constantly, being denied all other forms of pleasure.

Then she feels another pull, on the harness around her bound arms and collar. She is being lifted up out of her chair. She glances at the clock: Ten past three. Yes, she knows what it is; it happens around this time everyday now. Sam has an urge and she, as his elegant accessory, has a duty to satisfy it.

Slowly and carefully she minces her way towards her husband’s study.

Because as a Lady of Leisure she is given everything in the world except the ability to exercise a will of her own.

FINIS

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 13

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 – A Letter Arrives

“Ma’am, Mr. Withenshaw requires your presence in his study.”

Alison let the maid assist her in rising and then minced her way through the corridors to her husband’s study. Once inside, the maid sat her down and then Sam ordered her out and shout the door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This letter,” he replied, “which arrived special delivery this morning. I think you can guess what it is.”

She could, they had both been expecting it. It was a formal proposal of marriage for Miss Katherine Knight from Master Stephen Williamson.

“I shall accept of course,” said Sam.

Alison nodded as much as her neck corset would allow. There was no sensible reason to refuse: he was above her in station, the son of a close friend and the two obviously liked one another. Nonetheless, Alison felt a little sad. For the rest of her life Katie would become an elegant, often mute, entirely helpless fashion mannequin, an elaborate accessory to her husband. She knew that the prospect of this would please her sister but, deep down, she always wanted something more for her… and herself.

“He lists his demands,” continued Sam. “Financially he is understanding, he knows our station and so has only demanded a dowry of £5,000. He has said that he will house her and care for her. And the enhancements are no too extreme either…”

“Enhancements?”

“Why yes, of course. You know as well as I that all Ladies of Leisure undergo enhancements prior to marriage as stipulated by their fiancés.”

“Yes, I suppose so, I’d just, well, never thought about it.”

“Well, think now. He is demanding 40F breasts, some slight enhancements to the lips and buttock enlargements, although these too are minor. All in all, nothing too expensive.”

‘Nothing too expensive!’ But what would she look like afterwards with two silicon footballs affixed to her chest? Like all Ladies of Leisure of course: fake. Yet another symbol of their wealth and dependency on their males.

“I shall make a booking for the women’s hospital in a month or so’s time in order that they may heal before the wedding. I should like you to accompany her, in case of any misapprehensions she may have.”

“I quite understand.”

“Alison, I am so proud of you, you know? Since your parents’ deaths you’ve been like a second mother to Katie and brought her up well. It is entirely a credit to you that she has become a Lady of Leisure and is making such a good marriage.”

The official engagement took place at a garden party held on the lawn of Mostyn House the following Sunday. All their friends and Altrincham high society was invited and Stephen went down on one knee in front of Katie. She blushed and nodded as she was unable to answer being securely gagged, and the whole of the male contingent of the gathering clapped. Then Stephen presented Sam with the traditional engagement gift – an ivory replica of his penis for her to wear in her bottom to give a foretaste of the pleasures of marriage – and a list of his demands. After that Katie withdrew to have the gift inserted and when she returned blushing deeply, the males clapped heartily again and Stephen planted a large kiss on her gagged lips.

The wedding was set for August so that the reception could be held in the grounds and the appointment for the enhancements was made at the end of July. On the fateful day Alison and Katie boarded the train at Stockport for the long journey down to London. Not wishing to take any chances, this made the travelling costumes with rubber underwear get brought out again and, in the event, it was needed, as the train was delayed near Rugby and Alison could not hold herself in any longer. By the time she alighted at Euston, her pee was swishing about her bottom uncomfortably.

They took a taxi to Great Ormond Street Hospital for Women, the premier enhancement hospital in the country, and were ushered into the consulting room of Dr. Bunyan, the surgeon who would be conducting the operation. He brought up an electronic image of Katie at present and how she would look after the work on her body. Alison privately thought the over-large, perfectly round and buoyant breasts would look a little ridiculous, but Katie was most pleased.

“And that is your sister, Mrs. Withenshaw, now for you,” said the doctor.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You are also to have some enhancements made, are you not?”

“No, not at all, doctor. I am already married and we chose not to have such work done at my engagement.”

“Oh really, is that the truth?”

“Well, almost. To be perfectly honest, we had not the money in those days; I was working at the time and not a Lady of Leisure, and so it was never a possibility.”

