My Loss to Arabia

The Prince who had so viciously sodomised Laylah only a week previously stood on the platform and spoke to the crowd in Arabic. Neither my wife nor I understood what was being said. After about ten minutes Abdul joined him on the stage. He carried the camel stick in his hand and whisked it through the air. The crowd mumbled approval. Laylah winced and held my arm. "Oh my God," she whispered to me in a terrified voice. "They are really going to whip me."

The Prince continued to speak gravely. He then loudly proclaimed; "Ashaara." I knew sufficient Arabic to know that this meant "Ten" so I told Laylah. The Prince continued talking but I understood none of it. If it was to be ten strokes of that cane it wouldn't be too bad, I told Laylah. The Prince stopped talking and waved in our direction. He was waving us to go to him. She turned to me and gave me a strong hug. I held her tight. In a moment she stood tall. Her shoulders were back and her breasts were jutting out so that her nipples pointed forcibly through the material. We walked towards the stage and every man looked at her. There were quiet whispers amongst the crowd. I loved her more than anything at that moment and was enormously proud to have her as my wife.

We reached the stage. The Prince had by now sat down. Abdul beckoned her to him and she stood in front of him. He was swishing the stick onto his hand. He said something to her and she removed the niqab. The crowd gasped as her long blond hair and lovely fair face were displayed. The crowd were now murmuring excitedly as she began to unbutton the buttons in the front of her Abya. The crowd were mesmerised. The abya dropped to the floor and there was a loud grown as her beautiful body, with full firm upright breasts and prominent behind, was on display. Abdul told her that she was to receive ten lashes for masquerading as an Arab lady. Did she understand?

Laylah nearly fell as her knees buckled. I supported her. "Yes," she told Abdul. "I understand." He pointed to the bench and my dear Laylah mounted it completely naked. She lay on the bench with her head up and chin in the support. I stepped forward and clipped the ankle and wrist cuffs to the straps. She was now in a fully submissive position with her legs apart and her bottom pushed up as far as possible. Abdul placed a thick leather strap across her waist further securing her to the bench.

I stood beside Abdul as he rested the cane on her backside. I looked at the large TV screens. Two large screens showed her buttocks one from the left and the other front on. Her face was on the third screen. Suddenly, without any warning there was a swish and the first stroke landed in the centre across her buttocks. Laylah bucked up within her constraints and gasped. The crowd gasped. The feint mark grew quickly into a vivid red stripe. Abdul stood back, raised the cane and lashed her again. The resulting red stripe was just above the previous one. Laylah gasped again. Shortly there was a third stripe half an inch above the previous one. The crowd were somewhat animated. Swish, the fourth stroke below the other three but close to it. I looked at the TV screen. The marks on her buttocks were very vivid. Her face was screwed up in agony. Swish, stroke five. A cry from Laylah and she strained to move against the bindings. Swish. ...

Shortly all ten strokes had been delivered. Abdul put down the stick and admired his work on the TV screen. It was a remarkable piece of skill. The ten stripes were evenly spaced from the top to the bottom of the buttocks. There were ten distinguishable lines evenly dispersed. All were red and were getting more livid as we watched.

The Prince stood and addressed the crowd in Arabic. He asked a question. "Ishroon" replied someone. Obviously The rest of the crowd were not too enamoured with that. There was some boos and hissing. "What are they saying, " I asked Abdul.

He interpreted loud enough for my wife to hear. "The Prince asked how many lashes should be given for the offence of adultery."

Laylah moaned loudly. "Oh, my God," she cried.

"Sittoun" cried another voice from the audience. The audience cheered. What are they saying, I asked again.

"Well the first man called out twenty, but the crowd did not like that. The second man called out sixty."

"Mia," called out another man. There was an immediate very loud cheer. "One hundred," interpreted Abdul. The crowd quietened while the Prince put his hands out for silence. "Abarthoun ," he announced.

Abdul turned to Laylah. "You are now to be punished for adultery," he said. "Are you ready?"

"How many," I asked.

"Forty."

.

"Oh, my God," both Laylah and I exclaimed together.

Laylah was shivering on the bench. "Are you alright, darling?" I asked.

"Yes, I am. Go ahead Abdul," she bravely said.

Abdul swished the cane through the air and got into position to continue beating Laylah. Swish. Laylah cried out and a mark started to appear on her upper thighs. Swish another one next to it. Swish.

After twenty strokes her thighs were covered with vivid red welts. "The final twenty strokes will be on the buttocks," Abdul told me.

