Delilah Is Traded For An Old Jaguar

Badra stood in front of the trunk glaring at Delilah. Badra was slim, tall, and long-haired. Her face was carefully done with makeup. Her fingers were expertly manicured. She wore a long elegant black dress that covered her whole body, yet would have fit into any British high society event. Despite all the signs of beauty, her face expressed ugly disdain.

Da'wud was about nineteen. He wore an oversized Adidas soccer shirt, held an orange soccer ball in his hand. His hair was cut in a wild hair cut with her flying into every direction. "So, that's your new girl, dad. She's a bit fat, don't you think so?"

"Da'wud, I appreciate that you speak in English, so that she can understand us. However, I do not appreciate your tone. Let's call her an intern. She is here to learn about civilization. We saved her from poverty in America, so that she can experience the life with a civilized family."

"I want to see her butt."

"Da'wud, show her a warm welcome. If you say one more thing, I will have the driver give you five lashes on your bare soles."

"Okay, dad. I'll go play soccer with my friends."

"Delilah, excuse rough start. You must be very startled. Let's start over. My wife will introduce you to our kitchen, your office so to speak."

Without saying anything, Badra walked to the inside of the building. Stones created steps across the front lawn. The grass blades were so thick that Delilah was in awe. Delilah followed looking at the moving ruffles in Badra's dress.

The kitchen was a giant room that spawned the dining table and living room. The roof curved in a partial circle. The TV area had big couches and thick, colorful Persian rugs. The dining table was made of dark mahogany wood to seat a dozen people. The kitchen had big work surfaces. The two story high floor to ceiling sliding glass doors opened an entire wall to the few of the backyard. The backyard was an amazing assortment of perfectly manicured plants, statues, and swimming pool. There were many ancient Greek statues.

"This is a blender. You put drinks and ice in it. Then, you push this button. And, everything gets blended."

"I know what a blender is."

"Oh, you are so much smarter than the last girl from Sri Lanka. Do you know what that is?"

"That's a microwave. You put in food. You set the timer. It heats up. And, you have to be careful to avoid putting aluminum in it."

"Wow, your American high school education is excellent."

"Ma'am, everyone knows that stuff without going to school."

"Well, the last Sri Lankan girl went for a whole month to home appliance school, because she had never seen those things before in her life. I thought my husband only picked you, because he wanted to buy some white skin. Make me a sandwich."

Delilah carefully opened the refrigerator. The refrigerator had light bulbs with the natural sunlight spectrum that made everything look more delicious. The refrigerator was oversized and fully stocked with fresh food and produce. She picked a tomato, lettuce, mustard, Swiss cheese slices, and turkey cold cats. Rummaging through the cupboard, she found bread. The smell of freshly baked bread immediately tingled her nose. The drawers had wood boards and knifes.

The labor of putting together a sandwich was the first familiar thing. Memories of back home, feeling safe and secure flashed up. Putting a neat sandwich together with such premium ingredients was a joy. She hoped that she would get to make one for herself as well.

Aafiya came by for a moment and exclaimed, "look at her! She'll be great. Doesn't she look gorgeous?" The word 'gorgeous' put an ugly frown on Badra's face, like deep pain had crawled over her liver. Aafiya left without noticing. Delilah smiled for a moment and then felt the cold tension in her back.

Delilah finished the sandwich by painting a smiley face with the mustard on the side. She proudly handed it to Badra with a big smile. And, Delilah's eyes had this clarity and radiance like one has after a deeply cathartic cry. Badra weight the plate in her hand. Then, she looked deeply into Delilah's eyes.

"You did pretty well. It is a nice sandwich. However, the tomatoes are not tugged in completely under the bread. That may be good enough for America. But, you are in Bahrain at a premier family. This is not good enough. I have to be hard on you. It is the best for you to learn the basic properly."

With that, Badra raised up the plate, tilted it to the side, and let the sandwich slide of it. Delilah's heart sunk into her belly at the anticipation of her delicious master work hitting the floor. Badra stepped out of her fake diamond crusted black high heels. She stepped on the tattered sandwich. The yellow mustard bubbled up between her toes. The tomatoes were crushed to paste. The bread was flattened.

"Eat it. Nothing goes to waste here. When you make a mistake, you clean it up. Until you have earned it, you are not allowed to use your hands. Put your hands behind your back."

