The Abandoned (Part 5)

Igor Cummings

To most people on the planet Eridani, paperwork is boring. To Igor Cummings however, paperwork is wonderful. There’s just something in the orderly matter of paperwork that always relaxes him. To him, the time he spent working as an administer in the Central Administration Authors, or the CAA for short, was less of a job, and more of a luxury.

Yes, most men considered him an odd man, but when you are having fun, caring about what other men say was just a waste of time. As for women…well, if the lower beings had any opinions, they wisely left it to themselves. So to Igor, his job as a clerk in the CCA was near perfect as running a city required tons of paperwork and he often brought his work home.

That was what Igor was doing when he felt a presence in his study. Unlike most homes on Eridani, his came with a study. As usual, he was at his desk working when he looked up and saw his wife laying prostate on the floor. Igor was surprised as Kettle knew better than to bother him when he was working. He hid his surprise with annoyance.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked gruffly.

“Master, this one has something to report.” Still lying with her face to the floor, Kettle replied. “This one has committed a grave error and request punishment.”

Now he was beyond surprised. Igor had always thought Kettle to be an excellent wife, that was why he allowed her to work with the foreign women who crash-landed on Eridani when most men would not even considered it. For her to now admit to a fault made Igor wonder if he had made a terrible mistake.

“Explain,” he said.

“Today, this one had carnal relationship with another woman without the permission of her master.”

“Who?”

“The foreign woman known as Lisa Williams.”

Silence reigned in the room as Igor absorbed the information. Like most men on Eridani, Igor couldn’t care less about the relations between women; they were after all lower beings, lacking both the self-control and intelligence needed to lead. However intimate relation between women who were not related was only allowed when their masters allowed it. Kettle should have known better.

No, Igor was sure she did knew better…so why did she had relations with that foreigner? It made no sense. He needed more information.

“Explain yourself slave”

“Today, this one and the foreigner known as Williams went for an evening walk. We went to the outer hill knows as Color Peaks.”

“I know the place. You were there to see the setting sun?”

“Yes we were. As the sun sets, Williams was enchanted by the sight and commented on how beautiful it was. We stayed till the sun finished setting and then went back to her home. The other two foreigners were not at home and we were alone. When it was time for us to part, Williams kissed me.” Kettle stopped. After realizing Igor was not going to comment on the kiss, she continued.  “I responded to the kiss and with our arms around each other, we went to her bed where we took off our clothes.”

“Wait,” Igor had to stop his wife there. “You had sex with her in her bed? You went on a bed without my permission?”

“Yes master,” Kettle immediately replied. “Another error in need of punishment.”

Indeed! On Eridani, women slept on the floor with only a mat or flat mattress for comfort. Like most men, Igor only allowed his wife onto the bed when he wished to fuck her and he knew of men who don’t even allow that. Any fucking was done on the floor as the bed was considered fit only for men. Another thing that made no sense for Igor; why did Kettle did this?

“Continue”

“After our clothes were off, we wrapped our arms around each other and kissed passionately. We then went into what Williams called the 69 position.”

“69?”

“We were just eating each other like normal…” Kettle hesitated before continuing, “well, normal for me at least. Williams seem a little embarrassed by the situation.”

“Why?” Igor was surprised.

“In the UFP, it seems sex between the same gender is…discouraged. I don’t really understand why but Williams said something about it being illogical and against nature.”

Igor had heard rumors that these foreigners have some strange customs, but it was one think to hear about it and another thing to actually experience it. So outside their strange clothing and rude behavior, the foreign women had bought some strange thinking with them as well. Everyone knows sex between women happens all the time, and to Igor it’s strange to hear that there’s nothing wrong with that. Sex between women was very normal, after all they were all lower beings so how can that be unnatural? As for it being illogical…well, they’re women! Since when did women care about logic? Igor did not understand these women; they acted as if they were men.

Once the thought came to him, Igor immediately understood the danger and the truth of these women. In their minds, they were equal to men! Another strange quirk of their culture, but one that was potentially dangerous. What if they start to infect the proper women of Eridani with the idea they were equalt to men and who knows what other dangerous ideas they had bought with them?

Igor stood up immediately. On most homes on the planet, there was a cane in every room and it was no different in his house. Igor walked to the wall where the cane was hung, took it off the wall and walked to where Kettle laid. He did not bother with words and the thrashing began.

Kettle screamed as the cane struck her. Igor aimed the cane at the ass of the woman and held nothing back. This was punishment and she must remember who the Master was and who was the woman. When Igor came back to himself, he realized that he lost time. He did not know how many times he struck her but Kettle was sobbing and unmoving on the floor.

Igor kicked her lightly with his foot and gave an order, “Kneel and show your ass.”

Kettle was in pain but her training overcame it. Slowly, she rose to her knees, spread them apart but made sure her head was still on the floor. Igor went the back of her and pulled down her pants. Taking out his manhood, he entered her.

She screamed in pain as Igor pounded her from behind. The pain from the beating was still fresh but Kettle did not move away. No woman on Eridani would even think of doing something as terrible as to avoid her master. In her mind, Kettle deserved this pain. She was the one in the wrong, and the only regret she had was that the pain prevented her from moving backwards in rhythm with her master to please him better. Igor released inside her. Backing out, he stood up and ordered his woman to clean him.

Kettle turned and started cleaning. As she began cleaning her master’s manhood with her mouth, Igor raise the cane above his head and used it. The cane struck his woman on her back and Kettle grunted in pain. However she did not stop and continued her worship.

This time Igor kept control. He maintained a steady rhythm on his strikes and when he was finally happy with his woman’s work, he stopped. Igor ordered Kettle to stand and took a good look at her.

Kettle was wearing a blue jacket with a pair of black pants and a green scarf covered her head. Her lower face was hidden behind a pink veil but it could not hide the tears in her eyes. Igor did not usually beat her, he never liked it, but discipline must be maintained and they both knew it.

“Why did you have sex with the woman without getting permission from me first?” he asked.

“This one is sorry master. It just happened and…” Kettle’s reply was interrupted by a slap across her face.

“Why did you have sex with the woman without getting permission from me first?” Igor asked again.

This time Kettle took a moment to think. Her master clearly refused to accept that this was something that “just happened”; he wanted a reason and Kettle could only think of one. She steeled herself for further beatings and answered.

“This one…this one was bored master.”

A dozen thoughts went through Igor’s head. He thought of his work and how often he bought them home. He remembered that he had not disciplined his woman for months and that the last time he had used her was weeks ago. Of course, she was bored! Igor realized that he had not been diligent enough. He had neglected his duty and had not done a proper job as master.

The realization embarrassed him and he vowed to do a better job of it in the future. Still, he loved his job and he knew he couldn’t rule out bringing his work home back. Something must be done for Kettle to prevent her from making the same mistakes.

A mischievous thought came to him and Igor quickly dismissed it. However the thought would not go away and in fact grew in his mind. He grinned and this caused Kettle to look at him with a strange expression.

“Slave,” he said to Kettle, “tell this Lisa Williams I want to meet her.”

Meaning Of The Veil

Ling Ling closed her eyes with worry in her heart. Usually, she would be enjoying the wind that was blowing in her face but today was different. She opened her eyes and the sight that greeted her dismayed her.

She was still a distance from the hospital.

Ling Ling flicked the whip in her hand and although the sound of the whip hitting Xiao Fan eased her anxiety a little, it did little to change the situation. They were still far from the hospital and Ling Ling knew all the whipping in the world would do little to change the situation. Xiao Fan, the concubine, was already running as fast as possible.

The day had started normally with both of them greeting their husband as he left for work in the morning. After he had left, Ling Ling instructed Xiao Fan on the chores for the day before taking the children to school. She then met some other wives in the neighborhood for a tea session before the group went on a shopping trip at the mall.

It had been a normal relaxing day.

After the shopping trip, she had returned home to check on Xiao Fan’s work. Normally, the concubine would be on her knees as she opened the door but today, it was a very anxious standing Xiao Fan that greeted her. The concubine quickly informed her that soon after she had left, a phone call came saying that their husband was involved in an accident and was currently in hospital.

The duo quickly left for the hospital but as women, the only mode of transport available to them was the ponycart. The ponycart was a mode of transport that had been around in the country of Songhan since ancient times. Known as a rickshaw in olden days, the ponycart was basically a cart with 2 wheels and two long poles protruding from the front of the cart. Although the name had been changed, neither the design nor the use of the rickshaw/ponycart had. Just like in ancient times, the wife, Ling Ling, was seated on the ponycart while the concubine, Xiao Fan, was pulling it.

