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Back in her cell Sarina helps Michele undress.

“That suit isn’t too bad; you can just brush it and hang it up. That blouse will need a soak to get the come out of it. Check out your lingerie and stockings and if they have any rips or tears just ditch them. You get an allowance for lingerie and hosiery; the boys are always tearing them because they are so rough, but anything else you clean yourself or replace it out of your own money,” Sarina explains.

“My own money?” Michele is quizzical.

“Sure. I told you, when you leave here you will have earned a small fortune. There is a Swiss bank account set up under the name of Michael Nyland and a weekly stipend is entered into it minus what you spend on clothes.”

Sarina went on.

“When I get out of here I’ll be worth a fucking fortune and I won’t be selling my sexy black arse anymore. I’m going to retire in luxury.”

“But that is no recompense to what they are doing to us! It’s slavery! It’s degrading!” Michele whines.

“Yes; but they could just dump you somewhere after they’ve finished with you with no money and no way to get back at them.”

“Or they could do worse,” Sarina looks Michele in the eye, very serious look on her face.

Michele doesn’t want to explore that statement any further; she shivers and begins to disrobe.

“Look, clean yourself up and get dressed into something nice. The rules are pretty simple. Us girls have to be ready to receive any of the Cabal from ten in the morning until midnight. We have to be dressed up nice and sexy and ready to please any man at any time.”

“Often there will be parties or group sessions like we just had; but you will be given notice and specific instructions if that is the case. Also there may be some special requests.”

“Come over here,” Sarina calls Michele over to a desk on which there is a laptop computer.

“This laptop is wired into a local LAN; there is no outside access so don’t bother trying to send emails or anything. Usually when you are required you will get a text message here,” Sarina shows Michele a text box on the computer’s desktop.

“When you get a text that light will flash and the buzzer will sound until you read and acknowledge the text,” Sarina points to an LED light on the wall. There is a small speaker beside it.

“So outside of providing entertainment for the Cabal, your time is your own. You can’t mingle with the other girls unfortunately so you will have to make do with entertaining yourself.”

“There is satellite TV and streaming movies, you can order books, you can pretty much do what you like.”

“You are required to exercise an hour a day, there are gym clothes in the chifforobe; female ones of course because you are always to be dressed enfemme and wear makeup.”

“The fridge has healthy snacks and there is the bar over there but don’t start drinking before seven in the evening or you will be punished. Don’t overeat, they don’t like chubbies, or you will be punished.”

“All you have to do is stay slim, dress sexy, give them sex when they want it and you will stay out of trouble.”

Michele is stunned. She is a prisoner in a gilded cage.

“I will be able to assist you for a while and as the Cabal has decreed, I will be the only other girl you will make contact with, but you will soon get the hang of things here.”

With that Sarina walks out of the apartment closing the door firmly behind her.

Half-undressed, Michele collapses on the bed and cries herself to sleep. She doesn’t know how long she has been asleep when she is awoken by a faint buzzing sound. She looks up and sees the LED flashing and so she makes her way over to the laptop.

‘Be ready at nine PM. Sadan and Mique will visit you in your room. Don’t forget to douche. Sarina’

There is a button below the message ‘Acknowledge’. Michel guides the cursor over the button and presses it.

Michele looks at the ornate clock on the nightstand; it’s six PM.

She shucks off her skirt and puts it on the bed and then undresses. She walks into the bathroom and searches around until she locates a washer and dryer discretely tucked away behind a wall panel. She drops the blouse and bra into soak and throws her tattered, cum-stained panties and laddered stockings into a bin.

She looks at herself in the mirror. Her makeup is smudged and she has dried semen on her face and in her hair. She pulls off the wig and scrubs her face using the makeup remover and the towlettes provided. She stands there on the cold tiles; a slim man with a shrivelled penis, dried semen on his legs and buttocks.

Michele hates what she sees and dives into the shower to scrub herself clean. She never want’s to see Michael Nyland again while she is here. He is banished until she leaves this place. In here she will always be Michele!

She shaves her face again whilst she is in the shower as she can feel just a hint of stubble on her cheeks. She washes and conditions the wig and lays it aside just outside the shower stall. She uses the douche but there is very little waste inside her; she hasn’t eaten ısparta escort since she got off the plane and she thinks that may been as much as two days ago.