“I see,” said the doctor with a smile. “Well, I must say that you have a most loving and caring husband, because the instructions – and the cheque – sent to me by Mr. Withenshaw indicate that he feels most remiss at not having to be able to provide you with what you deserve at the time of your betrothal and so he has decided to make good that omission and, as a special present for the care and support you have provided for your lovely sister here over the years, you too are to be enhanced. Now, the details he has asked me to keep as a surprise from you, but I know you shall love your new look.”

“But Dr. Bunyan, I…”

But even as she spoke, Alison’s eyelids began to get heavy.

“The tea,” said the good doctor, “it was laced with a sleeping drug. When you awake both you and your sister shall be new women entirely…”

Then the world went black.

When she awoke, Alison did not feel particularly new, but she did feel groggy. She drifted in and out of consciousness a few times before finally coming to her senses properly. She looked down at her chest and saw two mounds underneath the bedsheets. They were huge!

An hour later she was up and examining her enhancements in the mirror. Sam’s gift may have been well-intentioned but it was not what she would have chosen. Jutting out from her chest, where previously her humble 32B breasts had sat, were now two enormous balloons of female flesh. Each was topped by an enormous nipple, easily the size of her thumb and, to her alarm, both nipples had been pierced and a pair of large golden rings permanently inserted through them.

The nurse demonstrated her new breasts’ new sensations. She massaged them and pressed them but rather than sagging, they simply bounced back into position, defying gravity completely. Then, as she caressed the nipples, ripples of pleasure flooded through Alison’s body. The nurse explain how the nerves had been altered to enhance the feeling of touch and that it may be possible for Alison to achieve orgasm now purely through the massaging of her nipples. She then went on to explain that the rings were there to prevent them from bouncing out of low-cut gowns as they could be fastened to matching rings now stitched onto the top of her stays.

Below the titanic breasts, her figure dived down into an impossible hourglass before widening again to the hips which had been enhanced along with the buttocks at the back so that they jutted out provocatively. Her most intimate area had also not escaped attentions, with her outer beauty lips having been cut back to reveal her moist slit all the more, the whole area treated with lasers to prevent hair regrowth and then her beauty bud being pierced and a golden ring inserted through that also. “You shall find this enhancement most exciting,” explained the nurse as she started to tug and twist the ring sending intense ripples of pleasure through Alison’s body. “Normally the clitoris is not in an aroused state, but the piercing and ring ensure that it stays in that state permanently which will be most exciting for you and the ring can cause incredible sexual joy for you although, I must warn you now, that some husband’s do also use them for punishment purposes. I believe your sister has had similar jewellery attached.

Once she had recovered fully from the operations, Alison spent a few days in hospital learning how to manage their new breasts. The problem was their weight thrust her entire body forward which meant that she had to change how she walked, leaning back more which presented them even more lewdly. In addition to this, the rings attached to rings on her new corsets tugged and twisted whenever she moved caused great excitement when she didn’t always want it. Katie was exactly the same, though she seemed less perturbed by it, perhaps because she had been a more willing patient. To Alison though, these huge humps of femininity, along with the ring through her beauty bud merely made her all the more conscious, every time she moved or glanced down as to how she was slowly being turned into some sort of gorgeous sexual object whose sole purpose was to please her husband and reflect his wealth and status. When they rode home on the train, everyone staring at hers and Katie’s mighty melons as they waited on the platform at Euston, she felt so self-conscious she would have loved to have draped a shroud over herself. Back at the house though, Sam’s reaction was quite different and she had not stepped through the door an hour when Natalie had undressed her and she was chained to their bed, her husband eagerly burying his face into her new fun bags as he pumped away merrily below.

Chapter 14

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 12

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 – Wedding Bells

A month after that heavenly holiday, it was Hope’s wedding itself. That morning both girls were woken up at five, two hours earlier than usual, in order to begin the preparations. They were to be bridesmaids of course, but Hope had selected gowns for her bridesmaids that were more demanding than anything either girl had even contemplated wearing before. The waists were a staggering fourteen inches but, more than that, they incorporated perfectly vertical stems of four inches that were picked out by a wide silver filigree belt which went over them and could only be screwed shut at the requisite fourteen inches.