Not for the first time in her life, Ling Ling regretted the fact she was a female. If she had been born a male, she would be allowed to drive but as a woman, she was not allowed to even call for a taxi. In Songhan, females just do not go into a vehicle with a male stranger. Even public transport like buses and the subway catered only to men. If women want to go somewhere, they walked or like Ling Ling, use the ponycart. The unfairness of it all ate at her.

Here she was, a beautiful capable woman, and she had to followed ancient traditions set by her ancestors thousands of years ago. Not for the first time in her life, Ling Ling wished to have been born in another country other than Songhan, a country where women were not allowed to be anything other than wives and concubines, servants to their men and slaves to their families.

Ling Ling flicked the whip in her hand again.

Xiao Fan took the whip stoically, not seemingly affected by it. In a way, Ling Ling was pleased with this. She still remembered how poorly the concubine did as the puller of the cart when she first accepted her into the family. Like all concubines of Songhan, Xiao Fan wore a veil that covered the lower half of her face and she wasn't used to pulling the cart with the veil covering her nose and mouth. A problem Ling Ling solved by constant practice and liberal use of the whip.

In the six years since Xiao Fan became the concubine of the family, Ling Ling had trained the concubine with pain and humiliation into a concubine worthy of serving the family. The fact that the concubine was now pulling the cart with little effort was a testament to her training. However the distance they were covering was still not enough to satisfy her.

Ling Ling used the whip again.

After 30 minutes of suffering under the whip, an exhausted Xiao Fan finally reached the hospital. Ling Ling went into the hospital as the concubine parked the ponycart. In the lobby, she was met by the family. Her father-in-law, 2 mother-in-laws, her brother-in-law and sister-in-law were all there and the news was not good.

The accident was serious and her husband was now in surgery. The doctors had refused to tell the family how her husband was doing, only willing to say they would try their best to save him. That was never a good thing. By then, Xiao Fan had arrived and with all the women of the family present, her father-in-law ordered all of them to the hospital shrine to pray for the health of his eldest son.  

It was not an order any of them could refused and Ling Ling reluctantly went along. Never a religious person, Ling Ling nevertheless went through the rituals of respecting her ancestors and begging for help from the Celestial Heavens. Like always, the heavens did not answer her prayers and an hour later, the doctors asked the family to prepare for the worst.

It was then that her sister-in-law, Zong Ying, approached her. As the wives of the family, the two of them had gotten along well despite the differences in their personalities. Unlike Ling Ling, Zong Ying was one of those women who enjoyed their status as servants to their husband and slaves to their family. She firmly believed it was what women were born for and Ling Ling knew her sister-in-law took great joy in her submission to her husband. Ling Ling even suspected that her sister-in-law would be just as comfortable being a concubine as a wife as long as she got to serve her husband. So it surprised Ling Ling little that her sister-in-law would be the one speaking to her.

Death in the family, though unfortunate, was not unusual and the people of Songhan had long since had a tradition for such tragedies. In the event of a death of a male relative, his nearest male relatives were to take over his responsibilities as protector and provider of the deceased’s wife, concubines and children.

So it was with them. Ling Ling’s sister-in-law explained that the men had discussed the matter already and decided that her father-in-law would take Xiao Fan as his second concubine while her husband’s brother would take Ling Ling as a concubine. Their children would of course follow their mothers into their new families. Zong Ying then gave Ling Ling an item to signify her new position; a black veil to cover the lower half of her face.

Women in Songhan had to dress in accordance to the laws. Generally, whether they were wives or concubines, the sumptuary laws were similar. Their heads had to be covered in a black tudong, their bodies had to be covered in a non-fitting white blouse, and they had to wear white socks and black shoes that would make no sound when they walked.

There were however two main differences between wives and concubines. Wives were allowed to wear a black skirt that reaches their ankles while concubines were only allowed to wear pants, and whereas wives were allowed to show their faces in public, concubines must always covered the lower half of their faces with a veil.

The veil Zong Ying gave her was one that was worn only by concubines and Ling Ling knew if she accepted it, it would be her place for the rest of her life. She remembered her trip to the hospital and how freely she was with the whip. If she accepted this veil, she would no longer enjoy the wind in her face but be the one running and pulling, and being whipped by her mistress for her efforts. She would be the one who would never be allowed out of the house without supervision, who could never meet any outsiders without a veil covering her face. The wife of the house was the face the public sees; the concubine was nothing but the faceless servant. That was the meaning of the veil in Songhan.

That would be her fate if she accepts this veil.

Of course, she could reject the veil but the consequences would be harsh. Rejecting the veil meant rejecting the family and she would have to leave, either to a nunnery or back to her birth family. Ling Ling was pretty certain her father would accept her back but it would meant leaving her children behind. As the children of her husband, no court in Songhan would allow her to take her children with her. They must stay with her husband's family. She could leave the family, but her children could not.

Zong Ying touched her on the arm and pointed behind her. Ling Ling turned around and saw that Xian Fan had made her decision. The concubine was now lying flat on the ground with her face facing upwards to the ceiling. Above her, her father-in-law’s concubine was kneeling with her knees on either side of Xiao Fan’s head and her buttocks on Xiao Fan’s face.

Her father-in-law’s concubine in turn had her head bowed to the floor, at the feet of her father-in-law’s wife. This showed Xiao Fan’s new position as second concubine; a woman so low in worth she did not even deserve to be kneeling in the wife’s presence. From this day on, Xiao Fan would be a woman who was only worthy of being stepped on, a doormat for her new husband, new mistress and her new husband’s concubine.

Ling Ling felt for her. Six years ago when her husband became successful enough to warrant a concubine, Ling Ling had carefully selected Xiao Fan for the role. A plain looking woman born to a concubine, Xiao Fan’s score in school was not great. However all her teachers said that she worked hard and knew her place. Xiao Fan knew she was not beautiful enough to be a wife and had instead accepted the role given to her by the Celestial Heavens.

Her teachers were correct. Ling Ling found that although her concubine was not smart, beautiful or even all that capable, young Xiao Fan worked hard and accepted all punishment given to her as encouragement to do better. She was in short, a very good concubine and although Ling Ling was sure she would make a very good second concubine, she can’t help but felt Xiao Fan deserved better.

However Ling Ling wasn’t sure she had time to worry about other people right now. Of course like all women in Songhan, she always knew there was a chance of this happening. That one day, she would lose her position as the wife but that doesn’t mean she expected it to happen. She needed time to think but time was not something she had. Zong Ying squeezed her arm, wanting her to make a decision quickly.

To Zong Ying, this must seem like an easy decision and in a way, Ling Ling knew why her sister-in-law thought so. In Songhan, it was better to be a concubine than a widower and if she wanted to stay with her children, Ling Ling, like all women, didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

With regret, she put the veil on, knelt and bowed at the feet of Zong Ying. From this day forward, Zong Ying would be her mistress. 

My Spot (Part 3)

When the weekend came, I went with my husband to meet his friends. I had been wearing the outfit my husband got for me for the past few days prior to the meeting but it had been always been at home. I had never worn it out and I was nervous meeting people wearing it.

However I wasn’t someone who chickened out of things and when my husband kindly asked me if I was sure I wanted to go, I said I did. The trip there was different from the trip to the mosque though. Not only was I dressed “correctly” for the meeting, I was also told to sit at the back of the car.

My husband told me the people we were meeting do not believe that women should be allowed to sit in the front seat of the car, much less drive one, so he wanted me to seat at the back. I was also told not to speak unless spoken to, to call all the men there “sir”, and always to be respectful to everyone there, including the women. Even to my worthless mind, I could tell that the meeting was obviously very important to my husband and resolved to be on my best behavior.

My husband didn’t tell me where we were going but for some reason I wasn’t surprised when he drove out of the city into the suburbs. He finally stopped at a 2 storey house that was situated at the end of a dead end road. In short, it was isolated with no need to worry about nosey neighbors.

We were not alone as there were already several vehicles parked along the driveway and along the road in front of the house. After parking, my husband led me to the door and knocked. The door opened immediately and I saw the man I would later know as the Interpreter for the first time.

A jolly big man with a loud laugh, the Interpreter greeted my husband with a big hug before ushering him into the house. I quickly followed the 2 men into the house where my husband was greeted with further hugs by other men. Even though it was my first time there, I could feel the sense of brotherhood between these men and immediately began to understand why my husband had been with the group.  