Delilah felt the cold, dominating voice in her gut. She quickly got on her knees and bent over. To carefully get a piece of sandwich off the brand new and spanking clean marble floor. The bread tasted amazing, especially because she was so hungry. She carefully eyed the crunchy lettuce. She could do this. She sorted all the food pieces into the order that she would indulge in them.

Then, Badra's foot pressed on the back of her head. With her hands behind her back, she could not resis the weight pushing her head down. Badra's face flashed with anger. Delilah's face was smashed against the food. Her cheeks were flattened against the granite. The mustard and wet bread pieces tuck to her whole face. Badra's soiled soles left mustard and greens in her hair. Badra stepped around and wiped her soles clean on Delilah's clothes.

Just when Badra had stepped back in her shoes, Aafiya returned to the kitchen with a startled look.

"I know what you are going to say, Aafiya – those American girls are trained better. However, look at her, she behaves like a dog. Those people were right after all that American's are no better than filthy dogs. Have you ever seen a human eat of the floor like this? You should return her. Our son would love to drive your old Jaguar."

"We are doing something good here. We simply have to go more slowly. Let her sleep in the dog house tonight. Sleeping in a bed may be too foreign for her. She may get scared. I have to go back to the office for a meeting with the minister. Be nice to her. I love you."

Badra watched Delilah finish eating on the floor. Badra made Delilah lick up everything, including Badra's mustard footsteps. The sun was setting outside. Delilah was shown the large dog house in the living room. She had to crawl into it on her knees. Inside was a soft doggie bed that was coated with balls of hair from a real dog. Crouching in a fetal position, Delilah quickly fell asleep.

The next day Badra realized that Aafiya wasn't going to send away Delilah. So, she left for the day. Delilah began cleaning the floor. She vacuumed. She wiped the bathroom, which was opulent with a big Jacuzzi lowered into the floor, big screen TV, separate room for the toilet. The toilet room included an intercom to the main bathroom. The labor made her sweat a bit and forget the troubled journey. She counted one day down out of the month. She'd get her horse in the end. She just had to hang in there. Plus, the food was so fresh and good. There was so much food in the pantry and everywhere that she could easily take a little here or there without it being obvious.

In the evening, Aafiya returned with two burly men in tow. The burly men were laden with big heavy bags. The sweet aroma of Arab lamb filled the air. "Delilah, we are having special guests tonight. An official of the security service will visit us. I'd like you to be our server. They will be impressed to see an American working in our home. I even got you American clothes, so that you are comfortable. The guest will be so impressed to realize how tolerant we are by letting you were what you like, despite the stricture of our society."

Aafiya threw Delilah a small plastic bag. Delilah peeked inside. It was a skimpy bikini with the colors of the American flag. One bra side had the stars. The other had the stripes. There were also see-through plastic stripper high heels.

"We only wear those at the beach."

"C'mon, don't be shy to be yourself. We are very open-minded. We value other cultures."

Defeated by all the humiliation, Delilah went to the opulent bathroom. She stripped down her clothes. She got into the bikini and high heels. Her voluptuous thighs showed pinched by the string of the bikini bottom. Her belly was a little rounded out. Her big boobs lurked out on all sides of the bikini triangles. The high heels made her butt swing from side to side. Her skin looked pasty. She looked like a sweet, sexy homebody.

Everyone at the dinner table was dressed conservatively. Aafiya, Da'wud, and the security services official were dressed in suits with jackets. Badra was dressed in a black head-to-toe dress. Her face was covered by a veil. Only a black hole hinted at Badra's eyes lurking out. Badra didn't say a single word the entire evening. She never reached for a plate. If her husband forgot to replenish the gravy on her potatoes or the drink in the glass, she'd silently wait for her husband to place the food on her plate.

Among this display of conservatism, Delilah paraded the food in and dirty plates out like a stripper. Her butt bubbled and her boobs jingled with every step. Her toes were deliciously splayed from the forward weight of the high heels. Her face smiled. The back of the bikini kept working itself in between the butt cheeks to show even more of her big bubble butt. The men leered each time she entered. They would not resume talking until she left. In a way, it was just like back home. Let the old men stare. They never do anything.