She gets out of the shower, slides into the silk gown and moves into the bedroom to carefully apply her makeup. Feeling better she puts on a brunette shoulder-length wig. Now she looks like Michele!

She goes back into the bathroom and carefully brushes out the wig that she washed in the shower and places it on a wig stand to dry. She hangs up the pinstriped business suit and puts her heels away.

She steps into a pair of full-cut satin panties and slides a pair of sheer hold-up stockings up her long legs. Now she really feels femme. After applying some deodorant and perfume she feels relaxed. She has some time to further explore her prison cell.

Michele discovers she is indeed living in luxury. She starts at the chifforobe and finds more than twenty different outfits; everything from sophisticated evening dresses, to slutty miniskirts, cocktail dresses, even French Maid and schoolgirl outfits. The drawers are packed with lingerie and hosiery. There are three different size breastforms, ten pairs of high heels, and half a dozen wigs. At the vanity there is enough makeup to open her own cosmetics counter at Boots and there is jewellery aplenty.

All of this will come out of her ‘wages’ of course.

The bar and small fridge behind it are a well stocked and in a small but functional kitchenette is a three-quarter-size fridge filled with delicacies. There is a full blown entertainment system with a hard drive packed with every kind of music imaginable; another hard drive connected to the TV holds hundreds of movies including many pornographic titles. She turns on the fifty-inch TV and sure enough there are over one hundred satellite channels and connections to two video-streaming sites.

She is indeed a prisoner in gilded cage!

Michele takes another nap and is again awoken by a text message: ‘Just relax and go along with it. I saw you come today when you were fucked so don’t pretend you didn’t like it. Be compliant but don’t behave like a slut. Make them feel in control. Sarina’

Michele acknowledges the message and pouts for a while.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it indeed!”

“I was forced!” she shouts to the empty room but deep inside she isn’t so convinced.

She looks at the clock: eight o’clock.

“Fuck!” she says and heads off to the shower again to wash herself and brush her teeth.

Michele pours herself a glass of Savignon Blanc and takes a seat at the vanity. She is naked and begins the well-learned ritual of transformation.

Michele looks intently in the mirror and carefully applies foundation and then a coating of finishing powder. Next she applies eyeliner liberally to her upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of her eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line. She selects dark blue eyeshadow, which she brushes on her eyelids and blends with a shade of mauve which she brushes onto the upper part of her eye sockets and right up to her eyebrows. She rouges her cheeks to define her cheekbones and applies another light dusting of face powder. She carefully brushes a heavy coating of mascara onto her lower and upper eyelashes.

She selects Covergirl two-coat long-lasting lipstick; the base coat is a deep plum red; once it has set she applies the clear topcoat. The whole procedure has taken about thirty minutes.

Michele brushes out the brunette, shoulder-length wig she has selected and positions the wig on her head and adjusts it so that her fringe is straight and level with her eyebrows.

She looks in the mirror and is happy with what she sees. Her fingernails still have the nailpolish on them from earlier in the day and only require a small touch-up here and there.

Michele steps into a pair of white satin full-brief panties, they have a lace trim and she savours the feel of the cool delicate fabric on her skin. She adjusts the waistband on her hips and steps into a black satin garter belt sitting it snugly around her waist, carefully threading the suspender straps under the waistband of her panties and out of the legholes.

She slides into a pair of fully-fashioned, fifteen denier, high-sheen, taupe stockings, carefully straightening the seams before clipping the silver garter clips to the dark welts.

She puts on and adjusts a white satin bra; she has already attached silicon breastforms to her chest with cosmetic adhesive. She reaches for her jewellery clipping silver drop earrings to her ears, fastening a matching pendant around her neck and sliding bracelets over both wrists. She puts rings on the fourth and index fingers of both hands.

The ensemble is completed with a tight black satin-lined leather skirt and a mauve satin blouse. She slips on black high-heel pumps and sprays herself liberally with perfume.

“Well I hope they like what they are getting,” Michele says to the empty room.

Michele drains her wine, pours another and drains that and then pours another.

“Here’s kastamonu escort to you, you mukhannath shermuta! You transvestite whore!” she giggles, quite drunk now.

“What did that black cunt say; ‘be compliant but don’t behave like a whore’, I can do that,” Michele looks at the clock and as it ticks over to nine PM the door opens.