However as hugs and banter were exchanged between the men, I began to feel more and more out of place. I was totally ignored and noticed that I was the only woman in a room full of men. I thought the women were in the kitchen but when two men came out of the kitchen wearing aprons, the thought was quickly replaced by bewilderment; both at the strange sight of two religious bearded Muslim men in aprons and the question if I was the only woman in the house.

As my husband greeted the men who came out of the kitchen, a young boy barely in his teens stepped up before me. We looked at each other before he shook his head in disgust and signaled me to follow him. I looked at my husband but he was clearly too involved with his friends to bother about me. Worthless that I was, a flash of anger overtook me but before I could embarrassed myself, the young boy was beside me whispering in my ear. Even now, years after the incident, I remembered what he said to me.

“Follow me, you disrespectful worthless bitch!”

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Of course I now know how wrong I was and what offence I made but back then my worthless self was shocked and angered beyond words. This was a boy who was at most 14 and he was calling me a bitch! The boy did not wait for a response from me and instead turned around and started walking away.

Honestly, I don't remember why I did what I did but I followed the boy. It could be that I was so shocked that I just followed him but I like to think that even back then, my worthless knew the truth of his statement. I was/am nothing and I like to think that even back then, I knew in my soul the boy was right.

I like to think that I followed the boy because he was the first person who spoke the words of truth to me.

Whatever the reason, I followed the boy quietly to a door. There were 3 locks on it and they were not just simple locks; they were big padlocks with firm metal tinges. After unlocking the door, he opened it and I saw that there was a staircase leading down. At the bottom of the stairs was a woman in a niqab.

The boy stood aside, clearly expecting me to go down the stairs. Remembering what my husband told me about obeying, I went through the door and down the stairs. The door slammed shut behind me and I could hear the boy locking it. I walked down to the bottom of the stairs and looked at the other woman clearly for the first time.

She was dressed like me. A plain black long sleeved dress two sizes too big with thick black gloves and a black niqab on her head. Although I could only see from the outside, I was sure the dress was of a low quality, that it had a high-collared and that it was too rough to the touch. In short, I was sure her outfit was exactly like mine.

The woman nodded at me and I was about to greet her when she took me by the arm and turned me around. The stairs ended at the edge of the basement and the main floor was behind it. As I turned, I saw the women group for the first time.

The row of them were at the other end of the basement, all of them standing in a row facing the wall. The sight reminded me of my spots in the house, the place I was put whenever my husband was displeased with me, and it shocked me. Were all of them being punished or were they just...placed there?

Still in shock, I let the woman held my arm and guide me slowly across the basement towards the group. I remembered seeing the basement and thinking that it was sparse in the extreme. There was nothing there except for a blue stool and an overhanging light in the centre of the room. Outside the centre of the basement, the rest of the basement had a gloomy dark feel to it.

The woman guided me to the end of the row of women and tried to place me in the row. I glanced at the row and saw that all of them were dressed like us. Plain black dresses in niqabs, all the women not only looked the same, they were standing in the same position. Although the outfits hid some things, I could clearly see that their bodies and faces were all touching the wall.

The woman guiding me pushed me towards the last woman in the row, wanting me to stand shoulder to shoulder to her. I allowed her to do so, but she then pushed my back. As my body got closer and closer to the wall, I resisted. A resistance that was quickly met with a slap on the ass.

After the slap,  the woman pushed my back again. This time more forcefully.  I did not resist again. The woman was clearly the top bitch of the group and as the newcomer, I did not want to cause problems before I was even introduced. The woman pushed me till my body was touching the wall, then she pushed the back of my head. Before I know it, my face was touching the wall too.

Then the woman spoke for the first time. "Make sure your forehead, nose and chin are touching the wall. With no men around, we women are nothing but worthless meat. "

"We are worthless meat!"

The row of women replied as if in a chant and for the first time since I entered the house, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. Then I felt the woman who guided me releasing my arm and standing beside me. Top dog she may be, but she was still a woman. I risked a quick glance and saw that her face was almost smashed to the wall. I remember half-wondering how she managed to breath but quickly got my face back into position. I admit, seeing her example made me push my face further into the wall.   

I did not know how long we stood there, but by the time I heard the locks of the basement being unlocked, my legs were tired and my face was numbed. I felt the woman beside me leaving my side. I knew she must have went to the base of the stairs to greet whoever was coming down like she did with me.

I waited patiently but in excitement. I heard a clap and I felt the other women in the row tensed up. I heard the woman who had guided me speak again, "Women, a man is in your worthless presence. Show your respect with your worthless bodies."

The row of women moved for the first time and I moved with them. Following their example, I threw myself to the concrete floor, my body prostrate on the ground with my arms outstretched above me. I now know that as a worthless woman, being on the ground is the only right position to greet a man but back then, I remembered feeling stupid doing this.

For a short while, the room was silent then there was another clap of the hands. The rest of the women started rising and I followed. Looking around, I saw that the man who greeted my husband and myself was now seated on the blue stool I saw earlier. I also saw that the other women were not standing up straight but instead were walking hunched over towards him. The women arranged themselves  in front of him and for the first time I did a quick count. There were 8 of us and we all knelt before the man.

The Interpreter then launched into his sermon and it was vastly different from what I heard from the iman from the mosque. There was no men around and the sermon was only for us women. The Interpreter focused strictly on the roles of women in this world and the relationship between us and men. He quoted from the Qur'an and Hadith, and gave detailed examples on how the holy Islamic scriptures clearly state that women were born to assist men, how we were here in this world to serve men, and how by simple logic, that meant that without men, we women were nothing.

We were worthless on our own.  We were worthless without men and if one day a woman found herself without a man to guide, protect and control her, she was worthless.  The Interpreter then went on, saying that women needed men and that not only were we worthless without men, it was nothing short of our holy duty to serve our man without question or hesitation.  We were here to assist men. We were born to serve men. We were nothing without men.

Women were born to be servants and slaves to men!

I was at the back of the group but there was no escaping the Interpreter's powerful sermon. He did not used words like "may" or "could" but instead used words like "must" and "would". As the sermons went on,  the Interpreter stood up and pointed down at the kneeling women in front of him. He launched into another section of his sermon on the impurity and weakness of women. He scolded us for the women of the world who believed they were as strong and as smart as men when all evidence said otherwise. Men were stronger and almost all advances in science were done by men. He said women must be grateful to be even allowed to be in the presence of a man because without men, we were nothing!

As he went now, I felt a feeling I had never felt before. It was the truth! A feeling exploded in my chest, my whole body shook as the truth of his words sunk into me. It was euphoric! That was our spot in life. Not as an ambitious career woman, not just as a wife, but as a servant and a slave because that's what we women were. This was the truth that I had missed throughout my life.

Women were born to be the servants and slaves to men!  

As the sermon ended and the Interpreter left, the women threw themselves to the ground again. I followed their actions, only this time I did it not in fellowship with them but in thanks to the man who had finally showed me the truth. He had delivered the truth of men and women to me, a lowly worthless woman, and for that I would be forever grateful! 

My Spot (Part 2)

What happened after that? Well not much really, at least at first. Both of us pretended like nothing happened, going about our lives as normal. For me, the only real difference at first was that I read more of my husband's books. Of course, this time only after getting his permission.

I know this may sound like a simple thing, but as unworthy as I was back then, this was major. Back then, what was mine was mine, and what was my husband's was also mine. I’m sure you know of women like that before and well…that was me. Looking back, it’s a minor miracle he didn’t left me for a more proper woman.

I think of it as a gift from God because the discovery of Islam did help us in our relationship, even back in those early days.  We now had something to talk about. I was curious about why my husband has decided to take an interest in Islam and as we were talking, I found myself more and more interested in it as well. As we talk, we would also talk about other random stuff and before we knew it, we actually started “talking”.

We spoke about each other and our lifeless relationship. We spoke about how things had gotten routine and discovered that neither of us liked it. It’s another sign of my worthlessness as a wife that I never knew my husband thought the same way I did. However as we continued talking, we naturally talked about how we were going to break out of our cycle. And just as naturally, the one thing that reconnected us was the thing that we decided to do together.

I found out that my husband has been a semi-regular attendee at a local mosque and he invited to go with him on his next visit. Of course I agreed but I had no idea what was expected of me so I went out of my way to drive past the mosque a few times during the week to observe the people. On the day of the visit itself, I dressed conservatively in a loose long sleeve shirt with a shirt that reaches my feet. I even wore a headscarf.

