Gromet's PlazaErotic Stories

My Odyssey Part 21: Anne-Marie's Fantasy As narrated

by Anne-Marie to Tony B

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2008 - Anne-Marie to Tony B - Used by permission

Storycodes: MM/f; kidnap; bond; enema; mast; transported; fantasy; reluct; X

(story continues from )

Continues from part 20

My Odyssey

As narrated by Anne-Marie Killamajiian,
Wife of Ahmed, of the House of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant

Warning: This story involves bondage, consensual sex, domination, coercion, sex changes, sexual slavery, rape, and other jiggery-pokery. It is entirely fictional, and is intended as entertainment for adults only. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to any location or activity is purely coincidental. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. (As if anybody ever is!)

Note: If you would like to contact the authoress to make a comment, you may contact Anne through [email protected] who originally published it as “My Story”. She hopes you enjoy reading her story. Tony would also appreciate your comments. We will endeavor to answer all emails.

Recap: Anne has been describing to me how she became an Arabian Wife … Wife of Ahmed of the house of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant

Part 21: Anne-Marie's Fantasy, aka The Camel Driver

Anne was describing to me how she became an Arabian wife.

“Tell me about your fantasies”, I said. “One which you use to have an orgasm without a man.”

“Alright`” she said, “but first I have to tell you that I really like to have an orgasm. The only thing that is better is a multiple orgasm – or being forced to orgasm over and over by a man who is controlling me, and my orgasms. I was trained at the Clinic in the techniques of Transcendental Meditation – how to put myself into a mental place where everything is almost as real as reality itself. If I can imagine something, it’s almost as if it’s actually happening to me. Everything in my fantasies are as if they are actually happening. And when it comes to orgasming, there is no practical difference. I really do cum!”

“An old Chinese Bondage Master taught me to go to my ‘Secret Place’ through meditation, where even the pain of being beaten could be blotted out of my mind while it was happening.”

“One of my favorite fantasies is ‘The Camel Driver’.” she said.


My name is Anne. I’m an American woman, and an Arabian Sex-Slave.

I was working in West Africa for the Peace Corps, when I was kidnapped, and forced to become a Sex-Toy for my Master, and anyone he chooses to share me with.

I was beaten and whipped into submission daily, and forced to become as docile as other Arabian women.

I was forced to learn the rules of being an Arabian woman, and to accept my new role in life, forgetting my past, and everything I held dear. I was forced to recite the rules daily, until I had learned them by heart, and fully accepted them as if they were wedding vows, and engraved in stone.

Rule 1: I am the property of my Master, and a Chattel of his house.

Rule 2: My primary duty is to provide pleasure, comfort and obedience to my Master.

Rule 3: My secondary duty is to provide pleasure for anyone he chooses.

I won’t bother you with the rest of the seven rules, they’re pretty much, more of the same.

My Master is an illegal diamond merchant, who also deals in women’s bodies. Not that he’s a slaver, but he is a facilitator, finding available women and setting up their kidnapping and training until they are well broken, and accept the changes in their life. Then they are sold or traded on an International Market.

Women, and diamonds, are often transported across the ancient desert trade routes to destinations beyond West Africa. Diamonds are the currency of slave traders, because they can be easily hidden, and represent great value. Camels and Camel Caravans are the most common means of transportation, because on the loose sand of the desert, a camel can outrun a horse, and can generally avoid motorized police patrols. They also travel most easily at night, navigating by the stars, and sleeping during the day to escape the heat of the desert.

We had all been told stories when we came to Africa of women being kidnapped into slavery, and forced to transport diamonds and drugs in pouches forced into their vaginas, held in place by locked chastity belts. But we were assured that was unlikely to happen to us, as slavery had been stamped out.

Well, it hadn’t been. It still goes on today.

When I was kidnapped, I was sure that the police would rescue me, but that was before I was tied and gagged, packed in a box, and transported as part of a camel caravan. Once in the desert, on the ancient camel routes, rescue was nearly impossible.

But let me start at the beginning…..

