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. 

New In Dubai

The Announcement

Zara woke in the same place she had woken up to in the past 5 years; in noisy darkness.

Like always, Zara extended her body once awake and hit the soft, smooth fabric that engulfed her. Like all women of Dubai nowadays, Zara slept in a black body bag. Wide enough to cover her body in full, it was however perfectly designed to only allow her to sleep with her knees curled up to her body.

With the incessant ringing of the room alarm in the background, Zara got up to her hands and knees. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, tried to stand up and...hit her head against the bars of the cage. The knock woke her up fully and Zara cursed herself for her own stupidity. Her sleepy brain had made her forgot that she was still in her cage and Zara again scolded herself for forgetting her place.

This is her life now; sleeping in a body bag in a small cage. Not only that, she was naked with only a collar around her neck and diapers to control her bodily fluids. Zara took a breath in the darkness, controlling herself. She remained herself this is nothing special. All other women in Dubai now sleep like this, some probably in worse conditions. Silently she made her daily vow to accept this position as her deserved lot in life.

Her control back, Zara put her hands on the ground and waited patiently for the morning release. She knew the other women of the Dhall household were doing the same thing. Waking up like her, all of them were also dressed like her; naked except for a collar and a diaper. The only other accessory the women were allowed was a pendant showing the name of "Dhall" hanging from the front of the collar. An example showing that they were owned and controlled. Freedom is something women no longer deserved.

This is the way it should be. Freedom for women had cost the world too much and Zara could only hope the men of the world would not make the same mistake ever again. The footsteps of the men were clearly heard a few moments later and Zara heard the door of the room being opened. Slowly, she heard the sounds of the cages being opened one by one.

When she heard her cage being opened, Zara immediately started to crawl out. Still in the darkness of her body bag, Zara felt a hand on her neck and followed its direction, not too gently, crawling to the centre of the room. An increase in pressure by the hand told her to stop. The hand then released her neck and a moment later, Zara heard another cage being opened.

Zara knew from memory that the cages were placed on both sides of the room and apart from each other. There was a certain hierarchy in the positioning of the cages. The older women had their cages nearer to the door of the female room while the younger girls had their cages at the back of the room. The bars of the cages were small so that the women could not reach out to touch one another even if they managed to get out of their bags. Though they were confined to their body bags, on one wanted to take any chances with the women being free without male supervision.

Zara waited as the sound of the cages being opened finally stopped. Minutes later, she felt her body bag being opened. Crawling out of it, she made sure her eyes were on the ground the whole time.Once fully out of the bag, Zara lowered her head to the ground. The man was satisfied with her show of submission and went on the next woman.On all fours, Zara waited for him to finish and give her the daily inspection.

“Stand and attention”

Zara recognized that the squeaky male voice belonged to her younger brother Amir who at 14 was the youngest surviving man in the Dhall family. His age did not matter as all the women stood up at his command and stood at attention. Standing with her feet wide apart, Zara raised her arms up and interlocked her fingers behind her head. With her head looking up, she pushed her shoulders back, thrusting her breasts forward. She also made sure to have a big smile on her face. Beside, in front and behind her, all the other women of the Dhall family did the same.

Any discomfort Amir had in seeing 10 women naked and standing at attention in front of him was destroyed long ago. Seeing that everyone was ready, Amir started the inspection. There were 10 women in the house but as she was near the head of the line today, it only took moments before Amir got to her. Zara was slightly surprised that he was alone today as usually when he was here, there would be another male with him. Zara guessed this meant her younger brother was growing up and her smile got wider. 

Still, Zara did not envy him. She knew Amir had to be careful. It’s the responsibility of the younger men to make sure the women were properly maintained and it was a heavy responsibility. No one wanted another “plot” and the only way to prevent it was to make sure all women were controlled and shackled.

When Amir reached Zara, she steeled herself for his inspection. Unlike the naked women, Amir was wearing a traditional long-sleeved white Arabic robe with a white keffiyeh on his head. He was also wearing surgical gloves, and with them Amir’s hands first touched Zara’s armpits. After making sure they were properly shaved, his hands moved towards her breasts. He gave them each of her nipples a firm, and for Zara, painful tug. Zara said and did nothing outside making sure her smile was in place. Even when Amir’s hand slapped her face, once on each cheek, her smile never left its place. Instead she embraced the sting on her cheeks and thanked her brother for reminding her of her place.