The night before Natalie had decided that Alison’s night stays should be laced an inch tighter than usual which was a real trial and not entirely helpful as she had struggled to sleep with the intense constriction, although it must be said that Sam had really appreciated the new measurement when attending to his marital duties and had made a worrying hint about it becoming something of a more permanent arrangement. Nonetheless, in the morning, it did give them a head start and when she was hung from her trapeze, Alison got down to fifteen and a half inches quite easily. After that though it became a real trial, for although the waist size was not too extreme, achieving it with the long stem was. Just above fifteen she blacked out and after being revived by smelling salts, was given an hour to acclimatise herself before another lacing bout which ended in a blackout at fourteen and three quarters. And so it continued until the stays were finally closed at around 11 in the morning at which point, light-headed and blacking out again as she was released from the trapeze and her weight transferred itself onto her feet, now squeezed into en pointe boots, she lay down for an hour to recover before the dress itself could be fitted.

That dress was a gorgeous confection in rose-coloured silk with fresh flowers pinned onto it and topped off by the glorious silver filigree belt, the fitting of which caused her to faint away once again as it was deliberately shaped to be longer front to back than across the sides giving the optical illusion of a waist even smaller than it really was, although to achieve that illusion caused, naturally, more pain and suffering.

Having briefed Natalie of her plans well in advance, after her enema mid-morning, Alison had been fitted with the very largest of her bottom plugs which was a full three inches in circumference. She had worn this before of course, (although it must be said that initially Natalie had said two inches was all that would be required), but with the extra pressure on her waist, it seemed to make the insertion even more difficult and Alison felt so full down below that it really bothered her.

That was not the only thing that bothered her either. The dress that Hope had chosen was extremely low cut and so there was an issue of what to do with Alison’s heaving breasts which were now pushed up level with her shoulders due to the fact that, so squeezed was she, they had nowhere else to go. To solve it Natalie tied cotton threads around the nipples and then attached these to rings set into the gown so that the nipples were only just hidden and most of her bosom was brazenly on display. This shaming fact however, was nothing to the surges of pain and pleasure she felt every time that she breathed and her breasts tugged mercilessly on the nipples and indeed, for the first hour or so after they had been fastened in that way, Alison found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Whilst she was coming to terms with this, the servants fussed around coiffuring her hair and applying her make-up whilst Natalie also fitted a magnificent silver filigree collar which matched the belt and hid a strict neck corset before inserting her gag and inflating it fully. Finally though, completely immobile and all her orifices stuffed to the maximum, the leash was attached to her collar and she was led out of the room to her waiting husband.

The wedding itself was a severe trial and Alison did not know how she managed to survive it without fainting, although Hope was even more inspiring as her waist had been squeezed to a mind-blowing thirteen and a half inches with a five inch stem which, according to Emma, had only been achieved by lacing down steadily over a twenty-four hour period.

Following the ceremony itself there was the reception where she managed only four mouthfuls of the glorious meal presented before her, and then in the evening after a much-needed rest period, it was the ball. Then, as with the Finkelsteins’ ball, Katie had disappeared into the garden with Stephen which much angered Alison as she’d had stern words with her younger sister afterwards about wanton behaviour – warnings that the brazen teen had obviously not heeded at all – and then Sam had tugged on her leash and suggested they do likewise, to which she had pointedly refused declaring that if he could wait, she had a far greater treat planned for him that evening.

Excited by this mysterious prospect, they had bade their farewells to the happy couple soon afterwards and returned to Mostyn House where Alison had gone upstairs with Natalie whilst Sam treated himself to a stiff port and cigar. Once upstairs she had been stripped of all her clothing saving for the incredible corset which she knew her husband would appreciate, her collar and leash, gag and the restriction around her reverse prayer arms. Then she had been lain on the bed by Natalie, face down with a huge bolster underneath her stomach so that her bottom was raised to a manageable height for her husband. After that the mammoth plug was removed and her gaping hole massaged by the fingers of her maid with scented oils. Then she waited.

Sam entered soon afterwards and declared himself most surprised and pleased at the developments. He whipped out his member which was already rock solid and approached her from behind. She felt his hands caressing her breasts which hung down beneath her and groaned into her gag as he played with her nipples and then the tip of his tool brushed her oh-so-sensitive clitoris. But tonight that was not to be where that member was headed, and instead she felt it pressing against her bottom hole which, despite its stretching, still resisted the intruder. “No! No! NO!” she screamed into her gag, but no words could be made out and instead she felt the mighty weapon push past her sphincter and enter her very being. Never before had she felt so mastered, so absolutely owned, so helpless and so dominated. Slowly but surely, Sam slid his tool in and out, taking his time and massaging her breasts all the while. Then, just as she thought it was over, he withdrew, not wishing to rush the experience, waiting a moment whilst caressing her tiny waist, before then re-entering and starting it all again. Three times this happened but on the third he could contain his ecstasy no longer and he erupted deep within her, a sensation that Alison felt only briefly before she fainted right away in pleasure, exhaustion and absolute submission.