After college, I was an idealist, and signed on for a two-year tour of disadvantaged countries in West Africa. I had been posted to a war-torn country that had been ravaged by foreign troops, yet as an American, I felt relatively safe. Speaking of our small enclave of Peace Corps workers, we avoided the war-torn areas, and pretty much stuck to the safer International communities in the principle cities.

There had been rumors of women being kidnapped and sold into slavery, but they were mostly rumors, and nobody ever actually knew anyone to whom that had happened, although kidnapping for ransoms was commonplace.

One day, my friend Margaret and I grew tired of being cooped up in our foreign compound, and decided on a lark to explore the native market, just down the street from the hotel where we were staying. That was the mistake of a lifetime. Margaret was British, and we had formed a fast friendship.

Sneaking out of the hotel was easy. We just waited until everyone was in a meeting, and slipped out the back door and into the street. But somehow, the street behind the hotel was different than the one in front of it – the one the foreign tourists got to see. In back of the hotel, the streets were narrow, winding, and dirty. It was as if it was a different world. A world, which wasn’t clean and scrubbed, trying to present its best face to the world at large.

As we worked our way down the street, in the general direction of the native marketplace, we lost track of directions, and made a wrong turn. A turn that took us right into a different world. A world where women became slaves, and sex-toys for rich Arabian men. Men who would whip and beat them into submission to their perverted desires.

So it was with Margaret and me. Margaret was captured first. She was walking behind me in single file, trying to avoid the garbage in the street, when I heard her scream. As I turned to look at her, two men were holding her, and forcing a black bag over her head. I remember how she screamed so well…. It was a scream of utter terror!

As I yelled “Stop! We’re Peace Corps volunteers!”, two men emerged from a doorway, and grabbed me from behind. One held my arms so I couldn’t escape, and the other pulled a black bag roughly over my head. I couldn’t see anything, and could hear very little. It was if suddenly Margaret was screaming a mile away, and I could barely hear her.

As one man held my arms down, another quickly slipped a belt of some sort around my arms and chest, and pulled it tight, pulling my arms against my sides. I felt my hands being pulled behind my back, and a piece of rope circling my wrists, and being pulled tight. I had never been tied up before, and tried to struggle free, while screaming obscenities at these men myself.

“You G-- D--- F------ B---------!” I screamed. “Let me go!”

Suddenly, something hit me in the head, and my knees went weak, and I collapsed. My head was swimming, and I lapsed into unconsciousness. That was the last I ever saw or heard of my friend, Margaret, or anyone I ever knew.

When I came to, I found myself naked, tied, gagged and blindfolded. I didn’t know where I was, or what was going to happen to me. I was shaking with fear, and being so afraid, my bladder let go, and I peed all over myself – or my legs anyway.

I could hear two men laughing and talking but couldn’t understand what they were saying. It was a foreign language, with which I was not familiar.

I suddenly felt someone poking my naked breast. I tried to pull away, but was unsuccessful, as I realized that I was strapped down on a table, or bench of some sort. My fear grew stronger, not knowing what these men were going to do to me. I didn’t have long to wait in order to find out. At the very least, I expected to be raped. Perhaps beaten, but I had no idea what was really in store for me. Of the life of degradation that awaited me.

While the man who was touching my breast became more aggressive, he began to pinch a nipple. Tightly! It hurt, and I tried to yell out in protest. No use; I could only manage a muffled objection through the gag that was in my mouth.

While he squeezed and prodded my breast, I tried to take stock of what was happening.

I could feel straps around my body at various points and tried to struggle free, while at the same time, taking inventory of the situation.

Let’s see….. I had been kidnapped, I was naked, blindfolded and gagged. My arms were held tightly to my sides by a leather belt, my wrists were strapped together behind my back, and my knees and ankles were strapped together by something softer. Maybe rope, or possible a smaller belt. And there was a leather collar around my neck – perhaps a dog collar.

Suddenly the man who was squeezing my breast said something, and I heard a second man walk up to the table – I had decided I was strapped down on a table of some sort – and felt him boldly place his hand on my naked belly. They exchanged a couple of words, one laughed, and I felt a hand being pressed between my legs, and fingers seeking out my clitoris. Of course he found it – it was right where it should have been, and he began to stroke it, gently.

