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My Odyssey Part 22: The Round House As narrated

by Anne-Marie to Tony B

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© Copyright 2009 - Anne-Marie to Tony B - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/ff; slave; bond; bdsm; susp; gag; oral; nc; XX

(story continues from )

Continues from part 21

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.


Part 22: The Round House

I was awakened in the middle of the night.  I didn’t know how long I’d been sleeping, but it seemed as if I’d just dropped off, when I heard his voice.

“Wake up, Cunt”, he said.

As I opened my eyes, it was Osala I saw.  Osala – Ahmed’s brother.  The one who liked to hurt women.

Groggily, I looked around the room for Star, my servant and companion, before I remembered that she wasn’t there.  She had been sent to Dr. Bulieu’s secret clinic in Thailand for her final sex reassignment surgery.  When she came back, she would have a functional vagina, and a red rose tattoo on her lower back, just like mine, to signify that she was a changeling – a sex toy for the pleasure of men in Ahmed’s house.

Technically, I am the Mistress of the house.  Ahmed is my husband, and it pleases him to bestow my sexual favors on the men in his house, his friends, and business acquaintances.  It’s the way it’s always been with Arabian women.  It’s traditional for Arabian men to share their women with other men.

There’s nothing dysfunctional about my husband, he takes me at least once a day, and usually more often than that, but I can usually be expected to provide pleasure for several men each day.  I don’t mind.  I like being a sex toy.  And I like being used several times a day for the men in my household.  All except for Osala, of course.  He’s a real pig, and gains more pleasure from hurting women than from fucking them.

His evil face was grinning down at me, and I realized that he had drawn me for the night, and that most likely, I was in for a beating that would leave ugly red welts on my body for weeks.

He ripped the sheet from my nude body, and ordered “Present!”

I knew what he wanted, and automatically as I had been trained, and obediently, I immediately moved my hands together in front of me, wrists touching.  I knew he was going to secure my hands together, and much more, before morning.

He slipped a strap around my wrists, pinning them together, and drew it tight, while he secured the buckle that would hold them together as long as he wanted.  Then he looked at me.

I was nude.  In equatorial Africa, most Arabians sleep nude, in order to escape the heat of the day, and I was no exception.  But I think it also enflames the minds of Arab men to think about their women sleeping in the raw, so to speak.

He was attaching a dog leash to the strap around my wrists, and I begged, “Please Osala, don’t hurt me.”

“Shut up, American whore”, he ordered.  “You know what your pussy is for, and I’m going to amuse myself with it tonight!”

I felt a shudder run down my back, knowing full well what Osala could do to a woman with impunity.

Anything he damn well wanted!

He jerked the leash, and urged me to sit on the edge of the bed in an upright position.  He pulled a rubber ball gag from a pocket in his robe and held it in front of my face where I could see it.

“Open wide”, he said, “and I won’t hurt you for now…..”

Obediently, I opened my mouth, and Osala pushed the ball into my waiting mouth, and lodged it behind my teeth.  He pulled the straps tight along my cheeks, around my head, and buckled them behind my head, trapping my hair under the straps.

As he pulled the straps tight, I muttered an “Mmmmff” sound in protest.

“Oh, you don’t like that, huh?” he asked.  “Well get used to it – you’ll only have to wear it until morning.”

Jerking the chain attached to my wrists, he ordered “Get up, and follow me!”

There was little else I could do.  I stood up, as he turned and headed for the door, leading me behind him.

There was no one in the hallway, or out the side door, as he pulled me toward the stables.  Some of the old horse stalls was where Osala liked to string women up and beat them into submission.  I was frequently strung up there, as a reminder that I was the property of my husband’s house, and his obedient sex slave, although I was seldom beaten.  It was not unpleasant being exposed to the men of the house that way, as I was proud of my body, and what I could do with it to give men pleasure.

The hard ground under my feet hurt as I stumbled along behind Osala, and I knew he was purposefully walking faster than normal to accentuate my feeling of helplessness.

I’m sure that if anyone saw me, they would have seen an Arab dragging a nude and bound woman along behind, dragging her to her punishment.