Now she truly understood what it meant to be a Lady of Leisure.

Chapter 13

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Chapter 11 – Hens’ Holiday

At the start of May Alison was most surprised to discover a letter waiting on her breakfast table one morning. Unable to do anything herself, she had the maid open it and read it and to her delight it was from Emma Williamson stating that due to Hope’s upcoming marriage, it had been decided to hold a “Hen Party” and as such both Alison and Katie were invited to a week away in Paris.

Both girls were extremely excited as neither had been overseas before and both knew that Paris is rumoured to be one of the most elegant cities on earth even if the fashions there are far more liberal than those of Britain.

When the day came though a month later, there were some unexpected elements to Alison’s dressing. After she had been laced using the trapeze, she had her usual morning enema but then, to her surprise, catheters were fitted into her pee hole and anus. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked in shock, to which the maid replied, “Special preparations for travelling, ma’am, as access to a toilet is impossible until we arrive in the hotel.”

After the catheters, a thick pair of rubber pants was fitted over her bottom, then another and then yet another. These were all quite baggy and made her hips appear incredibly large, as if she possessed what is crudely referred to as a “bubble butt”. Then came the usual enormous bustle, but unlike normal, this was much heavier as it seemed to have some sort of tank inside it which the catheter tubes were attached to. Then, she was dressed as normal in a forest green travelling dress with fur trims and an elegant hat with a thick veil over the front which almost blinded Alison. Finally the ensemble was finished off by a dark grey fur-lined mantle.

The two girls were driven to the mainline railway station at Stockport where the Williamson ladies were waiting. They all nodded at one another and were then shown into their private compartment where, once seated, their gags were removed so that they could talk. They then set off, the servants and luggage in the next compartment, chattering excitedly about the upcoming trip when Alison began to feel full, probably as a result of all the tea that she had drunk at breakfast. Immediately she knew that she had to let go and that was why she had been dressed in the way that she had, but something about her felt ashamed to empty herself into her underwear in public so she held it in with the pressure slowly growing.

But then, somewhere past Rugby, as the clocks struck twelve, something most unexpected happened. There was a slight whirring in her bustle and cold water started shooting into her bottom, the shock causing her to let flow with pee. Nervously she looked across at the others and from their shifting in their seats, she could tell that the same was happening to them all. Naturally, all the girls were too refined and elegant to mention it but the conversation stopped as all tried to concentrate on the sensations down below. Her bottom filled up quickly and the pressure became intense and then it stopped. The water stayed there until slight cramps began. Then it gushed out to Alison’s great relief. Once it was all finished she looked across at Emma who smiled. “I feel much cleaner all of a sudden,” said Mrs. Williamson before returning to the topic of French wines.

Alison emptied her bowels several times on that journey and received two more enemas. But then the trip was a long one: three and a half hours to London, a cab across the capital, then another hour and a half to Dover, then the crossing before a further five hours ride to the French capital. It was evening by the time they got there and thankfully the hotel was by the Gare du Nord so they could book straight in.

Immediately Alison was stripped and bathed and then dressed in an evening dress of fine red silk. They went out for a beautiful meal and then returned to the hotel where, Alison was surprised to discover, she was sharing a room with Chastity Williamson at the latter’s request. Both ladies were stripped down to corsets and drawers and a monoglove and then put into the King Size bed with each other. And as soon as the maid had extinguished the light, Chastity snuggled up to her friend and whispered, “This is my favourite part of the holiday!” and put her lips to Alison’s. She was initially shocked and, several months ago she would have drawn away, but the experiences in Laydon’s and at the spa had taught her that for Ladies of Leisure, Sapphic pleasures are not taboo as with most women. Although not a lesbian, she reciprocated the kiss and soon found herself in Heaven as her tongue explored the young virgin’s mouth.

But then Chastity withdrew and shuffled herself round so that her face was by Alison’s crotch. To her astonishment she found the young girl nuzzling through her drawers to her most intimate area and then slowly start licking and sucking. The pleasure was exquisite and soon Alison began groaning in ecstasy. “Now you do me,” whispered Chastity and so Alison put her face into Chastity’s crotch and began exploring her love channel with her tongue, the young girls juices exciting her even further. Within minutes both passed out from the most incredible sexual experience that either had ever encountered and when she came round again, Alison was pleased to discover that Chastity was ready for round two.