When the table conversation had calmed from intense discussion to relaxed talk over digestive coffee, the head of security reached around Delilah's thigh high up beneath the bikini bottom. His hand slid between her thighs and stopped her from walking. Delilah uncomfortably paused with the empty salad bowl in her hand. The security service official had a skinny face that was drawn out by anxiety and stress. He seemed perpetually in the need of another cigarette. He relished feeling up the naked skin of the American girl.

"I enjoy the tolerance in this house hold. Why don't you let her show us her customs? I hear the American's love bootie dancing."

"Da'wud, get on YouTube. Find Delilah some bootie music."

Da'wud eagerly nodded at everyone on the table to excuse himself to get up. He walked over to the computer in the living room area. The rapid drum rolls for bootie shakes quickly sounded up in the hifi sound system.

"Go, Delilah, don't be shy."

Delilah remained frozen. The security service official pulled his hand of her thigh. He undid his belt and pulled it out. The skinny black leather belt waved liked a snake. "You surely don't let her get away with disobedience. This skinny leather belt will leave deep marks that will remind her for a long time."

"Delilah, come here. Drink this."

Aafiya gave her a half filled glass of clear liquid. It tasted smooth. Then, it burned her throat. Her eyes cried. She caught. It was vodka, easily three shots. She had not been allowed to eat herself, while she had served an opulent dinner for two hours. She breathed out threw her mouth to tame the burn inside her mouth. There was an instant high of anxiety from realizing that she would be senselessly drunk in a few minutes. She was breathing faster.

The bootie music was still thumping loud asking her to dance. She gingerly stepped her legs apart and squeezed her butt cheeks alternatingly. The fat tissue in her butt let the movement created ripples that spread through her butt. She gyrated her boobs to the music. Next thing, she was on her hands with her legs spread wide. Her butt was mooning the Arab guests. The sinews attaching at the center of her hip clearly showed demonstrating just how little fabric covered her snatch. The security services official let his belt snap in the air. Each time, she heard the loud crack, she shook her bootie a little harder.

"You know Aafiya, those American's are always sex crazy. She probably looks so sad, because she is sex deprived. You should send her off with your boy. We have anyway business to talk about. No American can be in the house, when we talk. Send your wife to her bedroom as well. She could be a spy after all. The CIA is everywhere."

Da'wud turned off the music. He got up. He had a huge grin on his smile. "Really dad? I get the American girl for tonight. I can do whatever I want? I can take her down to the strip?"

"Da'wud, your father is very generous. Now go, before you turn into a pest."

Da'wud grabbed Delilah. His face was red from excitement. He had a boyish, boisterous excitement about him that made him forget his shoes. Then, he realized his shoes and something else. He left Delilah in the entrance hall. Two minutes later, he reappeared with a tiny, skimpy black dress. "Take this on. We got it for another household help. It should fit." Delilah took it on. The bottom of the dressed stopped right beneath her bikini bottom. She would only be able to stand without showing her bottoms. The fabric felt sleek, wet, and fluid. Her whole figure was exposed as if she only wore body paint. The bikini outline showed clearly through the supple dress fabric.

Da'wud's car was an old top of the line Mercedes S-Class. Once in the backseat, the inside of the car was anything but luxurious. The cigarette tray, glove box, carpet, and everything else had been crudely ripped out of the car. It felt like the shell of an abandoned car. There were cigarette burns and dirt stains everywhere.

"Do you love it? We trimmed another 50 lbs out of the weight of the car. It's a racing car."

Da'wud drove through the night. The neighborhood was sparsely populated by villas with large gardens surrounding them. The night was black. Nobody was in the streets. They picked up two friends. The two friends set left and right of Delilah. They were equally boyish in the dress. Their faces were innocent. They were clearly excited. Smirks kept flashing over their faces, which they tried to hide. They were shy about touching Delilah. They pulled their thighs carefully away from her.

The ride was silent. Everyone was breathless to steal a stare at Delilah. Delilah almost felt like she was in power. The Mercedes calmly rolled out into the deep desert.

"My father said that I could do anything with her. What should we do?"

"Da'wud, you have to put her on the car hood. Then, we'll cruise up and down and impress everyone."

The car came up onto cars parked along the road.

"Okay, Delilah, get out. Pose on the hood of the car."