In walks the man she knows as Sadan and another she hasn’t seen before. They stride into the room as if they own it; which they do.

“What the fuck have you got here Sadan?” the other man smiles wickedly.

“She is our first mukhannath, Mique; is she not wonderful?” Sadan beams.

They are wearing dishdasha; long flowing white robes, their feet clad in sandals.

“That’s no woman; although she looks very becoming. She’s a transvestite,” Sadan explains, examining Michele carefully with his dark eyes.

The men examine her, their eyes roam brazenly over her face, body and legs.

“She is indeed better looking than some of the women I’ve fucked!” Mique laughs.

The men ogle her; taking in her heavily madeup face, her femme physique enhanced by the tight skirt and brazenly staring at her stocking-clad legs.

Michele remains standing sipping her wine and the men walk past her to the bar and pour themselves a scotch. It’s almost like she isn’t a person to them, just a possession.

They sip their drinks, leaning against the bar and stare at her, talking in Arabic. Then they revert to English again.

“You know Mique? Women just don’t dress like this way any more. She’s one sexy bitch!” Sadan says his breathing has become ragged.

“Our women have become Westernised in a bad way. Too much jeans, sneakers, T-shits and no makeup, they don’t emulate the better infidel women who dress sophisticated and sexy,” Mique replies.

“Now that you point it out, she IS one sexy bitch,” Mique grins, an ominous bulge is growing in the front of his robe.

Michele knows there is no escape. She must resist a little, Sarina has briefed her so, but she doesn’t want another beating or to be restrained.

Michele knows that she has no chance of fighting off the men. She will have to capitulate to save herself more pain. She drains her glass and a single tear runs down her cheek.

“The bitch is crying,” Mique said sarcastically.

He puts down his drink and walks up to Michele; he is so close she can feel his breath.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he says, tracing a finger slowly down her body, starting at her painted red lips and stopping at the hem of her skirt.

“Are you going to behave yourself Michele?” Mique smiles.

“Your wish is my command Master,” Michele whispers.

Sadan moves in close to his friend.

“You will do as your Masters commands!” Sadan smiles.

“See we have already tamed the mukhannath shermuta,” he beams

Sadan moves into Michele and guides her over to bar.

“Pour more drinks putta. You may have another if you like,” he is standing so close that Michele can feel his breath on her face.

She pours them each a scotch and hands them their drinks and tops off her wine. She drinks it greedily.

Sadan drinks his scotch and puts down the glass. He takes Michele’s wineglass from her.

Michele feels trepidation as she is pulled into Sadan’s arms and he kisses her full on the lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth, encircling her in his arms. Michele forces herself to relax as she sucks on his tongue, pushing her body hard against his but she fills with dread as she feels his cock begin to swell against her body. Sadan takes Michele’s hand in his and moves it between their bodies down into his crotch and grunts into her mouth.

“Touch it bitch; you know you want to.”

Michele reaches out and tentatively and strokes Sadan’s tumescent member through his robe. It feels big and hard and although she is sure it is her imagination, it appeared to radiate heat through the material of his dishdasha. Sadan’s cock tents the front of his dishdasha and he gives out a little moan as Michele cautiously fondles him, her ruby-red fingernails scratch at the fabric as she slowly and excruciatingly traces the outline of his cock.

“Take it out bitch,” Sadan pants into her mouth and then crushes her lips with his.

He is pushing his groin against Michele’s body, trapping her hand between them, as she strokes the bulge in his dishdasha. His tongue wriggles in her mouth; the taste of her lipstick and scent of her perfume further arousing him. He pulls his groin back from Michele’s body and takes her hand off his tented robe and guides her fingers towards the opening in his robe.

Sadan impatiently tugs at her hand until she capitulates and slowly puts her hand inside his robe.

Michele’s fingers hesitantly explore the inside of Sadan’s robe and soon find sleek, hard flesh. She controls her revulsion and wraps her fingers around Sadan’s long thick cock and feels him shudder against her. She begins to stroke him, in the futile hope that he will climax before he makes her kayseri escort do anything more degrading.

Sadan breaks their kiss and takes Michele by the shoulders and eased her body away from his a little.

“Take it out; I want to see you take it out,” he whimpers, his lust evident.