A he tugged me along, he spoke threateningly, “You and your little pussy are going to give me great pleasure tonight.”

And I knew I could do little else.  If Ahmed had allowed this, it was going to happen, no matter what Osala had decided to do to me.  And I was sure that Ahmed had approved, since Osala wouldn’t dare beat me without his brother’s permission.  Fucking me would be one thing – Osala had used me several times since I became a sex toy in Ahmed’s house, but beating me where it would leave marks was quite another thing.  I hadn’t been beaten since my training to be an obedient Arabian wife.

But at the turn in the trail that would lead to the stables, Osala pulled me toward the Round House instead.

The Round House was formerly a granary, where straw and hay had been stored for the horses.  But since building the modern stable, it was used by Osala as a torture room where he did his worst to women in breaking and training them to become sex slaves.

I realized that I was in for a severe beating, and would be forced to watch myself being beaten by the many mirrors on the walls of the main room.  I began to wail in protest behind my gag.  I didn’t want to be beaten that badly again, with every inch of my body covered by bloody welts.

I began to resist, shaking my head back and forth, but Osala, being stronger than I simply gripped the chain around my wrists more firmly, and pulled a little harder, leading me into the round house.

By the time we got inside, I was visibly crying and sobbing into my gag.

“Quiet, cunt”, he ordered!  “Look at what a pleasant sight I have prepared for you.”

The room was dimly lit, but I could make out a woman, hanging upside-down in the middle of the room. Her legs were spread wide, held in place by a spreader bar, and her hands strapped together like mine, were attached to the ring embedded in the floor, directly underneath the block and tackle that was holding her suspended.

It was obvious that she had been beaten.  Her buttocks, belly, and breasts were all criss-crossed with red welts from the three-foot long riding crop that Osala liked to use on women.  She was gagged, of course, and her eyes were wet, evidence of her recent crying.  They were begging for no more punishment, and she looked at me pleadingly, hoping that I would interfere, and end her suffering.

It was Rebecca.  A young woman who had been sold into sexual slavery, the result of not being a virgin when it came time for her to be wed.  It was Osala’s job to break her will, and train her to be an obedient sex slave for the rest of her life.  I knew that she had been in “training” for several weeks, and that she would soon have a hysterectomy which would permanently prevent pregnancy.  Arab men seem to like women who can never become pregnant as sexual companions.  …..  Obedient sexual companions.

I pitied the poor girl, but there was nothing I could do to help her.  I thought that Osala must have brought me here to watch her being punished.  He jerked the chain again, and pulled me over to his punishment stool.

“Sit”, he commanded!

Obediently, I sat on the stool.  It was only about eight inches high, and sitting on it forced a woman’s knees apart above waist level, giving him a good view of her genitals.

He pulled the chain around my wrists down to the floor, between my legs, and snapped the chain to a ring embedded in the floor in front of the stool.  In this position, a woman’s body was bent forward, and her entire back, from her neck to her buttocks was fully exposed to the riding crop, and whatever punishment he decided to apply.

But Osala, sadist that he was, wasn’t done yet.  In this bent over position, I couldn’t watch him beat Rebecca very well.

He left for a moment, and when he came back, he was carrying another spreader bar.  I realized that he was going to spread my feet apart further than they already were, which would be more painful to my hips in this bent over position.  As he affixed the spreader bar to my ankles, as each strap went around an ankle and was pulled tight, he made no effort to be gentle.  He jerked my legs apart, unresponsive to the pain he was causing in my hips.  I moaned at the pain.

“Hurts, does it?” he asked.  “That’s good.  I like it to hurt!”

For emphasis, he pushed my knees apart, which caused even more pain.

I screamed into my gag!

He held my knees apart, and I screamed again, even louder.

“Good”, he said.  “You scream very well!  You’ll be hoarse by morning with your screaming!”

I realized by that, that he WAS going to punish me, and that it was going to be a hard night.  But what of Rebecca?  Was she going to be forced to watch ME being beaten???