“Thank you brother”

Her dry throat protested at being used without a drink of water first but Zara knew food and water would only come after the inspection. Her brother ignored her as was his right and moved on to the next woman.

Eventually, Amir finished with his round of inspection and stood back in front of the women. It was time for the second, more humiliatingly, round of inspection.

"Babies, release your diapers."

Zara still feel a sting in her heart at being called a baby but knew Amir was right. The legal status of women in Dubai now was that of a newborn. In legal terms, women were considered babies who could never grow up and as such must be fully "taken care of" at all times.

Zara released her diapers and carefully dropped them to the ground. The smell of 10 used diapers filled the room but none of the women cared. It was something they had smelled on a daily basis for years. Amir however rubbed his nose at it.  

“Stand and attention”

Zara and the women got back into attention at Amir's command and he began his second round of inspection.

When he reached her again, Amir first reached down between her legs to softly make sure there was no stubble in the area. Zara felt great shame at this but you would never notice it just by looking at her. Her smile was still in place when Amir gave her another command.

Zara bended over and with her hands on her buttocks, pushed open her ass for her younger brother. She felt his hand with his dirty glove go into her and in her heart, Zara fought to stay in place. Like always, she won. Amir was checking if she had hid any items inside her and Zara again remained herself this was nothing but what she and all women in the world deserved. She told herself the world could take no changes when it came to the danger posed by women.

“Kneel”

Amir's command came the moment his hand was out of her and Zara immediately knelt on command. Amir moved his hand (which was just in her) over her head, petting her like a pet and at the same time checking to make sure her head was properly shaved. Like all women in Dubai, in accordance to the law, Zara’s head was bald. In fact, outside her eyebrows all other areas of her body were shorn of hair. Women throughout history had taken great care of their beauty and their hair was always considered important.

Not anymore.

The second inspection went as expected, there were no problems with the women of Dhall. Humiliating as it was, all the women knew it was necessary and thrived to keep themselves properly maintained. Amir was soon in front of the women again. He took out a piece of paper and began to read out their chores of the days. Zara heard her name being called and what she was supposed to do today. Zara thought she must have misheard but when the other women turned to watch her, she knew otherwise. Uncle Johari would have to punish them later for breaking from attention without permission, but that would come later and she wouldn't be around by then. Hoping to show confidence even when she felt none, she forced her smile wider.

As Amir turned to leave the room, Zara bowed her head to the ground with her hands still behind her head. She made sure her ass was high in air as she, along with the rest of the women, thanked Amir for his presence. She forced her voice to be cheerful but her heart was pounding.

Today, she was going to be sold.

Special thanks to J. Kreeg. This story is set in the same world as his "New In Town" story which is posted in the free Yahoo group, Confining Clothing (https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/confiningclothing/info). If you wish to know more about the world, please join the group for free and look under the Files section for the folder "Kreeg's Stories". Thanks

The Southern Park of the Dragon

The Southern Park of the Dragon had a reputation of being the most beautiful park in Sakura City and Iza had to admit that so far, the reputation was fully deserved.  It was still early morning and the warm soft sunlight had bathed the park in a soft warm glow.

Iza smiled beneath her hood-veil as a morning breeze flowed past her.  As she walked, she could see the first signs of activities of the city. A young family was strolling further up the path with the wife pushing a baby stroller and walking a respectful 3 steps behind her husband; a young teenage boy was walking his dog to her right, a jogger was running down the path in the opposite direction of her. As he got closer, Iza noticed that he was not along.

A woman was running along behind him and unlike the man who was dressed in a modern tracksuit, the woman was dressed in traditional Vipponese sporting attire but with a touch of the modern about her. Dressed all in black, the woman had a pair of black pants on with a black shirt and gloves. With her hood-veil, she looked like a ninja except for her running shoes and a black leather collar that encircled her neck. A silver chain ran from it to the man’s right wrist where it was connected to a bracelet.