I was overdressed. Although all the women there wore the headscarf, not all of them conform to the dress code I read in my husband’s books. There were girls there who wore jeans and tight-fitting shirts, and when the sermon started, a few of the younger girls were more interested in their iPhones than what the iman was saying.

That however was something I can understand. The sermon by the iman was in a way pretty disappointing. He spoke about honor and living correctly according to Islam but his sermon was more like a speech than anything else. I didn’t really went to the mosque with any expectations but to me, the visit was a disappointment.

When I told my husband this, instead of being disappointed, he was silently pleased. Oh, my husband tried his best to hide it but when you are married for so long, you kind of know when your partner was happy. Now the correct reaction of a proper wife was to keep quiet and let your husband tell you about the situation when he felt it was time. However back then I was not a proper wife and immediately called him out on it.

Naturally, my husband wasn’t pleased but being the worthless wife that I was, I couldn’t let it go. After an hour of badgering, he finally lost his temper and gave me a good spanking. If this sounded abrupt, it is because it was.

I was in the midst of another tirade when he just calmly grabbed my arm, dragged me to the sofa, sat down, and placed me over his knee. He didn’t say a thing and I was so shocked, I didn’t fight back. In hindsight, that was probably a good thing as the spanking he gave might have been worse. As it was, my husband pulled up my shirt, pulled down my panties and firmly gave me twenty with his open hand, alternating between both cheeks of my bottom.

I think even back then, I knew that on some level I deserved it because I took my punishment stoically without crying. Some may argued that it was shock that allowed me to take my rightful punishment without bawling, but I don’t think so. When my husband was done, he let me up and grabbed my arm again. This time he firmly pulled me to my spot.

In case you were wondering, all this happened in the living room and my spot is a corner of the room near the TV. My husband made me faced the corner with my hands holding up my skirt. He refused to allow me to pull up my panties, instead ordering me to open up my legs. With my skirt high, my panties down, and my bottom red, I looked like a naughty girl who had just being punished.

Which was the case and I have the photo to prove it. My husband took a picture and the embarrassing photo was a constant reminder that I have to do better. In fact, taking pictures during “reflection time” is an established practice in our household. Whenever I got a punishment, my husband would put me in my spot and take pictures to prove what a worthless wife I am.

I didn’t know how long I was in the corner but it was long enough that when my husband finally allowed me to move from my spot, I had reflected on my actions and knew my mistake. This time I knelt in front of my husband and begged him to forgive me, deliberately not asking about why he was so silently pleased about me not liking my trip to the mosque.

It was the right thing to do. My husband petted me on the head and told me the truth. He was only a semi-regular mosque attendee because he was a member of a group of individuals who practiced a more extreme version of the Koran. He had brought me to the mosque as he wanted to slowly bring me into the religion.

Yes, my husband was thinking of my well-being and what did I do? I shamefully badgered him instead of respectfully asking him like I was supposed to; another sign of what a worthless wife I was. My husband say if I wished to, he would introduced me to his friends but warned that I would probably be shocked by them. I would admit that I was unsure if I was ready but I also knew that my husband wanted to meet the group. So I said I would love to meet them.

Looking back, this was the day when I truly started to become a wife; the day when I started to think of my husband’s feelings and wishes instead of my own. It may seem like a natural thing to most but back then, I cared only about my own wishes and feelings and this was a big step.

The next day, my husband bought me an outfit which he said I must wear to meet his friends. I’d read enough of his books to know it was an outfit that followed the rules of the Hijab. Hijab is the proper Islamic dress code, which is primarily intended to safeguard the modesty, dignity and honor of men and women. By wearing Hijab, women protect themselves from any lustful gaze or act that may expose them to temptation or harassment of any kind. On the other hand, it protects men from indulgence in vices and unlawful acts. The outfit my husband gave me came with a niqab which I had never wore before.

Thank Allah for Youtube.

Following instructions from a video I found on the site, I started by putting on the dress. A long sleeved dress two sizes too big, the high-collared dress covered me from my neck to the soles of my feet and came with a hood. I tied my long tresses into a tight bun before wrapping it up with a white cloth which cover almost all of my head except my face. Once my cloth was tightly in place, I pulled up the hood over my head and then put on the face-veil.

The niqab had a strap that I used to wrap around my forehead. Once I tied it in place, the veil flowed down over my face leaving only my eyes visible. Not only was my face covered, the veil also kept my hood secured on my head.

Like I said before, I had never wore this before and immediately complained to my husband that the dress was too big, too plain and rough. I have seen Islamic dresses before and they came in a variety of colors with various cuttings and styles. The one given to me was plain black with no designs on it whatsoever. I looked like a black ghost and I also found that the outfit was uncomfortable. The fabric of the outfit felt rough and was of low quality.

Yes, I was an ungrateful worthless wife. Instead of thanking my husband, I actually dared complained about the dress he had so kindly gave me. Again showing what a kind and gentle man he was, instead of punishing me for my outburst, my husband kindly explained that this was all deliberate. The rules of hijab state that a woman's clothing must cover the whole body and must not be tight or transparent. That was why the dress was so big and the fabric was rough to prevent the wearer from being too comfortable. I still remembered his exact words, “Women are creatures of sin whose whole body is all awrah.”

Awrah are sensitive parts of the body that a woman must cover in front of non-Muslims but I have never heard or read of the whole of a woman’s body being awrah before. Not only that, my kind husband now says that all women were creatures of sin!

It was a great shock but I was the one who told my husband I wanted to meet his friend so I knew it was too late to turn back now. When the weekend back, I wore the outfit again and went with my husband to meet his friends. It would be a life-changing day.

My Spot

I am a unworthy woman. I am a unworthy slave. And most importantly, I am a unworthy wife. How do I know this? Well...maybe I should start from the beginning.

I used to be called Faith and in college, I met my husband. Back then, he was called Adam and we were deeply in love. We married soon after graduation despite our parents' doubts about our age. Perhaps they were right because the marriage was soon in trouble.

We were both quite young and looking back, I was too headstrong to be a good wife. I was also too ambitious . I am ashamed to admit that back then my job was more important than my marriage and the gradual breakdown of the marriage was more my fault than my husband's.

The only good thing about the marriage was the sex which we had three to five times every week. When we got to it, my husband was loving, gentle, and attentive. However as our careers took over our lives, even that began to gradually lost its steam. Soon the two of us were living different lives and our relationship suffered accordingly.

It all changed one day when I discovered a Koran in the house.

When I asked my husband about it, he openly admitted that it was his and that he had been going for religious classes for weeks. He claimed it was due to a potential business deal his company was doing with a Middle Eastern company and the incident was just another case of showing my worthlessness as a wife back then.

My husband was studying religion and I didn't even noticed it till a chance discovery! However, this chance discovery was the beginning of happiness for us.

About two months after I found the Koran, I woke up to find my husband missing from our bed. I went out of the bedroom door and immediately heard noises from the study. It was soft but the house was so quiet that even with the closed door, the Islamic verses coming from the room could easily be heard.

Again showing my worthlessness as a wife, I silently opened the door of the study and looked in. I peeped in and saw that my husband performing prayers to Allah. I was shocked. The business deal had fell through and I could think of no reason why my husband would be praying. The fact that he could find and love God was something that I shamefully never thought possible.

The next day, I came home early and started to search through the study. I found my husband's books, discs and brochures. I knew almost nothing about Islam back then and as I read, I became more and more alarmed. The books and discs showed a strict religion with clear messages on good and evil, on clear differences between men and women, and on clear ways of conduct between the two genders. Not only that, there were many passages in the books that stated that women were inferior to men and were only on Earth to serve men and give them babies.

Some of the books went further. They declared that all women were "impure" and "sinful" and they must be closely controlled for their own good. The books declared that all women must remain dressed with the utmost modesty at all times, to protect themselves from sin and men from their sinful bodies. Some even declared that even women's voices were sinful, promoting that women must be gagged in public to prevent their voice from being heard by people. The books state that women should neither be seen or heard. I found that my husband had various pictures of women in burqa, niqabs and chadors, all looking serene and submissive. 

I was shocked but at the same time, I couldn't stop reading. I read everything I could get my hands on, totally forgetting the time and when my husband came home, he found me on the floor of the study with all his books around me. He was not pleased.

He screamed at me, rightfully scolding me for going through his things without his permission. His tone was angry but at the same time, I could heard that he was exasperated as well. Obviously, he had been bottling up his frustration about me for some time and for once, I felt shame.