I felt myself starting to respond to his touch. I didn’t want to, but my body had been trained to respond to a man’s touch between my legs while I was sexually active in college. I couldn’t help myself; I let out a small sound. Whether it was pleasure, or protest, I couldn’t tell. But as he touched me there, my body reacted to his touch. I tried to pull away, but being strapped down, it was impossible.

Suddenly, he stopped rubbing my clit, and pressed it hard. In perfectly good English, he said, “Don’t struggle little one, we shall soon remove your fun button.”

I was horrified at the thought. A man I’d never seen, was telling me that he intended to remove my clitoris – the most precious thing a woman has that defines her very existence. I whined audibly – both from the thought of being circumcised, and the pain that I felt as he pressed hard on my clit. I knew that in this situation, I couldn’t prevent him from taking my clit if he wanted to, and visions of circumcised African women flashed through my head.

Was this real? Or just a threat???

“You peed yourself”, he proclaimed, withdrawing his fingers from my genitals. There was nothing I could say, even if I wanted to. It must have been obvious. There must have been a puddle of urine under my butt where I had peed in fear of what was happening.

“Do you have to pee some more?”, I heard him ask. I took stock of the situation, and decided I did, so I nodded my head.

“Okay”, he said. “If you don’t struggle, I’ll take care of you.”

I heard him say something to the other man, but didn’t understand their language. But in a moment, I felt something snaking across my back, between my bound hands and the table. I realized it was another bondage strap, and guessed that it would soon be pulled tight around my body.

In a moment, I felt the strap around my ankles, the one holding me down to the table, being loosened. I wondered whether I should take a chance, and try to kick my captors if I got the chance. I decided that would probably be a bad idea so lay there passively. It was probably a good thing I did, because there was a second strap around both ankles, still holding them together, and there was still the strap around my knees.

“Now relax”, I heard him say. “I’m going to raise your legs.”

There was nothing I could do about whatever he wanted to do to me, so tried to relax, even though I knew I would be fully exposed, and he could look at my pussy and ass as he took care of my physical need. Strangely, I felt embarrassed at having this unknown man touch and see me like this.

I felt my legs being raised, and my knees being bent. His hands held my ankles tightly, as he raised my knees clear to my chest, and pressed them down hard against my breasts. I felt him pull the new strap behind my knees, now pressing against my nipples, and tightening the strap, holding them there. There was no use protesting the position, he could do with me whatever he wished. But I was afraid that if he didn’t help me relieve my bladder soon, I was going to squirt all over him.

Now that my knees were firmly strapped to my chest, he pressed my feet down to my buttocks, and I felt another strap scooted under my hips, and tightened around my ankles, holding them in place. I was held in a wide-open position, with my genitals fully exposed. I felt like a frog that had been turned over on its back. I wondered what was coming next. It took only a moment before I found out.

I felt his fingers spreading my labia apart, and feeling around for my clitoris again. Damn! What the hell was he going to do to me now???

Suddenly, he spread my labia wide apart, and I felt the pressure of something being pressed into me. I realized that he was pressing a tube up my urethra. He was catheterizing me – giving my bladder a way to empty itself with no effort on my part, and no sensation of having to “go” while the tube extended up inside me to the bladder. God! What was attached to the other end of the tube? Was he going to drain my bladder into a bucket, or on the floor, or what???

“This will take care of your immediate need”, he said. “You’ll wear this for a few days while we’re transporting you, so you won’t have to pee again. Now just relax while I’m draining you.”

Somehow, I felt violated. I felt that that my most private parts – my most private bodily functions had been violated. I felt almost as if I had been raped….. Raped without penetration. I felt tears come to my eyes, and sobbed into my gag at my helpless condition. I was on the verge of crying, and felt my body shudder as I realized that I was just short of sobbing aloud.

I felt a hard slap across my butt, and heard my captor say, “None of that, girl. Crying won’t do you any good, so just relax and let me drain you. You’ll get a nice, warm enema, next.”