As the man ran past her, Iza respectfully kept her head down but she risk a glance at the man’s hands and noticed that she was mistaken. It wasn’t a bracelet but a sport watch which had a hook for the woman’s chain. The woman’s hoodveil was also modified in some way. The traditional hoodveil was cloth which the woman folded to fully cover their head leaving only a gap for their eyes. This woman’s hoodveil was partly made out of leather. Iza could not tell how much of it was leather but could see that the area of the hoodveil below the chin was made of leather and it goes around the neck like a collar. The silver chain was connected to the front and Iza briefly wondered if the woman created it herself. For the honor of their family, public display of submission to their husbands was considered a norm for most women in Vippon, and some women like to modify their own clothing for a "personal" touch in their public display.

That was not Iza.

A girl who came from a rich family from the province of the Tiger, Iza was never bought up traditionally like most girls in the country. Her father was liberal and forward thinking, more concerned with Iza's education in science and mathematics than her homemaking skills. She loved him for it, and that was the only reason she agreed to this matchmaking meeting. She even wore a new furisode for it.

A style of kimono, the furisode is a formal style of kimono worn by unmarried girls since ancient times in Vippon to signify that the girl was single, and of legal age for marriage. Iza had ordered a new one for this meeting and it was exquisite.  Made of fine silk, her furisode was bright blue in color with flying white cranes patterned on it. The long distinguishable sleeves ran 100 cm, and her red obi was decorated with flowing lines symbolizing water. It was a pain to walk in but she felt it necessary to show her status and her family’s wealth. Not for Iza was the traditional view that women should be demure invisible and submissive. 

Everything on her was expensive, including the black hoodveil covering her head.  Made of the finest silkworm, the veil left only a small area for her eyes but outside that, her entire head was totally covered. Completing her outfit were her white gloves and white split-toe socks, as well as her geta footwear. Iza was confident that she was as perfectly dressed as possible for a formal matchmaking meeting. She wanted to be as perfect as possible so that no one could begrudge her when she rejected the match.

Yusuke Moon was a scion of a rich family from the Sheep Province. The unusual family name was because the Moon family was not native Vipponese. The family originated from Jorea, Vippon’s north neighbor, and most of their family’s businesses was based on trade between the two countries. Iza, much like her liberal father, could not care less about the fact that the family was less than one hundred percent Vipponese, but she do care about the fact that married women were expected to quit education and jobs to focus on the family. Sure, family was important to her but the daily servitude of a Vipponese wife was so unlike her, Iza wanted to laugh whenever she thought of it.

No; she was not ready for marriage.

A thought further enforced when she saw her potential husband. The location chosen was near perfect. Under a sakura tree, a traditional low table was placed on a wide tatami mat and a tea set was on display on the table. Behind the table sat Yusuke Moon.

Iza’s potential husband was, for a lack of a better word, fat. Sitting behind the low table, Iza saw that his gut was twice bigger than what it should be, and it says a lot of his health that sweat could be seen on his brow even though he was sitting down under a tree. Iza was glad her hoodveil was covering her face or her look of disgust could be seen by all.

Yusuke took up as she approached and both of them bowed to each other, Iza making sure her head was lower than Yusuke. After that came the customary introductions. Both of them recited their family lineage, education, and for Yusuke, his job and business. It was all very boring for Iza and she found her attention wandering to her surroundings. Then Yusuke asked her to drink the tea.

Yusuke had bought a servant of the Moon household with him who was, as befitting her station, kneeling on the grass just beyond the tatami mat. Silent as a ghost, she stood and approached her two superiors with her head bowed and hands folded in front of her.  Kneeling beside the table, she then slowly and carefully poured the tea into the tea cup. She then placed a white screen between her and Yusuke before prostrating herself before Iza. As Yusuke was praising the quality of the tea before her, Iza was more pleased by the fact that the servants of the Moon household was if nothing else, well-trained. As she took down her veil, to drink the tea, she was almost sorry she had already decided to reject this marriage. She would have enjoyed being served by servants who knew their place.

Even though the screen protected her from Yusuke’s view, Iza went through the rituals of handling the tea properly before taking a sip of the tea. It was foul. The terrible tea stung her tongue but given the social etiquette of Vippon, she had no choice but to drink the rest of the tea. The servant placed her hands on the screen and Iza quickly put her veil back in place.As the servant stood up and retreated backwards toward her original position beyond the tatami mat, Iza was thinking that perhaps the servants of the Moon household was not that well-trained after all. A good servant would have waited for a signal from her before removing the screen.

Yusuke asked, “How was the tea, gentle Iza?”