My husband suddenly stopped with a look of surprise on his face and as I looked at him wondering why, I discovered the reason. Without knowing why, I had moved myself from my sitting position to my knees. I was kneeling in front of my husband and the act surprised both of us. Instead of being ashamed however, I felt "right".

That was the only way I could described my feelings. It was right. It was right that a woman like myself was on my knees in front of her husband. It was just right. Like the books said, it was the way all women should greet their husbands. However back then, I was prideful, stubborn and could not allow myself to believe my joy in discovering my submission.

I tried to grab back some pride by standing up, but suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. My husband was gripping my shoulder and pushing me down onto the floor. I glared at him and shouted.

"Let me go, you bastard!"

Struggling to free myself from under him, I heard my husband's cold reply.

"You're my wife," he said. "It is only right that you greet me on your knees."

That was actually what I felt as well and for a moment, my knees buckled. However like I said earlier, back then I was stubborn and I slapped my husband. Yes, I raised my hand against my lord and master. Even thinking of the moment now years later, I felt the justice of what happened next.

My husband slapped me back, causing me to fall on the ground, and as I tried to get up, he kicked me in the stomach. The kick took the wind out of me. My husband then grabbed my hands and took out a rope from somewhere. My hands were tied and I watched in shock as he pulled out his belt. Seeing the belt, my anger and rage quickly turned to fear and I pleaded with him not to do it.

Showing the pride and power of a man, my husband ignored me. He pushed me around so that my face would be against the floor and then stepped on me. With his foot on my back, he raised the belt over his shoulder, and then he started to strike my ass with the belt.

I screamed and pleaded but he was in another world. Looking back, I realized just how frustrated and unhappy he was. The business deal with the Middle Eastern company had fell through, he was in an unhappy marriage, and now his disrespectful wife had went through his things without permission. He was taking his frustration out on his wife and I now realized that this was his right.

When he finally stopped, I was in so much pain I could do nothing but lay on the ground. I was finally moved when my husband pulled me by my hair to our bedroom. I crawled quickly behind him and once we went into the bedroom, he pushed me onto the bed.

My husband wasted no time. He fell on top of me and entered me roughly. I felt his hand on my breast and for the first time ever, he squeezed. The pain was something I never felt in our love-making before and I discovered what I was missing. With his godly cock inside me, the pain caused me to reach my orgasm quickly. Usually, we would have stopped there but my husband continued on.  

He was following his own desires, using me as he wished and I let him. I did not complain, protested or fought; taking everything my husband was giving me. I did not know how long it took but my husband finally climaxed inside me. Showing my worthlessness as a wife, I remembered being silently worried about being pregnant.

Yes, instead of being glad of having his seed inside me, I was worried!

My husband must have read my mind because his rage was still not spent. He pulled me off the bed and made me stand in a corner of the bedroom. He warned me not to move and to look forward. He then went out of the room. A short while later, I heard him entering. The next thing I knew, a red cloth was cascading over me.   

I was blinded by the cloth but my husband was a good man. He kindly moved the cloth and before I knew it, I was looking through a grilled opening. I saw enough of my husband's books to realize that my husband had placed a burqa over me.

My husband slapped me on my ass and I jumped at the pain. However I remembered the whipping and did not move from my spot. Yes, I now think of it as my "spot". My husband warned me not to move again and went out of the roomn. I stood in my spot for the rest of the night and as my husband went to sleep, into the morning. The next morning, I called in sick and slept on the bed after my husband had left for work. I was still in the red burqa.

And it was a deep wonderful restful sleep.

The Birth of Hara

The girl was the perfect picture of a gentle and obedient Vipponese wife. Kneeling in her new house, the girl was silently awaiting her lord and husband for their first night as husband and wife. Today was her long awaited wedding day and she was excited...but you would never noticed it just by looking at her.

Kneeling on the floor in her white wedding kimono with matching white hoodveil, gloves and socks, the girl looked like she was not moving. You would be right. In Vipponese tradition, after a short introduction at the wedding dinner, the wife would be sent to the bedroom to wait silently for her husband, who would be at the dinner entertaining the guests. The girl had no orders from her husband except to wait silently for him, so that's what she was doing to do. She been training for the past 4 years for this day and had no intention of doing anything to displease her new husband.

Keeping with Vipponese tradition, the girl's father had taken her out of school at 13 years of age and since then, she had been undergoing marriage training. As part of the training, she was only allowed to wear a dowdy gray kimono with a hoodveil covering her face. A hood that covered her head with a veil covering the lower half of her face, the hoodveil only showed her eyes to her family and, on the rare occasion when she was allowed out of the house with a chaperone, the public.

The girl did not know how long she had been kneeling but she knew it did not matter. Her husband would come for her when he was ready. It was his choice. Still, her knees had began to hurt and she silently hope her husband would come soon. If she had said this out to her mother, her mother would have told her that her training was incomplete.

The girl would not have agreed as her marriage training was all compressing. The girl was only allowed to sleep in the kitchen of her old house on a thin mattress with only a blanket and pillow for company, and had to serve, clean and cook for the men of the family. The girl became a servant to the family. No, that was incorrect. Without another daughter in the family, she was the lowest person there, below even her mother. Her mother was the servant of the family; the girl was just a servant in training.

One more reason why she was looking forward to today.

As if answering her silent prayers, the door of her bedroom opened. The girl took a quick look at the man entering the door and saw that it was her husband wearing only a loose robe. The girl bow her head to the ground. The girl stayed in place as he walked around her, carefully inspecting his new wife, servant and slave.

"Stand"

The girl stood immediately despite the protest of her knees, obeying the first order given to her by her husband. She folded her hand in front of her and look down submissively at the ground. 

"Bend over"

The girl obeyed again. Bending over, she put her hands on her knees. A slap to her buttocks came almost immediately. The girl felt the sting of the slap but kept silence and maintained her position. Her husband used his hand to spank her again. Again the girl did not moved.

"Did you know what you did wrong?"

The girl had no idea. She answered that she did not and begged her husband to enlightened her.

"You are wearing clothes in the bedroom"

In Vippon, many men want their wives to be naked in the bedroom. It wasn't what you called a common practice but it happened so often that it was hardly unusual. The girl had no orders to be naked but it seem her husband is a follower of the practice and was displeased that his new wife was wearing clothes. The girl stored the information for the future and begged forgiveness from her husband.

"Take off your clothes"

The girl quickly obeyed. In seconds, her wedding kimono, gloves, socks and underwear were neatly folded on the ground. The girl then got back to her position. She bended over with her hands on her knees, wearing only her hoodveil. Her husband then moved his hand between her legs and was disappointed with what he found.

"You are not ready." Her husband said as he slapped her buttocks again. "Get yourself ready wife."

The girl moved her hand to her hole, rubbing it furiously to get herself wet for her husband. Her punishment was not quite over. As she desperately rubbed herself, her husband continued spanking her. The pain did not help the girl, she was never trained to accept pain as pleasure, but it did not deter her also. Countless slaps later, the girl was overjoyed to announced to her husband that she was ready.

Her husband checked and ordered her to the futon. The girl gingerly laid on the futon and opened her legs. Her husband did not waste any time. Opening his robe, her husband entered her immediately. The girl was embarrassed to discover that her husband was more ready for their wedding night than she was and vowed never to make the same silly mistake again. As a wife, the girl was at her husband's beck and call, not the other way around. A wife should always be ready for her husband. Her husband was, quickly coming to a climax.

"I shall call you Hara"

Her husband released as he made the pronouncement and the woman known as Hara was born. In Vippon, when a woman marry, she was leaving her old family to join a new one. In ancient times, it was common practice for the man to give the woman a new name on their wedding night, to symbolized the act of marriage.

As her husband withdraw himself from her, the woman known as Hara thanked her husband for her new name and promised to give him many strong sons. He husband grunted his approval and went to switch off the lights. As the lights went out, the girl was no more. In her place was the woman known as Hara, and she was content. She had been training for this day for the past 4 years and she was finally here.

She was now a wife. 

New In Dubai (Part 3)

The Sale

The Dubai Mall is the largest shopping mall in the world. It has more than 1,200 shops and at over 13 million square foot, it is the size of more than 50 football pitches. It is also the place where Zara would be sold.

At its height, over 750,000 visitors visit the Dubai Mall every week. After “The Plot” however, tourist numbers throughout the world plunged into an abyss that the tourism sector never quite recovered from. The Dubai Mall with its 250-room luxury hotel, 22 cinema screens, 120 restaurants and cafes, became a virtual ghost town.