Oh, God! What did this man want of me? What was he going to do to me? Was he going to kill me? And what had happened to my friend, Margaret? Was she undergoing similar treatment? Or worse??? I couldn’t stop myself from crying, or openly sobbing into the gag in my mouth.

“There is no use struggling”, he said. “You can’t escape from here. No use screaming either, as we’re underground and no one can hear you. You’d better just learn to relax and accept whatever I want to do to you.”

He had said “transporting me”. Where were they going to take me, and why? Why me???

I was afraid. I was VERY afraid! The worst part was in not knowing the answers to the questions I couldn’t ask.

“I’m going to give you the enema now.” My captor was talking. “This will be a high colonic irrigation, to completely empty your colon and intestines of fecal matter. If you don’t struggle, I will be careful not to hurt you. We don’t want you damaged internally, you know. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t answer, being gagged and blindfolded. My responses could only be to struggle in protest and be hurt, possibly damaged internally, or try to relax and accept what was happening to me. He had already drained my bladder, and I could do nothing about it.

I grunted my acceptance through the gag, and nodded my head.

“Good girl!”, he said. “Now relax your butt while I insert the nozzle. This nozzle contains two hoses, one to force water into your colon, and the other to drain the liquid waste. It will continue until the water flows clear, and your intestine is completely empty. You will feel some discomfort, but not undue pain while the water flows into and out of you. If you struggle, or try to dislodge the nozzle, I’ll turn up the water pressure, which will hurt you, inside. – Understood?”

I nodded my head again. There was little else I could do.

“Good!”, he said. “We have to have your intestines empty while we transport you, so you won’t have to go to the bathroom while you’re getting to your destination.”

Destination??? Where was he going to take me?

He continued to explain what was going to happen to me…. “It generally takes 30 hours for food to get from the stomach to the anus, and with empty intestines, that gives us a day and a half to two days in order to get you there, before your body has to use the toilet again.”

I listened in horror, but there was nothing I could do about it. He was going to do what he wanted to do to me.

I felt my butt cheeks being spread apart wide, exposing my anus. The air was cold on that normally protected part. I felt his fingers being repositioned closer to my butt hole, and felt the coldness as he swabbed my anus with a lubricant of some kind. Next, I felt the nozzle of an enema tube pressing up against my unprotected hole, and the pressure slowly applied to force it into my colon.

Instinctively, I tried to clench my anus closed, but there was no denying entry to the pressure of this hard nozzle. It seemed thicker than any other enema nozzle I’d ever had in my backside, and I realized my kidnapper had to be using a douche tube instead of an enema tube to force water into my colon and lower intestines.

Oh, God! I could imagine that if he pulled it out of me, everything that was in my colon would come gushing out, leaving a mess all over the table to which I was strapped.

It was uncomfortable, as I felt the warm water start to flow into me. How much was he going to make me take? I’ve had an enema before, and knew that it could be painful internally, as it filled you with warm, soapy water. It could be as painful as menstrual cramps on a bad day – a heavy flow day, feeling as if you were ruptured inside, and leaking blood all over. I hated that feeling – that feeling of being so messy and out of control.

At first, the water trickled into me slowly, filling my colon, making me feel as if I had just eaten a large meal. A meal! I suddenly realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I had no idea of how long it had been since Margaret and I had been kidnapped, and wondered that I was not hungry, or thirsty. It might have been the surprise of my situation, or just outright fear that was over-riding any hunger I might have felt.

But suddenly, it all got worse! As I felt my bowel being slowly filled with water, I felt my kidnapper’s fingers seeking out my clitoris again. As he found it and slowly started to rub it, I realized he was going to masturbate me, while he was irrigating the contents of my intestines. What a strange thought that was, and what a strange feeling, as I felt I was being double-violated. I was being pumped clean in my ass, and he was trying to make me cum at the same time. Well, at least masturbating me would distract me from the flowing water in my backside, and the movement I felt within my abdomen.
I wondered how long this process of cleaning me out was going to take.

I wanted to scream in protest, but knew that the gag would prevent me from anything but a muffled noise. He might have interpreted that as acceptance, or worse, of pleasure, and make my situation worse, so I kept quiet, and accepted what he was doing to me. But still lurking in the back of my mind was the nagging thought that he was going to rape me before this was over. I wondered if this was also happening to Margaret in another room somewhere.