Several thoughts went through her head before Iza decided to go for the most direct route of ending this farce of a marriage meeting. “Yusuke, I am sorry but I’m afraid our taste in tea is vastly different. I thought that this is foul.”

Iza thought Yusuke would have been displeased by this but instead Yusuke had a big smile on his face. “It is,” Yusuke admitted. “It is truly terrible.”

Iza was knocked by this admission. “I’m sorry Yusuke but you were just praising the quality of the tea to me a moment ago.”

“I was,” Yusuke admitted again. “It was a test.”

“A test?” Iza asked. “For what?”

“For you of course, silly girl,” This was the first time Yusuke has been less than unfailing polite and seeing the mischievous eyes of Yusuke, the moment Iza realized just how outplayed she had been till now. To his credit, Yusuke waited a moment for Iza to gather herself before continuing.

“Dear Iza, I take it you realized that the Moon household is part Jorean and part Vipponese.” Seeing Iza’s nod, Yusuke explained the test. “You see in some ways, Jorea and Vippon are very similar but in some ways, the differences are subtle yet great. Take this test for example; wives in Vippon are supposed to tell the whole truth to their husbands so as a Vippon girl yourself, what you did was correct. You told the truth even though you thought it would displease me.”

This was about the last thing on Iza’s mind when she answered but for now she just nodded. Yusuke continued, “However in Jorea, it’s different. In Jorea, wives are expected to tell the truth but at the same time, they are not to contradict their husband in public. In fact, due to their mutemask, they cannot even if they want to.”

Iza of course knew of the mutemask. A fiberglass white mask all women in Jorea wore to show their chastity and obedience, the mute mask encased the head of the women rigidly, preventing them from speaking in public.

“But what does that got to do with this…test?”

Yusuke’s smile got bigger and he said, “It’s very simple really. It’s a simple matter of social etiquette. Under Vipponese social etiquette, you telling me this tea is foul is totally acceptable but under  Jorean etiquette, you telling me this tea is foul is something worthy of harsh punishment.”

Iza was afraid to ask but intrigued, she found she had to. “So which “social etiquette” should a wife of the Moon household follow?”

“Both of course,” Yusuke said. “Stupid girl, just look at Momoe.”

For the first time, Iza took a good look at the servant Yusuke bought along and only now did Iza realized that Momoe was dressed in a combination of Jorean and Vipponese clothing. She was dressed in a drab brown Jorean hanbok, but on her head was a Vipponese hoodveil instead of a Jorean mutemask. Iza was wondering if all servants of the Moon household dressed like this when she realized that Yusuke had not introduced Momoe at all. The fact that Momoe was a servant was something she thought up herself due to her dressing, Yusuke never introduced her as such. Which means…

“I’m sorry Yusuke but you haven’t introduced me to Momoe yet.”

“Oh yes, I haven’t.” Yusuke said. “Let me correct that right now. Iza, please meet my first wife, Momoe Moon.”

Iza’s stomach turned at the introduction but she had no time to dwell on that as Momoe bowed her head to the ground. Even though she had no wish to agree to the marriage, Iza knew that she shouldn’t have the first wife of her potential husband bowing her head to her. She responded quickly, bowing her head towards Momoe and pleading.

“I’m sorry, Momoe-san. I did not realize I was in the presence of Yusuke’s first wife. Please forgive me.”

Both women held their position towards each other, on their knees with their head to the ground, till Yususke said. “Wife, you may answer.”

“There is nothing to forgive Iza-san for we are both servants and slaves of the Moon household.” Momoe replied.

It was the correct, respectful thing to day  but while Momoe's words were correct, her actions were not. Normally, you would raise your head at this point but Iza did not feel Momoe raising her head and refused to do it before her.

“Wife, you may rise.” Only then did the two women raise their heads from the ground and Iza could see that Yususke was delighted by the situation. He said, “Back to the explanation! As you can see stupid girl, the women in the Moon household dressed in a Jorean hanbok with a Vipponese veil. This partial uniform is to show our history as a migrant family from Jorea who made good in the Kingdom of Vippon. It's not too difficult for you to understand right?"

The insults were beginning to glad on her nerves but Iza was also curious. Why would her father agreed to this marriage when Yusuke already have a wife? He must have known about that and Iza could not believe he would willing let her be a second wife. Yet her father agreed to this marriage meeting and Iza was smart enough to know he must have a good reason for it. Iza wanted to know the reason. She did nothing but gave a small nod.