The crowd was quieter now but there was a bit of banter and they appeared to be enjoying the spectacle. The twenty strokes were given with Laylah bravely taking them, even though she writhed about as much as her bindings would allow. After about fifteen she started to cry gently. Although I felt sorry for her, my cock was rampant and I had to admit that I was enjoying the spectacle. She looked wonderful as she struggled.

When it was over the crowd started to leave. I released Lahlah from the bench and helped her to her feet. I picked up her Abya and put it over her shoulders. Abdul told me to take her to room one, so I escorted her there. Shortly the Prince entered. He immediately went to Laylah and hugged her tightly. He stroked her hair. "You were so brave," he told her. "Let me see," he asked. She turned away from him pulling her abya aside to expose her red welted bottom and thighs. The Prince gently caressed the swellings. He gave her another kiss and as he was leaving said; "I hope that I will see you again."

I buttoned up the abya left off the niqab, and we left the club together.

Two weeks later the red welts had gone although there was some quite severe bruising remaining on her buttocks. I inspected her regularly. Recalling the day in the Club often made us both sexually wild. After two months there were just some feint lines, still distinguishable as cane marks.

Abdul often asked me how Janet was getting on. He was eager to see Janet, so I invited him over to the flat. When Janet heard that Abdul was coming that evening for supper she blushed and her eyes sparkled. "Shall I wear the abya," she asked me.

I told her that she could if she wished.

The three of us had finished supper and we were in the sitting room talking. It reminded me of the day that Abdul had come to our flat and discussed the punishment of adulterers in Arabia! But this time my wife was sitting on the sofa, naked under a very flimsy garment, opposite the man who had beaten her. She seemed to be in awe of him smiling politely and attending to him throughout the meal. He watched her intently, not missing a chance to look intently at her breasts whenever the opportunity arose.

"Janet," Abdul said, "I am glad to see you looking so well after your ordeal."

Janet smiled. "Yes, thank you Abdul, all is well." She looked across to me and smiled.

"You did so well on that evening of the punishment. You were so brave," he said.

"And you beat me very severely," she laughed as she patted her behind.

"Yes, I know," he said. "I hope that you do not resent me."

"Oh, no! Definitely not."

"Have all the marks gone?"

"Pretty well. There are just a few feint lines left."

There was a pause as we supped our drinks. "I would like to see." he said.

My heart jumped. Janet looked at me. "Well, I am not sure," she replied. I nodded. Janet stood and she took a deep breath. "Well you have already had sex with me and beaten me so I suppose this is OK."

I said nothing. This girl never ceased to surprise me. She was amazing. What nerve.

Janet put her hands under her abya, turned with her back to Abdul, raised her dress and bent over.

Abdul placed his hand on her bottom. "Yes, there is a mark here, and here," he said as he traced the lines with his finger. "There are a few on thighs as well" he continued as he rubbed them with his hand. "You are a lovely and amazing woman."

I could see that Janet had started to breath heavily. Abdul's hands continued on her thighs. "But you are also very naughty," continued Abdul. One hand slipped between her legs and became more agitated. He slapped her buttocks with the other hand. "Very naughty," he repeated.

Janet sighed again. "Yes," she whispered. "Particularly with you."

I could see that Abdul supported a large bulge in his trousers. I thought for a moment. "Abdul, you are my great friend." I said. "It would be ungracious of me if my wife and I did not show our gratitude and respect to you."

Janet was breathing hard and remained bent over in front of Abdul as his hands continued to wander over her backside.

Abdul told me to clear the coffee table. I did as he asked and as I lifted the tray of coffee cups to take them to the kitchen as Abdul ordered Janet. "Janet, get on the coffee table in position please."

Janet blushed, sighed deeply, smiled, unbuttoned and dropped her abya on the floor, looked at me, and then knelt on the table with her head down on her arms and her bottom raised. She moved her knees as far apart as the table allowed. She appeared to be ready for him. I put the coffee tray down in the corner of the room.

Abdul stood, took down his trousers and produced his large semi erect seven inch penis. Without any preliminaries he introduced it to her vagina and pushed. She was not able to accommodate him. He slapped her buttocks with his hand then introduced the cock to her vagina again. This time, as he forced himself, it slipped slowly in for about two inches. He withdrew until all but the in bulb was out then thrust into her again. This time she took the full seven inches. We all sighed in pleasure.