But if I thought things couldn’t get any worse, suddenly they did. I felt two hands seeking a good hold on my breasts from above. There was a hand on my butt, holding the nozzle into my backside, a finger rubbing my clitoris briskly, and two hands groping my breasts. I realized that there were two men in the room again, amusing themselves by using me. Maybe they had both been there all the time, although I thought that only my captor and myself were playing this bizarre game which had turned serious.

As the second man cupped my breasts and began to rhythmically massage them, he whispered something to the first man in the foreign language, and laughed under his breath. I could only imagine that he was describing how nice my breasts felt, or how nice it was to have a captive bound to the table, headed for slavery, and remarking how nice my breasts were.

I knew how perfect they were. I was only 24, and they were still firm and perky, and I had heard many compliments on both their size and shape while in college. To some extent, all men are “breast men”, and appreciate a good pair of tits! But giving a man a feel now and then, and being boldly felt with no say in the matter was another violation of the privacy of my body. Again, nothing I could do about it! I realized that unless I was rescued, my fate was heading toward becoming just another missing person on a police report somewhere, while I became a sex slave for some pervert.

And the tension in my loins began to build as my captor’s fingers continued their energetic massage of my clit. ….. I wondered if he could bring me off against my will???

The second man was flicking my nipples now, as the first man continued to masturbate me, and I was getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

I didn’t know how long this had been continuing, but it had been a long time, with one man irrigating my bowels, massaging my clit, and the other massaging my breasts. It seemed like hours. I drifted from pleasure to abhorrence at what was happening to me. The worst part, I was beginning to enjoy it. And my body began to look forward to the orgasm that was coming as these two men had their way with me.

How perverse! I was actually beginning to like the loss of control, and being manipulated by these men for their ultimate pleasure. I knew what was coming if things kept up along this track. Yet for the discomfort and pleasure they were inflicting on me, neither had shown any interest in taking their own pleasure out on me. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, they were going to rape me, and I began to wonder just when they were going to take me, and how, considering that I was trussed up and strapped to the table.

“I think that will do it”, my captor said, as he stopped massaging my clitoris. “You’re clean now, and almost ready for your trip.

The second man, who had been playing with my breasts and nips, continued, as the first man pulled the irrigation tube from my body, and used a towel to wipe my ass.

The man who was still playing with my breasts, and rolling my nipples between his fingers, leaned over and pressed his cheek to mine. The stubble of his beard scratched the skin on my face, and I turned my head away.

I felt his hot breath on my ear as he whispered in broken English, “I like fuck you now, but more better, later.”

Instinctively I groaned, imagining this man’s sweaty body on top of mine, using me, while I could do nothing about it to resist. I decided this man was a pig!

“Don’t worry, woman”, the captor said…. “He is not allowed to fuck you! He is only the camel driver!”

“Yes, but I can stick my ollie in her neck”, the pig said. “I make me feel good and fill the belly when I, at feed time take her.”

There was no response from the captor, and I had visions of having to deep-throat the pig while the captor wasn’t preventing it. I felt the pigs fingers tracing the outline of my lips that were circling the ball in my mouth, held there by a leather strap.

I heard the pig grunt something in their language, and the captor agreed. “Yes, she’s very pretty. I think the Prince will be pleased.”

Another few words from the pig, and the captor said, “I think she will train well. She is already accepting the fact that she cannot escape her fate.”

After a pause, he said, “Don’t worry woman, you’ll be locked in a box most of the time, and he won’t be able to get at you.”

At least that calmed my mind a bit, but ‘locked in a box’ worried me. I had another vision of me being tied and gagged, and locked in a trunk of some kind, on the back of a camel, crossing the desert. And ultimately, that is exactly what happened.

“Now”, he said, “you’ve been a good girl so far, so I’m going to relieve you. I’m going to let you cum for me.”