"Good," Yusuke said. "But it's not good for women to be too intelligent, right Momoe?"

Momoe who was still kneeling on the grass just beyond the tatami mat just replied quietly, "Yes my lord. Women are to serve the house and be slaves to their lords. Nothing else."

Yusuke nodded. "Servant to the Moon household; slaves to their husbands. These are the qualities we require of our wives. However if you are unable to fulfill these requirements, I wish to ensure you this marriage can be cancelled with no hard feelings on our side." It took every ounce of Iza's self-control not to leap at the offer; she knew there must be a catch to this offer. Yusuke promptly gave it to her. "Of course, the business alliance between our families would be cancelled as well."

Not wanting to aggravated the situation before knowing the whole story, Iza gave a submissive nod and said. "I'm sorry Yusuke but I do not know much about the family business. It's not something my father speak of to me."

"That's something I agree with. Women has no role in business, though with what I heard of your father's "progressive" leanings, very surprising." Iza felt like slapping Yusuke's face at the insult but the feelings evaporated when he continued. "Of course,  many would say this was why your father's business is in some much trouble."

It was an Eureka moment for Iza. Suddenly, everything made sense. If the family business was in trouble, a marriage sealing a business alliance with the prosperous Moon family would help. That was why he arrange this marriage meeting and since this meeting was between his beloved daughter and a vile man like Yusuke, the family business must be in serious trouble.

"What is your decision girl?" Yusuke asked. "Understand that if you agree to the marriage, it will be the last decision you ever make because a woman of the Moon household never decide, they only obey."

Iza bowed her head to the ground and said. "There is no decision to be made...my lord. I obey the choice of my father."

Iza could sense Yusuke standing up and could him dropping something on the low table.

"My girl, you have been very disrespectful to me since the start of our meeting." Yusuke said. "Offer this to me and beg for punishment."

Iza looked up at the table and could see there is a belt on the table. For her father and family, there was no choice. Taking the belt with both hands, Iza held it above her head and begged. “Please use this belt and punish me for my failure my lord.”

Iza felt the belt leaving her hands and heard her lord's order. "Bowed your head to the ground stupid girl and raise you ugly butt high. I will give you 10 swats of the belt. Maintain the position at all times, make sure to keep your brainless head below the level of your butt. Understand stupid girl?”

As Yusuke held the belt over his head, Iza said,  "This stupid girl understand my lord."

The belt came down and the park echoed with the strike. A few passerby took a look at the scene and among them was an old man looking through a pair of binoculars.

“Looks like negotiations were successful.”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

The old man looked at the man beside him, a man destined to be family by marriage in the future. “In truth, considering the rumors of how liberal she was brought up, I thought there’s a fair chance your daughter would reject the marriage proposal.”

The other man laughed gently at his friend. “There’s more than one way to get obedience,’ the other man said. “Obedience is not something you gain only through pain, humiliation and beatings.  Sometimes love is more effective than any of the above.”

“Like the love a daughter has for her father?”

“That and the love she has for the family. See how she would accept a beating from a stranger she just met for the sake of the family who she believes is in trouble?”

The old man look through his binoculars again and could see that his son was giving his future second wife a full thrashing, holding nothing back in his strikes. Yet despite it all, the girl was still in position accepting the beating that was her due. The old man had to admit he was more than a little impressed. “This would be a good marriage for the Moon household,” the old admitted to his future in-law in more ways than one. “Come; let us discuss the details of our business deal.”

With that comment, the two old men turned away from the scene. Nearer to the couple, the passerbys who had stopped to watch the beating slowly moved on. It was just another day in the Southern Park of the Dragon. 

I’m Back

Honestly I was never away, but had just been lazy. I’ll been writing stories for a few years now and has been crunching out about a story per month. I’m just a little tired of the output and decided to take a break.

I’m slightly amazed and humbled people still come to this blog despite there’s been no updates in half a year. However I haven’t been totally idle as I did write a few things in the past 6 months. Once the New Year has passed, I’ll put up a new Vippon story and I have 2 other stories on the backburner, one of which is already halfway done.

Thank you all for your support and please look out for my new stories in the coming year. Thanks!