With all the open space came an opportunity.

When the Dubai government wanted a central location to regulate all the returning slave trade, the Mall was the logical place to do it. It was big, spacious, well-known, and unused. A decision that the people of the region  agreed with as the Dubai Mall has now become the central slave market of not just Dubai, but the whole Middle East. None of this mattered to Zara as the door of the IIC opened.

Her uncle Johari led her by the arm through the mall and Zara felt nothing but shame. After the session in the IIC, she now knew the evil within her and wanted nothing but to be locked back into the darkness of the IIC. Even though she was gagged, shackled and hunched over, Zara felt shame even at the fact she was walking in public. She felt unworthy of even standing and not for the first time, secretly wished that her uncle was one of the men who do not allow their women to walk but only to crawl on all fours. It was nothing less than what women deserved.

However she wasn't going to defy her uncle. She was going to be sold today. She only prayed that her new owner would be that strict with her. 

Uncle Johari led Stephanie to a set of doors with a sign that state "Auction: Authorized Personal Only" above it. They entered the room and Zara was immediately overwhelmed.

The room was filled with over a hundred people, most of whom were women. Most of them were hunched over like her in her niqab, but some were naked with only their gag on them. If not for her gag, she would have cried out in shock.

Putting a hand on her arm, Uncle Johari began to lead Stephanie through the crowd. She was led to a man sitting behind a counter that was filled with files and documents.

“Johari Dhall, here for the sale of his niece Zara.”

The man behind the table looked up at Uncle Johari and picked up a piece of paper on the counter. After looking through it, he took out a piece of paper and a look of surprise came to his face.

“Everything seems in order Mr. Dhall but…”

“Is there a problem?”

“Well, it states here you imposed 3 criteria for the buyers. Buyer must be a Muslim, a citizen from the Emirates and…payment must be in cash?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Is there anything wrong?”

“Well no but…Mr. Dhall, these conditions will severely affect your selling price. Your girl is young but well, from the photos, she’s not a great beauty. You will not get a good price with these conditions.”

“Which will affect the 10% cut the government takes from every sale.”

“Now that’s not…”

“I understand perfectly where you’re coming from but a seller is allowed to impose a maximum of 3 conditions right?” Silence was answer enough. “So again I ask; it there anything wrong?”

“No there isn’t.” The officer stamped something on the piece of paper and then said something that surprised Zara. “Let’s see her then.”

Zara now knew why so many of the women in the room were naked as her Uncle Johari methodically took her chains away from her. First to come off was the silver chain linking her two pairs of cuffs. Her uncle then released Zara from her cuffs themselves, both on her feet and hands, leaving her unshackled in public for the first time in years. Zara was still getting used to being unchained when her uncle ordered her to undress herself.

It’s a show of her training that Zara complied without thinking. Before she realized what she was doing, Zara had already taken off her niqaab. Only after she realized she was showing her face in public did she hesitated. Her uncle waved her to continue on.

Soon her dress, gloves and socks were all on the ground and Zara was standing there naked with only her gag. She felt strange; ashamed at her nakedness but at the same time proud of how well she obeyed the orders of her uncle.

The officer looked at her naked form and stamped her paper again. “Okay, we’ll take her from here.”

A second later, another man showed up. After a quick word from the officer, the officer handed the man the piece of paper showing her information. The man then locked a collar around the neck of Zara and pulled on the leash attached to the collar. Zara took a quick look to her uncle who motioned for Zara to follow the man.

The man pulled Zara and the duo slowly walked to the other side of the room and out through a door. Slowly walking down a corridor, they made a turn at the end of the corridor. Zara could tell that the man was enjoying leading her by a leash. Still it was nothing less than normal and Zara quietly followed the man.

They went through another open door and that was when Zara first saw what was in store for her.

A row of naked women were standing at the far wall of the room but Zara did not have time to stare. The man pulled her to the wall and led her to the front of the line. Zara did not need an order to understand she need to stand alongside the women. After she did so, the man locked her leash to a bar above her. He then left.

Left in the room, Zara waited quietly with the other women. The women could not speak with each other due to their gags and a silent tension steadily built in the room. It was only broken occasionally when the man came in leading other women on their leashes. He always left after locking the women to the bar and never spoke to the women.

Zara soon found herself shivering from the tension.

Wanting to stop the shivering, Zara went to the method that had always served her well; trying to think of something to take her mind off her current situation. Her thoughts went to the Dubai Mall.

She remember the first time she visited the Dubai Aquarium and Discovery Centre. She remembered spending a wonderful afternoon watching the beautiful fishes swimming leisurely in the huge tanks, before having dinner with her family in one of the Mall's 120 restaurants and cafes. Zara remembered the Dubai Mall as it was, not as it is now; the central slave market of the Middle East.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a man dressed like a guard came in. He was followed by another man, a fat man dressed in a white Arabic robe. The guard was holding a file and looked over the row of women before checking something on his file.

"So, Zara Dhall? She's up first?" Zara realized he was looking at the paper the officer handed to the man earlier.

"Yes," the fat man said. "Her uncle want to sell her cheap. Poor girl must have pissed him off somehow."

What? Panic filled Zara. Was Uncle Johari angry with her? Did she do something wrong? Wait, was being sold cheap even a bad thing? She had no idea and the lack of knowledge made her panic even worse.

"None of our business." The guard said. "Nothing matters to us but the sale."

The fat man walked to the centre of the room and looked over the women who stood with their eyes to the ground.

"Okay, if any of you slaves do not know yet let me tell you now. You are here to be sold. In a few hours, all of you will be at the home of your new master who, hopefully for all our sakes, will keep you all from killing the world again." Zara let the insult washed over her. It was nothing but the truth. The fat man continued. "What's going to happen now is very simple. We will now proceed to the stage where all of you will first be covered in a burqa and then you will all take turns, one by one, walk down a catwalk. You will then walk back to the centre of the stage where we will take the burqa off. You will then walk back down the catwalk naked where I will try my best to sell you all off." So the fat man was the auctioneer and had a low view of women. Somehow Zara wasn't surprised.

"Now one more thing," the auctioneer said smiling. "Smile when you're out there."

Zara would have laughed if not for her gag. Everyone was telling her to smile today!

The auctioneer gave a signal to the guard and he began to unlock the women from the bar above them. He then chained the women to each other, locking their leashes to the collar of the women next to her. As Zara was the lead girl, the man took her leash and Zara obediently followed him. They went out of the room and down a corridor where they entered through a double-door.

This was where Zara first saw the stage. Elevated a few feet off the main floor was a T-shaped stage that was brightly lit with floodlights, Zara could see there were arrow signs on the edges of the runway which indicate the side where the women were supposed to walk to the front, and the side of the stage where they were supposed to walk back. The man leading gave a sharp tug on her leash and the row of women were on their way again.

The guard led the line of women to the back of the stage where all the women were made to kneel against a wall. Their leash was then locked to a ring on the floor and then, once again, they were left alone.  After half an hour, Zara's knees began to hurt but she knew better than to make any complaint. An hour later, there was finally some movement. The sound from the front of the stage began to increase and Zara knew the auction would start soon.  

The man came back pushing a trolley and he unlocked Zara from the floor. He motioned her to stand. Zara did as ordered and the guard picked up a piece of cloth from the trolley. Zara did not know why but he showed it to her; it was a beautiful white burqa.

Zara stood there stunned. The burqa must have cost hundreds...at least! 

Zara was still stunned when he put the burqa over her and led her to the stage. Only when she saw the bright lights of the stage and heard the soft Arabic music in the background did she came back to her senses and realized where she was. There must have been over 50 men there looking at her. She immediately remember what she need to do.

Step by step, she slowly walked down the runway. She put her head down, hoping to show the crowd the perfect submissive woman. For all her nerves,  Zara found that she wasn't all that unhappy being up there on the stage. Being up there, the centre of attention of all these men; it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. 

The runway wasn't that long and almost too soon, the walk was over for Zara. She found herself in the centre of the stage where the guard and the auctioneer came to stand beside her. The auctioneer began;

"Welcome gentlemen! Welcome to the sale of the latest meat of Dubai!"

The men in room hollered and cheered! Zara's heart fell and lifted at the same time. Terrified that she was considered nothing but meat to these men but at the same time glad that anyone who bought her today would clearly keep her in control. As the auctioneer continued his sales pitch, the guard took her burqa off.