Abdul thrust in and out of her continually for about five minutes. Suddenly Janet cried out and Abdul came, pumping his seed into her.

"God, that was good," cried Janet. Although I had much enjoyed watching Abdul take her I felt a twinge of jealousy. She had been very enthusiastic; perhaps too enthusiastic? Had this gone too far?

...

Three days later Abdul phoned. Janet was on the sofa reading. I put the phone on speaker and she put down her book.

"Is Janet there?" He asked.

"Yes, she is listening," I replied.

"Good," said Abdul. "Janet, you remember what happened last time you committed adultery?"

"Yes, yes, I remember," replied my wife meekly twisting in her chair.

"Well. You will need to visit the Club again."

Janet, blushed deeply and replied in a faltering voice: "Oh!"

"I have some instructions for you. OK?"

"Oh, well... erm," she mumbled.

"OK, Janet?" Abdul repeated.

She looked at me and whispered "What shall I do?" I nodded my head in the affirmative.

"Janet?" Abdul asked again.

"Well yes, I suppose that would be OK." She dropped her book and stood up. I went across to stand next to her.

"Good. You are to go to the Club at three pm this afternoon."

"Why?" She looked up at me with those wide big eyes. I guessed what was coming and caressed her bottom.

"You know why, Janet. Don't you?" My hand was firm on her bottom through her light trousers. I gave her a gentle slap.

"Yes, I think that I do." She gave me a nervous smile.

"You are to wear your abya and niqab. When you get there tell the man on the door that you have an appointment in Room two." Abdul hung up.

I gasped and gripped her bottom. "Oh, God," I said.

"What?" She asked.

"Oh, nothing, darling." I gave her a kiss on the lips. "You know that I love you."

"Yes," she replied twisting in my arms and kissing me again. I held her tight.

Soon she was changed into the now familiar outfit, naked underneath her abya and niqab.

...

I took Janet to the club by taxi. At the door Janet spoke with the doorman who let her into the Club. I followed but was stopped by him. "Sorry," he said, "I have strict instructions to let only the lady in."

Janet turned around and looked at me. "I will be alright. I will phone you if I need you. Go home."

She was fairly specific, so, knowing that she was quite capable of looking after herself and knowing that she was excited by what was happening to her, I did not want to cause a fuss so I walked away to find a taxi.

Two hours later she had not appeared and I started to get worried. I tried her mobile number. After six rings the phone was answered.

"Nam" (Yes in Arabic) replied a male voice.

"I would like to speak to Laylah," I said.

"La, Ma fe Laylah," (No, there is no Laylah) was the reply.

"Let me speak to Janet, please. Is she OK?"

"Laqad dhahabat," (She has gone).

With that the person hung up.

I tried the phone again and there was no reply. I hopped into a taxi and went to the Club. The place was all locked up. All signs of the Club were gone. The place resembled a disused warehouse. I circled the building but it was completely secure and impossible to enter. After an hour looking around I went home.

Janet did not return that night. At various times in the night I tried to phone her. The phone was not answered. The next morning I rushed into work and looked for Abdul. He was not at work. One of the secretaries told me that Abdul had phoned to say that one of his relatives was ill in Arabia and that he had had to go home. He had left, she told me.

I tried Janet's phone again and again with no result. Later I went to the Club again. But it was just a disused well secured warehouse with no sign of activity.

I went to the Kuwaiti embassy and asked if they knew of Abdul's whereabouts. "There must be over a thousand Kuwaitis in UK and we have no record of all their names. Abdul is quite a common name in Arabia," I was told. I tried the Qatari embassy, saying that I was a journalist and wished to interview Prince Hamed. They politely told me that there was no Prince Hamed from Qatar in UK, nor indeed was there a prince of that name in Qatar.

I knew that Janet had lost contact with her family so I had no idea who else to turn to. After three days I went to the police.

A very patient police constable interviewed me. He didn't exactly laugh at me, but he made it quite plain that he certainly could not waste police time on a woman who had voluntarily gone in Arab dress by herself to meet an Arab man in a club and had subsequently disappeared. "Women, wives, girlfriends often just disappear," he told me. "It is not unusual."

Over the next month I pined for Janet. Mysteriously, £100,000 was credited to my bank account. The reference was "Laylah".

I received an email from an unknown source: ",laqad dhahabad. Anna saei'd. Ma fe mushkaala. Mae alssalama".

"I have gone. I am happy. There is no problem. Goodbye" But she can not have learnt to speak Arabic that quickly, I thought to myself.