Sunday, July 10, 2011

'96 Months' VI

Days after returning to prison, I was taken to the doctor and given a full examination. He also carefully measured various areas of my body with a tape measure and recorded the circumference of my neck, wrists, biceps just above the elbow, ankles, thighs just above the knees and waist. He commented on how much he would miss me, as the trimmed Arab girls were no where near as much enjoyment as a full lipped European. I kept silent and made a note to thank the Princess for my deliverance from the cruel doctor.

That night Solana squatted over my face and I tasted her flesh for the last time. I would miss her.

The next morning I was taken from the prison and placed stripped naked into a limousine with my wrists tied in back of me. Princess Rosanna was in the back seat and guided me to the floor of the car.

"Kneel. We have an appointment and then we’ll go right to the farm. Your sentence has been commuted from eight years in prison to time served. However, you’re on lifetime parole in my custody. As discussed, the 500 lashes stand."

I kissed her feet in gratitude.

"Remember. If you violate parole, I will send you back to prison. None of the time spent at the farm will count toward your sentence."

It was an interesting situation. I would never see England again unless I went back and completed my sentence. Thoughts of escaping from the farm entered my mind. How secure could it be compared to the prison?

The limousine stopped on the outskirts of the city in an industrial area. The driver, a black woman, honked the horn in front of the overhead doors of a warehouse. The doors slowly opened and the car drove into a dank, hot, dust covered steel hut.

Princess Rosanna helped me from the car. A large, burly, Arab stood staring at me, then motioned me to a table. For whatever reason, I immediately got up on the table and knelt, fully displaying my genitalia. The Arab laughed. Princess Rosanna smiled and released my wrists.

"I’m having you shackled, Little One. The farm is 100 miles from the nearest city, so escape is difficult. But I have a certain proclivity for restraint. Severe and complete restraint."

She nodded to the Arab. The powerful black woman who was driving stood on the opposite side of the table. She also smiled.

"These trinkets cost a lot of money. Custom made of tungsten steel. You’ll find them quite heavy."

The Arab slipped a broad manacle over my right wrist, then closed it with a clasp.

"Almost impossible to cut without special tools."

The manacle was somewhat lose and could be slipped up and down my forearm about three or four inches. The Arab slid a protective piece of leather under the manacle and touched the clasp with a welding rod. The quick, bright spark frightened me.

"Mohammed has spent much time crafting these items. You’ll find the surface to be smooth and it won’t irritate your skin."

The left wrist was quickly encircled. Then my biceps, ankles, thighs, neck, and finally my waist. All were welded shut Each band of steel had several eye hooks attached to it. The number of different ropes, cords, thongs and chains etc. that could be used to secure the bands and therefore my body was countless. When finished, I stepped off the table as commanded, but fell to the floor. The added weight of the "trinkets", as the Princess referred to them, was enormous. All laughed at my struggles.

"You’re 110 pounds and are carrying about 30 pounds of steel. I can attach additional weights to the eye hooks, if necessary. So, any plans to escape across the desert will be very tiring. Also, you’ll find that the steel gets very hot in the sun. Don’t think about long walks in the desert."

We got back into the car for the two hour trip to the farm. Princess Rosanna clipped the steel arm bands together connecting my elbows behind me. This caused me to thrust out my breasts and the Princess toyed with them as I knelt. We watched miles of sand pass by the window and she talked about herself and the farm.


An oasis is a most unusual place. Water makes all the difference between sand and dust and lush green vegetation. Princess Rosanna had inherited the oasis/farm from her father. It was not the most valuable asset he had owned, but in the Islamic culture to bequeath anything to a daughter is very rare. It seems the Princess’s father knew of her odd propensities and felt it better that she be isolated. And, she had never married. This was odd for Saudi royalty. But as I learned more about the Princess I understood her celibacy.

The twenty acres were filled with palm trees and dense reeds and grass. Paths had been cut through but from where the large black woman parked the limousine, no buildings could be seen.

We stepped out. Princess Rosanna walked ahead. The black woman, I later learned her name was Lantita, snapped a leash on my collar.

The Princess paused and looked back.

"Just until you get used to being here we’ll keep you carefully restrained. After you have learned the rules you’ll have more freedom when I’m not present."

Lantita led me through the tall grasses. Within minutes a house appeared. It was white stucco. One story. A thatched roof, presumably made from the grasses grown at the oasis. Modest in design but large. Another building a short distance away was taller but not as spacious. Lantita referred to it as the stable.

As we approached the house two young teenagers ran toward us from the porch. They were naked with blond hair shaped in the style of a page boy. Similar in appearance from a distance, I was surprised to see that one was a girl and one was a boy. Except that as I looked closely, the boy had been gelded. Both smiled and ran to the Princess with open arms. They were short in stature and the top of their heads only reached to the Princess’s shoulder. They both hugged her.

"Well, children, we have someone to play with."

She introduced me as Nurse Hopkins. I hadn’t heard my name in a long while and it sounded foreign. She put her arms around the necks of the two and we all proceeded to the house.


Anonymous said...

I knew the girl would't be allowed to get away so easily; the characters in your stories never really escape.

That said. there is truly something enchanting about your writing. How it tugs at our hidden desires and makes me actually want to be in the role of the protagonist/victim, as dismal a situation as I know they are in.

I don't know how you do it, but please, never lose that signature style of writing. :D

Anonymous said...

i really like your stories and this one is no exception. but i have a few questions for you because i am a very visual person what did it mean when you said the girls were trimmed and what is gelding?

Chris Bellows said...

Thank you all for the boast.

As noted, this is a very early effort and my style has hopefully changed for the better.

'Trimmed' alludes to 'female circumcision' at one time quite a prominent practice in some Arab cultures, i. e. the removal of the clitoris and labia minora... thought to make the female docile and sexually more subservient.

Gelded is just that, removal of the testes, expressed in equine terms as befitting the story line.