Delilah strutted out into the dark desert night on her see-through stripper heels. She sat on the hood.

"No, pose! Lean back, bent your knees a bit."

Delilah felt the warm engine underneath the hood. It was a comforting warms in the cool night air in her skimpy outfit. The car slowly idled along the road. Groups of young Arabs were standing along the street. They were drinking. They had cups and bottles in their hand. They called out Arabic screeches at the sight of the skimpy white girl on the hood of the Mercedes. There were no girls, only young men.

Once they passed the strip of parked cars and drinking men, one of the Da'wud's friends called out: "Let's make her walk along the car like a dog. I have some cables here. Let's put them around her neck like a leash." The men inside the car got excited and giddy. The called Delilah to get of the hood and come over. They tied starter cables around her neck. The thick cables were heavy.

The liquor from the dinner table had its full effect. The good thing was that Delilah felt no embarrassment at all. Though, she wobbled helplessly in her high heels. She fell. The car kept going a bit farther. She helpless crawled on her knees. The friend holding her jumper cable leash excitedly called out: "Now she is crawling like a dog. That is even better!" her dress exposed her whole butt. The American flag bikini bottoms bared themselves to the crowd. The young men cheered.

A man that looked more official strutted straight to the car. The car stopped. Delilah took the chance to roll on her butt. Her skirt rode up high. Her legs were sprawled open wide. Her face had drooly eyes from the liquor. She was smiling to herself an evil smile, because a prank thought crossed her mind.

"Da'wud, can we borrow your girl? We are having a drag race. She could wave the starter flags. That would be so cool, like in the movie Fast and Furious."

The race official gathered Delilah from the floor. He swatted the dust of her black dress. Then, he took the tipsy damsel to the middle of the road. A Porsche and a Lamborghini drove up to them. A checkered rug was pressed into Delilah's hand. The racers shook hands. Then, they kissed their fingers and slapped Delilah on the butt for good look. Delilah shook her finger drunkenly at them. She totally wasn't aware that she was in Bahrain. She behaved like back home at a frat party.

The drivers roared their engines. Delilah could feel the vibrations in her body. She stood between the two hoods. It scared her and made her think of her vibrator at the same time. She raised the checkered rag. Let her arms fall down. The roadsters screeched ahead. The drag wind made the tipsy Delilah tumble left and right.

She caught herself. The next set of cars pulled up for a drag race. This time, Delilah cheered in abandon for the start of the race. The drag wind of the cars left the vulnerable, skimpy dressed Delilah again tumbling in the middle of the road. The crowd of men starred and leered at her.

A particularly boisterous young men tried to make his BMW drift along the desert stretch. He lost control. His car tumbled. The doors, broken windshields, and inside of the car flew out sideways, as the car rolled over on its side at high speed. A group of six young Arabs that had been drinking in a circle were flattened before the car crashed into parking luxury cars. Everyone ran for their cars to take off. The police came with a single compact Nissan. The siren blared lonely.

Da'wud speeding away with Delilah and his friends said, "Don't worry. That happens every few months." Delilah was sobered up by adrenaline. Luxury cars raced them left, right, on the street on the desert. They drove with abandon of the median. Some cars wobbled with the drivers clearly out of control of the power of the exotic car they were driving. A few minutes out, everyone distributed. The driving went calmer.

"Da'wud, that was a good night. You got a lot of cred for bringing the American out." Da'wud proudly leaned a bit deeper into the Mercedes seat.

"That Delilah girl doesn't protest like all those Indian women. We should take advantage. Let's pull over to my house. My parents are in London."

The friend's villa was equally opulent. They pulled her into the bathroom. The bathroom was a huge room. It had a free standing bathtub, a separate shower, a sauna, and even a couch. The two friends sat on the couch. Da'wud sat on the large sink.

"Take your clothes off."

Delilah pulled her black dress over her head. She let the bikini bottom fall to the floor. She dropped the bikini. She stood naked in her stripper high heels in the middle of the lit up bathroom. The big mirrors revealed her naked body to herself.

One of the guys on the bench pulled his pants down and showed his limp penis.

"Suck it."

Delilah was pushed forward. Yet, she struggled against going down on him. Her face was a foot away from the limp penis. She pushed with both arms. Her eyes and mouth was pressed shut.