And so the holiday went on. By day they visited the famous sights like the Eiffel Tower and Versailles, in the evenings they watched the opera or theatre, their rarely-free hands clapping daintily at the moving performances and at night they immersed themselves in Sapphic bliss.

At the end of the week, as she was trussed up in rubber again, Alison did not want to return home.

Chapter 12

Alison becomes a Lady of Leisure: Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 – A Heavenly Day

They had agreed not to leave the house or meet with the Williamsons again until they had both achieved reverse prayer, since with their new status it would perhaps not be fitting to do abroad with it half-achieved and they both wished to demonstrate just how hard they had been working to attain the same exalted lifestyle as their new friends. Reverse prayer is achieved when the elbows meet and Katie managed this after two weeks. For Alison it took a further four days but eventually they were ready and the Williamsons were contacted and it was agreed to go out shopping together in Manchester for new gowns suitable for their new level of bondage and status. Thus it was that they awoke early that Wednesday and instead of staying half naked until lunch, both put on their walking gowns supplemented not by a monoglove this time but instead a temporary glove in white leather that Natalie had ordered from a staymaker’s that kept the arms in the reverse prayer position. They then were picked up by the car with the three Williamson ladies already on board and whisked off to the city centre. Naturally, none of them offered Katie and Alison any compliments on their new-found elegance as all were securely gagged, but all three nodded in admiration and even Alison felt a little proud inside.

The car deposited them at the doors of Kendal & Milne and the four ladies minced inside and were helped to the ladies wear section. New stays were ordered for Katie as well as neck corsets but then they came on to the main object of their visit: dresses incorporating the reverse prayer posture.

Once again Alison was shown through to a private area by fawning assistants who helped her maid to strip her down and then fit the new underwear which, of course, included a corset that could lace down tighter than her previous one and which caused her to pass out when still a couple of inches from closing. Then came the reverse prayer ensemble which came in several parts. The first were the initial restraints, i.e. cuffs for the elbows and wrists. Then the lower part of the pouch in white leather which covered the two bound arms as one up to the wrists. This had lacing along the back which squeezed them together tightly, moulding them as one unit. Alison wondered why the hands were left free, but this was then explained by the assistant who described how ball dresses or those worn for the theatre and opera now kept the hands free so that they could be seen by admirers and tiny ladylike claps could be made to show appreciation for performers. Also, ardent lovers often liked to intertwine fingers during the dances. Thus, Alison was now fitted for two ball gowns, one in ivory with exquisite embroidery and the second in a pale purple.

After this the final part of the reverse prayer ensemble for normal use was fitted: a glove for both hands with separate fingers and stiffened with steel to prevent any movement whatsoever. Then came the selecting of the day dresses, ten in total including one in satin with a tartan print which she decided to wear for the rest of the day. Suitably attired and extremely elegant, she was now fit to re-enter society where her friends and similarly-restrained sister all declared themselves most pleased with the results.

Dining at the Midland again, Alison used the opportunity of being ungagged to ask if they would be visiting Laydon’s again. “Well, we could,” said Emma, “although I was thinking, as a special treat to celebrate yours and Emma’s entry into the life of the Lady of Leisure, that instead we have the driver take us to the Dunham Massey Spa.”

“Ooh mummy! Can we really?” squealed Chastity.

“The Dunham Massey Spa? Where is that?”

“Not far from our house but it is the most heavenly place ever. It is a place to relax and unwind and, from what I recall from my reverse prayer training, is something that you’ll both need more than anything.”

“Well, I don’t know since it’s all new to me, but you’re the expert so, if you recommend it, then I’m game!”

“Jolly good.”

The Dunham Massey Spa was an extensive complex housed in a former stately home where the family had left no heirs and so a hotel chain had taken it over. Part of it was an hotel but part was an area for ladies of distinction and breeding to relax. They all entered and were given their own personal assistant as at Laydon’s. Each was guided to their own changing room where their clothes were removed and their arms massaged until the blood began to flow again.

Next an enema was administered, this one, like at Laydon’s, offered with a choice of fragrant soaps, Alison choosing rose essence, before her plug was reinserted. Then, she was taken to the shower, her arms fastened to a ceiling chain, rinsed all over and a new corset fitted, this time in rubber and not quite as tight as the usual stays. It was also shorter, not covering the breasts which were left free and bouncing. Alison’s arms were then laced into a monoglove, also in rubber and rubber pants were fitted over her hips. Finally her hair was braided into a long ponytail and mules with heels of several inches placed on her feet. Finally a collar with chain was fastened around her neck and she was led out of the room by the maid.

