Chapter 6

Doleman felt a sense of submission much deeper than he could ever have imagined, on being led out on all fours on a leash before a crowd of warbling women, having witnessed just how openly practiced was the regime of ruthless feminine authority upon Marahwah ... an authority he was now under. Still bearing the evidence of that authority in her hand, Doleman could somehow sense a curt smile on Fatima’s face, though veiled, as she passed the plate upon which the emasculated slaver’s balls lay useless and impotent, to the huge and deliciously attractive belly dancer who’d dealt with his accomplice, enjoying a thoroughly deserved orgasm for her efforts in ensuring that he paid for his crimes with his life, at her expense.

“Do as you will with these, Qadira, my love, they’re of no use to any woman anymore ... and we’ll see what we have here!” She grinned at his two female escorts who’d ensured his fate by delivering him, while she toyed with the cloak, impatient to lift it and reveal his complexion to an eager and now near silent crowd, but thoroughly enjoying prolonging the exposure which would have her audience in spiteful raptures.

“ ... and has he shown any reluctance worthy of punishment?” The two women sneered down at him as he cowered at the feet of the woman he knew would own him under the strictest of regimes, unable to prevent himself sniffing at the air for the scent of her cunt ... and of that of the superbly proportioned belly dancer, who smiling down at the cloaked Doleman, and with her mind now elsewhere, deftly tossed the severed sack with its redundant testes to the crowd of baying women, who scrambled and fought amongst themselves for the prize. The shorter of the two women answering with a sneer of her own.

“Oh he’s more than earned the whip on his journey to his destiny, your Excellence ... even masquerading as a woman, and soiling his skirts with the pleasure of it ... but showing trepidation in what he could never escape, every step of the way.” Fatima allowed the distraction of the scuffle for the tokens of masculinity to die down, the balls and scrotum having been separated most unceremoniously and claimed by three victorious women. With the focus on her prize now assured, she whipped off the black shawl, and any distraction that may have existed, evaporated in the searing sun as Doleman’s white flesh confirming he was a Westerner, was exposed to the most intensely spiteful and sincere delight of the vindictive feminine crowd at his utter humiliation. His exposed cock pulsed rigid in submissive awe and defeated pleasure as Fatima’s grip on his leash greeted the warbling women’s acute pleasure with a pompous address to them.

“See how I, your queen on Marahwah, rule over EVERY male ... regardless of their origin!” Doleman could feel the sincerity of their pleasure as surely as he could feel the heat of the sun upon his flesh, their inborn hatred towards the despotic rule placed upon them by Western influences throughout history, having them filled with a lushly spiteful excitement at seeing a male example of that race, leashed, beaten ... the property of one of their kind ... the property of a woman. He could taste their sexual excitement too, those few women he judged as obviously of some nobility due to their being accompanied by servants, those noble women wearing just hijabs, smiled and sighed with a lusting contempt at the veiled Fatima’s prize. Other women wearing niqabs could not hide the excitement in their eyes, their breasts heaving as they sauntered forward with the crowd to get a little closer ... and ogle a male slave unknown in these parts.

Fatima’s cunt oozed lubrication below her all-enclosing black garb as she proudly paraded her prize on a leash, having her warbling audience reduced to a lather by the sight, she giving him as many glances as she gave her adoring crowd, more than satisfied with the example she’d been provided with, she’d been expecting something scrawny or aged, but he was just as promised, reasonably rugged and perfect for the rigours of her canes and whips. She sighed with erotic pleasure as she applied her whip to his buttocks to urge him forward a little faster, Doleman letting out a whine which excited both her and her audience, she then tugging him toward the sumptuous belly dancer.

“This is my Qadira, you saw how she dealt with masculinity just now ... you’re going to entertain her as well as me ... have a sniff at her cunt and see just how excited she is about that!”. Coleman’s stiff and shaming erection pleased his audience as the proud Qadira stood in a naturally dominant pose, her voluptuous belly arched forward, and the cunt below it expressed in all its glory for the weak male she’d soon have the pleasure of tormenting at will, raised his nose in servile obedience to sniff at its rich scent. The women warbled and guffawed through their veils with contemptuous delight at his shameful act, none more so than the two women who’d transported him there with such pleasure, their cunts hot with erotic satisfaction at seeing him exposed for what he was, enslaved, and set for a life - which might be very short - of belittlement, humiliation, and gratuitous punishments at the hands of a despotic woman.

Coleman’s cock perked and pulsed in the need to come, the humiliation sublime as he sniffed readily at the spicy whiffs of a cunt which had just seen to the smothering disposal of another male, his eyes catching the lithe and shapely figure of his new owner as she held his leash tightly, the hot breeze having her loose gown blow to one side, the material clinging to the length of her body and illustrating its hour-glass shape deliciously. The crowd of adoring and jeering women were distracted from the western male’s humbling, as a further spiteful pleasure was made available to them, in the sound of a grunting feminine cry, as that woman unleashed her long whip to the backs of the other males who’d accompanied Doleman to be sold into permanent slavery to womanhood.