I watched as Osala picked up the dreaded riding crop – the one that he had beaten Rebecca with, and that he was now going to use on me.  I watched helplessly, as he moved around to my back, and whipped the rod through the air a couple of times so I could hear it swish on it’s way to striking my flesh.

“Nice sound, don’t you think?” he asked.

Of course I was in no position to answer.

“Get up”, he ordered, while kicking the punishment stool for emphasis!

I struggled to raise my body, which was difficult considering how far apart my feet were being held by the spreader bar, and the fact that my hands were secured to the floor by the chain around my wrists.  When I had raised my hips as high as I could, I saw him kick the stool out from under me, and there would be no sitting down.  I was in a bent-over position, ideal for a beating on my fully exposed buttocks.

His hand brazenly caressed my buttocks as he mused, “You have such a beautiful backside.  Just right for heavy punishment!  I really like to see the red welts across your white skin…..  Much different than Arabian women!”

As he said that, his fingers were pressing my labia aside, opening them to his probing fingers.  He was seeking my clit.  I knew from experience, that Osala liked to “play” with a woman before punishing her, and this was going to be my short play time.  I closed my eyes and started to meditate – to go into my Transcendental Secret Place where Osala couldn’t hurt me, no matter how much he beat me.

He was rubbing my clit, and despite myself, it felt good.  I liked it.  I liked having his fingers rubbing me down there.  I couldn’t help it – my body had been trained to respond to the touch of a man’s fingers between my legs.  In a mix of pleasure and fear, I wondered if Osala would give me an orgasm before he beat me.  At that point it didn’t much matter…..

I felt him slip two fingers inside my vagina, and press them hard downward, seeking my internal G-spot, and knew that at least, he was going to make me cum before he beat me.  Arab men like to think of themselves as great cocksmen, able to make women cum against their wills.  And with Osala, it had become a ritual – make a woman cum, then beat her, presumably for cumming!

In a moment, I knew what would be coming next.  When Osala felt my vagina muscles respond to his touch, he would press his unlubricated thumb into my asshole, forcing it as deep into me as he could, holding me like a bowling ball, while he jerked and wiggled my butt back and forth in order to excite me. Or excite himself by giving me some pain back there.  It was something I could take.

“You like that, don’t you slut?” he asked.

A groan was all I could manage, as my attention was entirely in what he was doing to me.

“Of course you do”, he said.  “And you’ll have plenty more of that before morning.”

With that, he withdrew his hand and fingers from my most private parts, and I realized that he wasn’t going to let me cum after all. …..  Osala really was a sadist!

I felt him touch the rod of his riding crop to the back of my legs, and anticipated he was going to hit me there first, because the back of the legs, just under the buttocks is a very tender place to be hit.  But instead of striking a blow, he used the crop teasingly, rubbing it up and down the back of my legs, stroking slowly from the buttocks down to the knees.

“You’re going to be bloody back here before morning”, he said.

It was a threat he was well capable of carrying out!

“But first, you must entertain me”, he said!

Oh, God!  I couldn’t imagine what this man’s sick mind had thought up this time!

He reached down in front of me and released the clip that was holding the chain, and my bound wrists to the floor, and commanded, “Stand up!”

Obediently, I struggled into an upright position.

Gripping the chain tightly, he pulled me toward Rebecca who was still hanging upside down with her legs spread wide apart, held in place by the block and tackle above, and the ring in the floor holding her body stretched tightly in mid air.

I struggled, moving one foot in front of the other, with my legs spread wide apart by my own spreader bar, which made it difficult to walk.  Fortunately, Rebecca was hanging only a few steps away.

He stopped me about a foot away from Rebecca’s body, and told me to stand there.  There wasn’t much else I could do.  I couldn’t run, or even turn, without a bit of help from my captor, Osala the sadist.

I wondered what he had in mind, and was soon to find out.

Against the wall, he lowered another rope from the block and tackle as I watched.  I realized that he was going to string me up beside Rebecca – and probably beat both of us at once.

He lowered the rope to head level, then tied it off to a cleat in the wall.  At least it was a single rope – it wasn’t a block and tackle, so he couldn’t lift me off the floor and suspend me as Rebecca was.