The first stop was an incredibly hot room made entirely out of wood where a stove belched out heat. Called a sauna, this caused her to sweat profusely all over. After ten minutes or so in there, she was taken to a pool of cold water before then re-entering the sauna. Then she was given a massage by her assistant who concentrated on her legs, bottom, back and breasts, easing out all the knots and pains. It was sheer heaven! After that a strange item was added to her ensemble. It looked like one of those huge ruffs worn in Elizabethan days and was secured around her neck, but this ruff was made of plastic and full of air. Then she was led to a pool of warm water into which she entered and her chain was tied to a post along with the chains of the others. It was absolutely heavenly as the pool was deep and so she was literally floating in the warm soothing water whilst the inflated ruff kept her head dry and afloat.

“So what do you think?” asked Chastity.

“This must be what Heaven is like,” replied Katie. “Thank you so much for bringing us!”

“Yes, thank you,” added Alison who, for once, agreed entirely with her sister.

There they floated and engaged in small talk.

“I see that you’re wearing a chastity belt,” said Hope to Katie.

“Yes, my sister’s insistence,” said Katie glaring at Alison.

“I thought it for her own good, what with strange male servants about. If a man got near her there is no way she could fend him off.”

“You are such a thoughtful guardian,” said Emma. “I never insisted on it for my girls but then maybe I was taking an excessive risk. Katie, you should be glad that your sister cares for you so.”

One thing that Alison had noticed in the sauna, particularly as they were so free to bounce about, was how impressive Emma’s breasts were; large and firm, particularly considering her age.

“I couldn’t help admiring your breasts earlier,” she remarked. “Were they enhanced for your marriage?”

“Yes, although I have had further work done on them. My Uriah has always admired large breasts – mine were quite humble like Hope’s here before our marriage – and it was one of the preconditions. Indeed, Hope is to have hers done soon as part of her wedding preparations.”

“Yes I am, and I’m quite excited although a bit nervous. My fiancé wants them very large, 40GG which sounds intimidating but if it pleases him then it is for the best.”

“I should love to have enlargements myself,” commented Katie, whose breasts were already far from unimpressive, “although that depends on my fiancé I suppose.”

“Indeed it does,” commented Alison, “if we manage to find a man that’ll have you!”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if we haven’t already,” giggled Chastity.

“Yes, our brother has talked about little else. He can’t wait to see you at dinner this evening!”

“Did Samuel never insist on you having your breasts improved?” asked Emma.

“No, never, although our circumstances were different then. However, I am not sure if I should like it.”

“It is not about whether you like it, but him. Remember, your body is his possession, not yours.”

All ladies nodded gravely at that.

“I think it’s time to leave now,” said Emma, “and enjoy the next course!”

And that next course turned out to be most enjoyable indeed. Each was taken to a separate room, their ruffs and pants removed, a gag inserted and a hood fitted over their heads. With hers on, Alison couldn’t see or hear a thing, the only holes being two small ones over her nostrils. Then she was led to a bed where she lay down with a hole in the padded surface to accommodate her bound arms. Then her ankles were cuffed to the bed itself and another strap fastened around her neck. After that it began.

Firstly, it was light, almost imperceptible. A slight tickling with a feather. Then there was blowing, then the feather again. Then came something more, fingers clad in satin gloves caressing and manipulating her beauty bud. Soon she was bucking and groaning with pleasure as the expert assistant brought her to the verge of climax and then took her away again. After several times she allowed her to explode with ecstasy before inserting a dissolving pessary as had been the case at Laydon’s. After that the hood and other items were removed and she was redressed in all her finery before having her make-up touched up and being led to the others in the lounge where each was presented with a glass of champagne which went straight to their heads.

That evening they had dinner at the Williamsons’ home. Stephen was there and he couldn’t take his eyes off Katie whilst Sam was all over his wife, her new reverse prayer gowns really being to his taste. And so the day ended with two excited young ladies in bed. Alison had all her dreams fulfilled with a husband who couldn’t contain himself with excitement at her new bondage but for Katie on the other hand, who’d been denied the arousal that the others had enjoyed in the spa, had only more frustration and instead could only dream of the day when her spouse, (who in her dreams already had Stephen Williamson’s face), was doing everything to her that Sam was doing to Alison.

Chapter 10