The leering women watched with interest as the line of males with heads held down by a chain from neck to waist, were made to trudge under the whip to a high mound which would become a makeshift market place, a place where they’d know their destinies, and where the whole town could see them, and they could see the whole town and port which was now their enforced home.

Doleman watched with interest as some of the women, usually the more senior ones, stuck close to those male examples who sported erections at the sound of the whip, those women warbling something at the whip mistresses, of whom Doleman could now see there were three. The admiring woman would then stand back as the smiling and obliging whip mistress then unleashed her braided leather demon at the erect and chosen male, having him groan in pain, delighting the onlooking senior woman as that erection stiffened with sordid masochistic pleasure ... the woman sneering lustily and keeping close to him now, ready to make her bid for him. Doleman felt a tug on his leash, his momentary reluctance to remove his nose from the whiffs of Qadira’s cunt, earning him a swift stroke to his exposed buttocks from Fatima’s short, stiff whip.

“Come! ... let us see if there’s anything worthy of purchase ... if only for sport, my dear Qadira!” The surreal and deeply erotic aura which enveloped Doleman’s mind and physical state, gripped him and kept his cock rigid as he was led naked on all fours upon the sandy surface under a blazing sun by his black clad Mistress, a warbling entourage of excited women following, still more interested in viewing him as they were anything else that day. The sting of Fatima’s whip which emphasised her authority had him longing to know more, as he watched the line of wretches ascend the mound overlooking the habitation and blue sea beyond, some sullen, some erect, at knowing freedom was a thing of the past for them now. A bulbous woman in black, wearing hijab only, sneered down at the doomed wretches from a small wooden platform atop the mound from which each example would be viewed individually, and peering toward the port, emphasised their hopelessness.

“look about you now, and guess as to who will own you forever! ... then look down to the port and see confirmation that your freedom has gone forever!” The males gasped, squirming on their knees and grunting through the makeshift rag gags they’d been silenced with, some displaying stiff erections as they anticipated ownership by stern women ... all in a despair or stupor of one kind or another, in seeing the ship that had brought them there, tacking a zig-zag path as it departed, leaving them there forever. Fatima mused at the sorry looking faces of males whose liberty had been stolen, and now found themselves the enslaved property of womanhood, beaten, defeated ... and some as per Doleman, lusting to know the whip of a stern mistress.

“Do you see anything you like Qadira? ... or shall we just settle for the prize we already have, and show him his new home?” Qadira grinned as the first example of masculinity was hauled down from the platform on which he’d been displayed, and following a babbled commotion amongst the women, was handed to one of the fatter matriarchs, a broad and smug smile emanating from the hijab hooded face as her new pet showed his erection on being leashed by her. The Amazonian belly dancer hadn’t the chance to answer, on one of the noble looking women that Doleman had noticed before, making a bold approach to Fatima with an entourage of her own. As Fatima tugged on his leash, Doleman could sense her smirk arrogantly behind the gauze veil of her burka, as the plump and attractively faced matriarch spoke, after eyeing the western pet now enslaved.

“I’ve come to make you an offer Fatima...” She clapped her hands, and there was much warbling from a gathering crowd of women, as the whooping sound of canes cutting the air and impacting on flesh, as two of her entourage, their eyes glinting wickedly above their niqabs, drove two large African males on leashes toward them, and had them kneel in obedience before Fatima, those canes then used to stimulate their manhoods, which the two hooded males displayed in servile gratitude. The warbling intensified as the two males erected with the pleasure of being displayed, Qadira and many of the women gasping with lewd pleasure on seeing cocks twice the size and girth of the Westerner’s, rise in a phallic salute to their betters.

“ ... I give you these two fine specimens in exchange for your white male...” Fatima couldn’t help but be tempted, the thought of riding one of those huge cocks whilst the other took her anally, had her cunt hot and wet as she eyed the enormous members poke their almost purple domes skyward in the lust to spend at a dominant woman’s whim. The noble woman blushed almost coyly, as she made an admission to Fatima ... and the crowd.

“ ... of course, I can personally vouch for their expertise in performance, which I have found most satisfactory...” Those women watching who could never hope of owning prizes such as the two Africans or the Westerner, smirked with jealous admiration at the smile on the woman’s face which told them she’d thoroughly enjoyed the usage of those cocks. Fatima would not be shifted though, even though it was patently obvious those huge cocks aroused her, even shrouded. She sighed as the canes of the two African’s handlers, were swept up the underside of their rigid manhoods, having them perk and ooze a little sticky pre-cum.

“Well Madam Amira, I thank you for the kind offer, but it would hardly be a fair exchange...” She pulled Doleman’s head back on the leash, emphasising his kneeling position ... and having the audience of women view his erection with scorn, it seemingly miniscule in comparison to that of the two Africans.

“ ... my latest prize is worth more than ten of your slaves, as well endowed as they may be ... and you’re more than aware of it, I think.” Amira smiled curtly as she viewed the white male, knowing owning such a specimen would increase her reputation tenfold, in the feminine hierarchy of Marahwah.

“Well I do hope you’ll not keep him all to yourself...” She leant over one of the Africans and had him gasp audibly through the hood as she slipped her hand about the massive girth of his cock, her delicate fingers and thumb not quite meeting as she gripped the pulsing member, emphasising to every woman there, the enormity of his member ... and the lush pleasure it would offer when probing deep into a cunt, the tightness exquisite as it thrust in the need to come.

“ ... perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?” Fatima grinned, delighted to be given the opportunity to humiliate her new property for the first time, tugging Doleman’s leash and facing him.

“Well my new pet, how would you like to watch these two fuck your Mistress or Madam Amira ... then lick both holes clean when they’re done!” Doleman could only gasp at the thought, while the audience of women laughed cynically and warbled their sheer delight at the thought of a Westerner made to clean up the spent seed of Africans from an Arabic woman’s cunt and anus, the idea giving the mature Amira a deliciously unexpected thrill. Fatima’s cunt was also now more than hot for the idea.

“I think my new pet favours the pleasure! ... do come home with us Amira, and bring your males too ... I think his initiation is to be very special indeed.” Doleman erected rigidly as Qadira took his leash whilst Fatima and Amira walked ahead of them, his eyes studying the lithe shape of his Mistress, contrasting with the plump figure of Amira’s, her ample backside wobbling delightfully. They’d not gone more than twenty-five yards when a hullabaloo broke out from the crowd, and the three burly whip mistresses were seen to wrestle with a terrified looking male atop the wooden platform. One of the audience of women turned and screeched out the reason with pure delight.

“He’s been recognised as a slaver by one of the women ... he’ll pay for that now!” Doleman watched, transfixed as the naked male was trussed at the ankles, his wrists already bound, to ensure no escape. The audience of women watched eagerly, as one of the whip mistresses took his cock and began to masturbate him ... his erection maintained sweetly by seeing the shadow of a larger woman loom behind him ... the shadow of a large scimitar also clearly outlined. Doleman wanted to come himself at seeing the spiteful fervour of the feminine audience and the near naked woman who could have been Qadira’s double, wielding a shining scimitar.

The crowd roared with laughter as the slaver grunted on a final ecstasy brought on by the hand of a whip mistress, his seed shooting in a white arc from the platform down to be wasted in the dust. Still wriggling in mid orgasm, the women pushed him down, the audience immediately hushing as the big woman lifted her scimitar ... the slaver bucked and writhed in his bondage at the sound of the descending scimitar ... and in a flash his head was cleaved cleanly off, the last thing his ears would have detected would have been the roar of excited pleasure the act awarded his feminine audience, as his head rolled down the mound to a halt, to have its face offer the pleased women a stupefied gaze of blissful surrender to their authority.

Qadira grinned with satisfaction on seeing Doleman’s cock pulse rigid with a submissive pleasure which matched the sadistic pleasure shown by the women, she tugging his leash impatiently as their party continued on now, as though nothing had happened, whilst the body of the beheaded male still twitched on the platform, women watching the blood spurt from the stump of his neck with spiteful admiration. The Amazonian woman gave her lookalike with the scimitar a respectful glance as they moved on, aware that the woman had her eyes fixed on the white flesh of the Westerner, her grip at the clasp of the scimitar intensifying, as she fantasised about decapitating the whit male before a huge audience witnessing her triumph ... the beheading of a slaver had made her cunt very wet, but that fantasy - she’d have her own slave lick her cunt with extra vigour that evening.

Doleman’s palms and knees were saved from the ravages of gravel, by the attention shown to the pathways to residences by the male slaves of Marahwah, the sound of cracking whips never far of, as enslaved males, many of them eunuchs, continuously swept the paths clean of larger debris, and covered those ways with soft sand. Their toil awarded Doleman a near comfortable passage as he was led on all fours toward a very grandiose looking white domed residence, a bubbling fountain in a large garden sheltered by mature date palms ... but within the grounds, and that of each residence they passed on going to it, stood a tall gibbet with noose ready ... confirmation that the termination of masculinity was seen as no more than a sport on the island, no element of disobedience would be tolerated. Bowing maids in black, burka clad as per their mistress, waved their Mistress and her guests inside ... and though completely masked, Doleman could feel their excitement at seeing his enslavement.

Back in the seedy port on the mainland, Malika sighed wistfully on seeing the small shops dock with their contraband, her thoughts still very much on the white male whom she was determined to retrieve and have as her own one day. The thought of showing him as her own whilst whipping him playfully to have them see her marked authority over him, if only to select female audiences in private functions, had her cunt wet with the naturally dominant spite that drove her. She often took consolation in visiting a darker quarter of that already darkly illicit port, where pleasures were to be awarded women like her, and it was to this quarter she went, seeking sexual consolation.

On having ventured through twisting alleyways she reached an inn she was more than familiar with, and was surprised but not disappointed to see a women there she was also familiar with, a women she’d sold many a slave to. Like her, she was tall for a woman, and delightfully buxom, and sternly yet attractively faced - many a slave had erected in submission upon seeing this woman was to own them, and she had accommodated those dark desires, as only a truly dominant woman could. Hania was a very wealthy woman, and though she’d dressed accordingly in black cotton robes rather than the silks and satins she was more accustomed too, she was instantly recognisable to Malika ... and many of the other senior women who’d gathered there for titillation, even behind her niqab.