Her shivering returned as she stood naked in front of the men with nothing on but her gag, collar and leash. The guard was the one who surprisingly came to her rescue. "Walk slave." Zara unthinkingly responded to the whisper. She slowly walked back down the runway again, only this time naked. She got to the end of the runway and discovered she didn't know what to do. Does she walked back? Do she just stand there? She didn't have any orders. When left with that situation, she did what came naturally.

She knelt and bowed her head to the ground.

It was the right move as the bidding went faster. Zara could immediately hear the auctioneer quickly recognizing one bid after another. The bidding quickly goes on till the winning bid settled on six hundred dollars.

Zara quickly felt the guard coming up to her. He took her leash and pulled her along. Crawling on her hands and knees, Zara followed the man to the centre of the stage and through the back. Zara only stopped when the man did. He spoke to another man and Zara quickly heard that this man was her new owner.  She kept her eyes to the ground, not wanting to disrespect her new owner. The man left and Zara was left with her new owner. Zara saw the foot of another man.

"Look up Zara."

Zara recognized the voice. She looked up and in shock, saw her uncle. Her uncle bend over and unlock her from her gag.

"Uncle Johari?"

Her uncle nodded and pointed to her new owner. "I believe you met Sharif before." Zara noticed her owner for the first time and saw that he was familiar.

"It's been awhile Zara." Her new owner said and Zara remembered him. He was the son of one of her father's friends. They used to play together when they were children.

"Uncle Johari, what's going on?"

"Well, Sharif's father knew you were going to be sold and approached me for permission to buy you for his son. I agreed."

"But...is that legal? I mean the slave market. They allow this?"

"You were on sale and I bought you." Her new owner said.

"True," Uncle Johari said. "The fact that your new owner and your old guardian has a private agreement beforehand is...well, a grey area."

The two men laughed in agreement and Zara now knew why her uncle put it those conditions and wanted to sell her cheap. He already knew who her new owner would be. Despite what her uncle said, Zara was pretty sure it was illegal. After "The Plot", women outnumbered men by a hefty margin and one of the main purpose of the slave market was to make sure all the men had an equal chance at the women on offer. Men had the choice and all men had an equal choice. That did not happen in her case and her uncle did it for her!

Her uncle took a risk and made sure she would go to someone who knew and cared for her. Zara didn't need anyone to tell her of the risk he took. She also knew there was nothing she could do to repay his kindness.

So she did the only thing she could. She smiled! 

New In Dubai (Part 2)

The Preparation

Later in life, when she looked back at the day of her sale, Zara would find difficulty in remembering what happened after hearing the news from Amir. She would vaguely remember doing her chores with the rest of the women; the cleaning, cooking, and serving, but she would be unable to recall any other details.

Only when her uncle, Johairi, ordered her to be bathed would her memory returned.  She would remember stepping into the bathtub, squatting down to pee as water ran over her skin. It was a welcome and rare sensation as women in the Dhall household were only allowed one shower per week. Rarer still was the fact that 2 older women, her mother and one of her aunts, were in charge of cleaning her. Zara knew the 2 older women were washing her for her sale but she was glad her mother was with her anyway. The death of her father had hit her the hardest but she fought through her despair and in the ensuring years, she had been there for Zara and Amir, showing her children their place in this new world.

“Remember to smile,” Zara looked at her mother who repeated herself. “Your smile is your most beautiful feature. When you are up there, remember to smile.”

Her mother’s love for her children was without question but it was still a surprise when she hugged Zara. Standing in the shower naked except for their collars, mother and daughter hugged each other for the last time.

Mother and daughter left the shower and after drying herself with a towel, Zara stepped out of the bathroom to see that a meal had been prepared for her.  Unlike the men who had proper meals prepared for them by the women, the women of the Dhall household usually ate simple food like rice or oatmeal with a bowl of plain water. It was still far better than other households. Uncle Johairi made sure all the food for the women were halal, something that couldn’t be said for every household in the Middle East as many people believed the sin of women were so high it was just a waste of time for them to try to follow God’s word.

Here in front of her however was a proper meal with chicken, vegetables, milk and even a mezze. The whole household was there with the women kneeling at attention on one side of the room and the 4 men of the Dhall household standing on the other. Standing in front of everyone was her Uncle Johairi.

The middle son of 3 boys, her uncle took responsibility for the sons, wives and daughters of his dead brothers when both of them fell to the disease. Zara knew it must have been a hard slog for him as it couldn’t be easy to be the sole man taking care of 14 people, 10 of whom were women. Despite all that had happened, Uncle Johairi never lost his innate kindness. Kindness that many would argue women do not deserved.

“Have a good meal Zara,” Uncle Johairi said. “Then we need to go.”

Zara did the only thing she could to show her gratitude; she knelt and bowed her head to ground. Slowly, she crawled to the submission plates on the floor. The food were place in dishes that were originally designed for dogs but in the years since the practice started, people had started to call them submission plates or "subplates" for short.

With her hands behind her head, Zara began to eat.

The food was delicious and Zara ate greedily. It has been some years since she ate anything like this outside the holidays, and she was sure her mother, aunts and cousins put in some time to get it perfect for her farewell. She didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

The meal ended too quickly and Zara found herself been guided to the living room where she was dressed for the public. First was the embarrassing but necessary diaper that Zara put on quickly. After that, came her gag. Designed to be a replica of a male tool with Islamic verses written on it, the gag was attached to a leather strap which Zara's aunts helped buckled behind her head. Zara felt the gag in her mouth and noticed that it was different from her usual gag which she had for the past few years. In another example of his kindness, Uncle Johari must have had it made especially for this day.

Zara then put on a long-sleeved black dress that reached her ankles, ankles that were covered by a pair of black socks. The dress was two sizes too big for her but nowadays, that's the accepted and expected practice in the Middle East. A thick black scarf of the same material was then placed over her head and her mother put on Zara's niqaab. The thick black veil was fastened above her eyes and only a tiny slit was allowed for her vision. Zara then held her hand forward together and her aunts covered them in a pair of black gloves. Her mother then cuffed her hands together with a pair of black handcuffs while an aunt cuffed her ankles together with another pair. Finally her mother knelt before her and linked the two pairs of cuffs together with a short silver chain. The short silver chain prevented Zara from standing upright and Zara had to stand with her back hunched. Her uncle may be kind but he was also devout. He followed the Islamic ruling that women should not be allowed to stand upright in public. In truth, Zara couldn’t say she disagreed.

“Zara,” Uncle Johairi kindly said. “Say goodbye to the family.”

Zara looked to her kneeling mother and was immediately hugged by her. A hug that was soon joined by the other women of the family.The group hug was only finally broken up by the soft sad command of her uncle. 

“Zara,” Uncle Johairi said. “We need to go.”

Her mother with tears in her eyes released her hug and whispered her final advice to Zara, “Remember to smile.”

Zara looked at her mother and did the only thing she could. She nodded. The women of the family moved back a step as Zara felt a hand on her elbow.

"We need to go Zara," her uncle said.

Cuffed, silenced, and hobbled, Zara was led to the driveway where the family car waited. Like most family vehicles in Dubai, the rear doors of the car were bigger than the front and the reason was waiting for her.

The Islamic Isolation Cube, widely known as the IIC for short, and was based on an American design. In the ironic aftermath of The Plot, nations around the world had truly joined together. With the shortage of men throughout the world, the remaining men of the world had to help each other in the control of women. Ideas and technology of how to control women were freely shared between nations and the IIC was just one example.

A cube-like machine, the IIC was officially designed for the safe transport of women over long distances but everyone knew and understood the real reason for the IIC. To strictly control women even when they are out of the house and to isolate the world from their evil.In the Middle East, the movement of women is strictly controlled but even in this region, sometimes there was a need for them to go out in public. In such situations, there is a need to control what a woman can do and see. The IIC was the result of such concerns. It is to provide a safe, isolated, and controlled way to move women from one location to another.

Amir opened the door of the IIC and as her uncle led Zara into the machine, Amir gave a friendly smile to her. Zara nodded in return, glad that her brother was there to send her off. She had no hard feelings at Amir’s actions this morning as it was nothing but what she, and all other women in the world, deserved. She was old enough to know that it wasn’t always this way, but everything changed due to “The Plot” and she was about to get a history lesson;a lesson to remind women of their horrible nature.

Zara was grateful for the soft cushions of the chair in the IIC. There were many families who do not care to spend such expenses for the comfort of their women, and it was another show of the concern and kindness of her uncle. As Zara sat comfortably in the chair within the IIC, her uncle strapped her in with the leather straps that came with the chair.