Grabbing my strapped wrists, he removed the chain that he had used as a leash, and tied the rope between my wrists to pull my hands over my head.  Returning to the wall, he did just that.  He pulled my hands above my head.  In that position, my back arched, and my breasts stuck out provocatively in front of my body, and I could just barely feel my nipples press against Rebecca’s belly.  My head was bent back, and my long straight hair fell loosely behind my body, held close by being trapped under the straps of the buckled gag in my mouth.

But that wasn’t close enough for Osala.  After securing the rope in the cleat on the wall, he returned to us, and passed a wide strap abound both our bodies at the waist, and pulled it tight, pulling our bodies together in full contact.  I had to shuffle my feet closer to Rebecca in order to remain upright on my own spread legs.

Osala grabbed me by the hair and bent my head forward, to where I was forced to look directly at Rebecca’s genitals.  I could see the angry red welts between her legs and realized that he had beaten her between the legs – in the most private, and most tender area of her body.  Her labia looked like red meat, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long she had been hanging like that, and how long he had whipped her between her legs to make it that swollen and red.  It was a really severe punishment for any woman!  I didn’t want to see that, and closed my eyes.

“Open your eyes, Cunt, or I’ll do that to you!” he said.  “I want you to know what I can do to your pussy if I want to!”

“Mmmmff”, was all I could manage through my gag.

“Now bend your head forward, and find her clit with your nose.  I want you to make her cum with your nose”, he said.

As I bent my head forward to obey, I could smell the musky odor of her punished pussy.  I could only imagine the humiliation she must be feeling at having my nose between her legs, seeking the seat of her sexuality.  I felt her body jerk from the pain of my nose touching her clitoral hood, in an attempt to find her clit.  I realized that she had been beaten badly between her legs, and even the most gentle caress would be painful to her.  I wished that I could be as gentle as possible, so as not to hurt her further.

“Now, Rebecca”, he said, “lift your face between Anne-Marie’s legs and use your nose to find her clit and rub it.”

He was a real bastard, treating her like this, particularly after beating her so badly.

I heard her begin to cry as she lifted her face between my legs, and started nosing around, trying to find my own clit.  I didn’t know how long Osala was going to make us do this – this forced lesbian love.  And I didn’t know if he was getting pleasure from this, or not.

But with that, I was forced into a different universe.  I heard a swish, and his riding crop struck me fully across the cheeks of my bare butt!  I screamed into my gag, and involuntarily, my head jerked up in response to the pain.  I was immediately grabbed by the hair and my face was forced back between Rebecca’s spread legs into her beaten pussy, and Osala commanded, “Rub her clit with your nose!  Make her cum!”

Rebecca, blinded to what was happening above, redoubled her efforts, seeking my clit with her own nose, in order to satisfy Osala, and escape another beating.

And so, we were locked together in a lesbian embrace, rubbing each other’s clits with our noses, and suffering occasional strokes from Osala’s riding crop to urge us on, for a long time.

I tried to be as careful as I could with Rebecca, in order not to hurt her further, and hopefully give her a bit of pleasure, and she eagerly nosed me real good, as I came several times for her while Osala watched and presumably jerked off.  Under Arabic law, a man is forbidden to spill his seed on the floor; he is admonished to put it into a woman, where it belongs.  But Osala didn’t care for that law, and frequently tied a woman on her knees, and jerked off in front of her face, spurting his seed all over her face and breasts in order to humiliate her.  Another favorite was to tie her in a bent over position, place the head of his penis between her cheeks, and jerk off, spilling his seed between her cheeks and onto her butt hole, without penetration.  Sometimes, he would include penetration, using his seed as a lubricant.  It was so painful for most women, they screamed openly, and begged him to stop, which only resulted in a whipping on her back.  Women aren’t allowed to beg a man to stop hurting them.

“And that was my second-most favorite fantasy”, Anne-Marie said to me, as she described how she could have an orgasm without a man, simply a mental exercise, blending real elements, Osala and his predilection for hurting women, with her own acceptance of being a woman who was constantly used as an Arabian wife and sex toy in the House of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant.

Anne-Marie’s story will continue in the next chapter


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