“Oh, no”, I thought. “Here it comes ….. He’s going to rape me now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

But no! I heard the click of a switch, and the familiar buzz of a vibrator – a strong vibrator – one of those ‘Industrial Strength’ vibrators. The big ones that aren’t inserted into the vagina, but which are used to tease the clitoris into a wild dance as they force the woman to cum, and cum, and cum.

“Relax now”, he said. “Let’s see how long it takes you to cum.”

He pressed the buzzing vibrator against my love button, and by body jerked from the unexpected pressure. He was going to hold it tightly against my clit to make be cum. Why can’t men ever learn to do it tenderly, so the woman can enjoy it??? Despite his tenderness up ‘til now, the pressure of the vibrator against my clit made me to know that an orgasm, if I could get there, would be rough and painful.


“By this time, I would usually have had my orgasm, sometimes two”, she said.

Suddenly the spell was broken. I had been listening to Anne’s fantasy in rapt attention, and suddenly we were back in my bedroom in Ahmed’s mansion in the desert. Her fantasy was fascinating – how she could bring herself off, without the assistance of a man.

“Does your fantasy always make you cum?” I asked.

“Usually”, she said. “If it doesn’t, I just continue the fantasy until it does.”

“And how would you continue ‘The Camel Driver’?” I asked.

“Well, next, my pussy would be shaved, and a bag of diamonds or something would be forced into my pussy, which would then be locked into me by a chastity belt and large locks. I would be lifted off the table, packed in a box, and taken into the desert as cargo on the back of a camel. ….. I would be removed from the box twice a day for feeding, and would be punished for spitting on the pig of a camel driver.”

“How would that go?” I Asked.

“Well, I would still be naked, of course, and with my hands tied high behind my back. He would secure me to a stake he pounded into the sand, and make me kneel next to the stake. Then he would lock a chain around my neck, holding me to the stake while he whipped his dick back and forth across my face. I would hope that it would leave no bruises on my face, but would be sure it would. They call it being ‘dick-whipped’.”

“Then he would use a riding crop to whip my breasts, and force things into my vagina, after he had removed the chastity belt that held the pouch of diamonds in my pussy. He would be very rough with me, and would force me to walk behind the camel, being pulled by the chain around my neck, while my hands were still tied behind me, and the hot sand burned my feet…..”

“That’s sado-masochism”, I said.

“From one view”, she said….. “… or it could be domination and punishment.”

“I must say, Anne, there are a great number of sado-masochistic elements in your fantasies.”

“Yes, I know that”, she said. “But it’s the way I was trained. When you’re a woman, you eventually learn that your pussy is primarily for the pleasure of men, reproduction aside. And you have to learn how to get pleasure yourself from the sexual act. That generally comes to women in the form of submission. Accepting that you will give pleasure to a man, and he will give pleasure to you. It’s way better than masturbation, where you pleasure yourself. So ultimately, women get pleasure, by giving pleasure. And the sooner they learn that, the better their sex lives become.”

“But there are so many elements of control involved. How men tie you up, control you, and force you to have orgasms.”

“Yes”, she said. “That is part of the ultimate submission. To give yourself to a man, with or without consent is delicious.”

“But how can you ‘give yourself’, without consent?” I asked.

“It’s part of submission to men ….. of accepting what your pussy is for – what your life is all about.”

“I don’t think I understand that”, I said.

“I didn’t either, when I was a man. ….. But now it is perfectly clear to me. My pussy – my ass – my mouth and throat are there for a man’s pleasure, and by accepting that, a great weight of guilt is lifted off my shoulders, and I am free to enjoy whatever he wants to do to me.”

“Even whipping and beating?”, I asked.

“Yes, even that.” She replied. “Being whipped is not as bad as it sounds. The pain goes away, and the feeling of submission and acceptance remains. I was once told that guilt takes away the responsibility and that pain makes the guilt go away. So it comes back to submission.”

I could no longer think of an argument, so I said, “I’ll have to think about that. Anyway, we can continue this discussion in the morning.”

“It’s just as well”, she said. “I have a new experience for you tonight…..”

In the next chapter, I continue to learn about Anne-Marie Killamajiian, wife of Ahmed of the House of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant.


story continues in


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
erotic stories