Michele’s painted fingernails pluck at the sash around Sadan’s robe; she eases the robe from his shoulders down to his waist. He is naked and another single, mascara-stained, tear runs down her cheek. She is to some extent faking; remembering what Sarina said about being compliant but not behaving like a whore.

“Please don’t make me do this,” she begs.

“Take it out bitch!” Sadan sneers.

Michele pulls the robe down until it puddles at his ankles. His cock springs upright between them; the tip of his purple glans glistening with silvery pre-seminal fluid. Sadan’s cock is enormous, at least ten inches long, pink and thick. His foreskin stretches around the bulbous glans. The dark scrotal hangs down between his legs; a musky odour floats up from his crotch and invades Michele’s nostrils.

Michele gasps as Sadan takes her hand and places it on his manhood and watches as Michele gently wraps her fingers around it; her ruby-red fingernails contrasting with flesh of his shaft. She slowly eases her fingers down the shaft, pulling back the foreskin, and exposes Sadan’s glossy purple glans. The musky aroma intensifies.

Sadan pulls Michele back against him and smothers her sobs with a passionate kiss. She resignedly strokes Sadan’s enormous phallus as it throbs in her fingers.

Sadan relishes that Michele is reluctant to masturbate him, the feel of her feathery fingers loosely caressing his turgid member is about all he can stand without coming. He reaches down and firmly disengages Michele’s fingers from around his shaft.

“I am not yet ready to climax,” he pants into her mouth pressing his lips against hers.

Sadan pulls Michele’s body hard against his again, enjoying the feel of his cock against the material of her skirt. He holds her body against his and his other hand slides down her body and rests on her buttocks. Michele’s sobs are muffled by Sadan’s savage kisses, his lips grinding against hers and his tongue invading her mouth. Tears run down her face causing her heavy eye makeup to streak.

Sadan roughly fondles Michele’s buttocks and the material of her skirt slides effortlessly across her plump rear, her skirt slithering against her satin panties. The sounds of rustling of nylon and satin, and the smacking of lips and slurping tongues and the smells of perfume and the musky smell of sexual arousal fill the air.

Mique has taken out his penis and is slowly improving an erection standing out proudly from his robes.

Michele plays along with her role; pretending to be non-compliant but secretly resolved to what is about to happen to her. She makes a final supplication for mercy.

“Please…” she pleads.

“Oh there’s no need to beg shermuta; you are going to get what you deserve!” Sadan and Mique both laugh sarcastically.

Sadan puts a hand around her throat and hisses menacingly into her face.

“You might as well capitulate putta; it’s either this or another beating!”

Michele realises that her protests are useless, she stops sobbing and resigns herself to her fate. She rationalises to herself that she only has to get through what will soon follow and then these barbarians will leave.

She makes her mind go blank and she totally capitulates; she has endured total degradation already today so there is probably nothing more that these men can do to her that hasn’t already been done.

Sensing Michele’s acceptance, Sadan pulls her body back against his and begins to kiss her again, this time there is no resistance; she is reluctantly returning his kisses, her tongue flicking against his. Sadan’s erection returns to full tumescence as he humps up against Michele’s skirt and scrunches her buttocks through the layers of leather and satin.

He reaches down the rear of her skirt and puts his hand inside the kick pleat and then slowly starts to lift her skirt up. Michele tenses but forces herself not to resist. When Sadan has the rear of Michele’s skirt hiked up he reaches between their bodies and grasped the front of her skirt and hikes it up as well so that her skirt is rucked up around her waist.

Michele stands on her tiptoes, raised up on her high-heels she leans forward, her arms around the large solid man, she hesitantly returns his kisses; her skirt rucked up around her waist. Sadan rubs the delicate material of her skirt against her; caressing her tight pantied buttocks.

Sadan’s cock is now rubbing against the front of Michele’s satin panties sending waves of pleasure through his body. He reaches down and takes Michele’s hand and guides it to his rock-hard member.

“Slowly,” he groans into Michele’s mouth.

She understands what he means and takes the hard pulsing flesh in her hand and softly squeezes it until she feels Sadan buck against her and she ever so slowly begins to masturbate him. She is surprised by the girth of his member and the by heat radiating from it as it pulses in her hand. She masturbates him with long slow strokes, establishing a steady rhythm. Sadan moves his groin back and forth in time with her strokes, fucking her hand.

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