Kind as he was, there were some things even he can't get away with. Locking a woman in the IIC was one of them. Uncle Johari used the straps to lock Zara's hands, legs, body, and head in place and after making sure she was as secure and comfortable as possible, he closed the door to the IIC. A brief darkness surrounded Zara before her history lesson then started.

A screen lit up in front of Zara's face and with her head locked in position she had no choice but to look at it. A strong male voice sang an Islamic verse. Within the dark and soundproof IIC, the idea was that the screen and the voice would become Zara's world.  Zara had to agree it was a good idea.

The lesson started with a picture;a picture of dead bodies. A picture showing thousands and thousands of dead bodies laying in the desert. Laying there because there was just no place in the morgue to house them. The male voice of the IIC then told Zara of the horror of "The Plot". Of how 7 years ago, a flu-like disease swept the globe and changed the world.

At first the world thought it was another worldwide flu epidemic like the 1918 Spanish Flu, but events soon proved that this was no ordinary pandemic. In 1918, those infected by the Spanish Flu had a mortality rate of 10%, this disease however had a mortality rate closer to 25%.

As the disease spread, the world soon realized a strange characteristic of the disease. The disease affected men more than women to a degree unseen of throughout history. Throughout the world, men died in the millions while women died only in the hundreds. The world soon discovered why as news came that the disease sweeping the globe was in fact a man-made virus.

Traditional enemies immediately began to blame each other for manufacturing the disease. Even though no one had any evidence, fear, panic and unfounded accusation led to wars throughout the world. In the Middle East, a short and bloody war now known as the “Months of Mistakes” erupted.The war made Mecca a nuclear wasteland and Jerusalem a chemically uninhabitable city. The screen in front of Zara showed the destruction of the Great Mosque in Mecca as well as what was left of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. Throughout she had seen the pictures countless times, Zara still feel the horror of seeing the two holy cities of Islam in ruins. She wanted nothing but to closed her eyes but she crushed her desire and cursed her own weakness. This was the truth and as a woman, like all women, she needed to be reminded of the evil her gender was capable of.

Memories of the day when a then 9 year old Zara lost her father came flooding back.

Mohammad Dhall was a fit, healthy man, a loving father and husband, but the disease took no notice. It took him to Allah along with millions of others. Zara remembered that day clearly when news came from the hospital that his father had fallen to the disease. The disease spread so quickly that no one knew anything about it and patients had to be quarantined for the public’s safety. So her father died alone, without his family beside him. A heartbreak that was soon compounded when her 2 year old brother, Iskander, also fell to the disease.

The history lesson in the IIC continued on.

As disease and global war made Earth a living hell, a discovery changed everything. The news came from the Americans. The American government, or what’s left of it by then, announced to the world they had uncovered the origin of the disease. Zara still remember that day when crowding around the television, her surviving family members heard the news that the disease was not a man-made; it was a woman-made disease. 

Now commonly known as “The Plot”, the disease was invented by a group of militant women with a devious aim. These women desired a world where there was female dominance of the planet and to achieve this, they decided to knowingly kill millions of men throughout the world.

The news spread throughout the world like a firestorm. Unless you were in the deepest jungle of the Amazon, there was no way anyone would have missed the news of “The Plot” and the plans of the women involved. To make matters worse, the American government informed the world that the women in America had help in inventing and spreading the disease. The disease had spread too quickly throughout the world and the Americans believed there was no way the women could have been so successful without help from other like-minded groups in the invention and spread of the disease. This was a plot that had worldwide global help but with the American population so depleted due to the disease, they found that they no longer have the necessary resources to find all these women.

That was the reason they made the information public. They were asking for information and help from other governments in tracking down these collaborators. So began the worldwide witch-hunt for the collaborators of “The Plot”.

It was a hunt everyone wanted in on.

Every family has lost at least some male family members to the disease and in a region like the Middle East where family is everything, vengeance was on the mind of everyone. Women who had lost sons, fathers, and husbands, were especially “helpful” in tracking down the collaborators but when the first collaborators were captured and trialed, the information that came out were more infuriating than satisfying. 

It was another period of time Zara could remember clearly. The collaborators could be divided into 2 groups. The few women who had full knowledge of the plan and knew what they were doing, and the majority of the plotters who did not. Most of these secondary collaborators swore by the Koran they had no idea they were helping to spread a disease to kill their own family members, much less 25% of the male population in the world. Even the few women who did know of the actual plan were surprised by how well it worked. To these women, the plan was kill “some” of the male populations of the world, not 1 out of every 4 of them.  The shame and horror Zara felt when it was revealed that women, not men, were responsible for the deaths of millions were compounded by the fact these women thought that it was okay to just killed "some" of the men.

Needless to say, all these women, even those who did not have first-hand knowledge of what "The Plot" was doing, were executed. Unlike the soft West, ignorance was not considered a reasonable excuse when millions of bodies were already in the ground.

The wars that started due to the disease stopped almost immediately when “The Plot” was discovered but by then the damage was done. Not only had millions been killed, and cities destroyed, the disease continued to spread unabated. Drugs were created to slow and combat the disease but men still died in the tens of thousands. However the months after the “Months of Mistakes” were not just a period of mourning, but also a period when the world showed its resilience.

The World Health Organization received help from almost every major country and the United Nations, which had helped in the suing for peace throughout the world, passed a UN treaty that banned the right to go to war for 100 years.

Frankly, it wasn’t all that difficult as no one was interested in more deaths but it was a great giant step for humankind. Grievances between nations, races and even religions, were all put aside as everyone wanted to rebuild what the women took away. It was the same in the Middle East as every nation laid down its arms to start rebuilding. Food, technology, building materials; anything that was needed for the rebuilding was willingly and happily shared by everyone. However with the rebuilding came the need to ensure that what had happened would never happen again. With that need, came a small miracle.

The UN came with a non-binding treaty that banned the right to vote for women throughout the world. In the aftermath of the horror of "The Plot", the treaty passed easily but it was the decision of the various countries of the world whether to implement the treaty. Zara had heard rumors that there were still some countries in the world that still foolishly allow the vote to women, but in the Middle East there was never any doubt all countries would implement the treaty. This was when the miracle happened.

The screen in front of Zara showed the press conference where senior religious leaders from Islam, Christianity and Judaism from all sects came together to support the treaty and urged all people of the faith, of any faith, to support it as well. A civil law now came with universal religious consent and the people took to it with vigor. Strict laws were passed banning women from all jobs but the most mundane and menial. Strict laws were passed in the control and confinement of women. Strict sumptuary laws were passed to control the dressing of women in public and private settings. In short, anything and everything a woman did was controlled and harsh punishment was issued to anyone caught flouting the laws.

The program in the IIC ended with scenes of the rebuilding the world had undertaken in the years since “The Plot” was discovered. Saudi Arabic was building a new city called New Mecca; Iran hosted a conference where senior Sunni and Shite clerics came together promising peace between the two major sects of Islam; religious leaders from Islam, Christianity and Judaism were discussing a new site to build a New Jerusalem; and the peace was shared throughout the world. The final scene of the lesion was that of a museum and monument was under construction in Geneva for the men killed by “The Plot”.

With the end of the lesson, the IIC became dark with only the sound of Islamic music in the background. Zara closed her eyes to enjoy the sweet sound of the music when it suddenly stopped. The screen then lighted up and Zara opened her eyes. This time the program started with a woman confessing proudly to "The Plot". 

Zara knew her. 

She was Mia Limburg, an Israeli woman who was one of the leaders of "The Plot" in the Middle East. Zara had seen this program before when she was taken on a long trip to Abu Dhabi last year. The program would show a series of confessions from the women involved in "The Plot" and while some like Mia Limburg were proud of their work, most were horrified by the results of their actions. 

Zara sat in the darkness with her eyes closed, listening to the confessions of these women and silently glad of the control the men had in her life. Zara had no illusions of herself; she was just a normal girl and if she had been born 10 or 20 years earlier, she would had grown up in a time when women had more freedom. Freedom like what these women had; freedom that allowed them (willingly or unwillingly) to join a mad plot that killed millions of men.

No, it was better now with women taken out of public life, being fully controlled by their men. Zara tugged at the chains and straps confining her. They did not give her an inch of freedom and Zara was relieved. These hateful women who proved once and for all that women should never be free. With her confinement, the world was still at peace.