From Rags To Bitches

My mind was racing, I didn't know if she was playing games, or trying to trap me into telling lies, and maybe sealing my fate in some horrible way.

I tried to answer as vaguely as possible, "I would never presume to contradict the Swiss doctors."

"That is very good. Now your age, I believe you are now nineteen?"

"Yes."

"So you still need your parent permission for the marriage to be internationally legal."

"I believe so."

"Will they agree?"

"Are you serious? Mr Hasam wants to marry me?"

"I told you. I wouldn't be sorting this out if he didn't. Now your parents, will they agree?"

"I have only been allowed to write one letter to them. You helped me do it. That was over a year ago. I don't know what they'll say."

"Ok, I'll draft a letter, and when we get a response, I'll let you know. You can go back to your room. Oh, and I know you haven't made use of the pleasure girls since you've been with us. So from now on, make sure that doesn't change. You're now engaged to our master, so behave appropriately."

With that she picked up her phone, and in minutes, two eunuchs arrived to escort me back to my quarters. From the point of my meeting with her, every one of the other girls or women treated me like I was in charge. Even the attitude of the eunuchs and African serving boys changed. The eunuchs never placed a hand on me, and both they and the serving boys bowed so low, they were in danger of bumping their heads on the floor.

It was three weeks before I heard any more about my wedding, but even then it was just dressers and such measuring me for new clothes. Then around a month after the first mention of weddings, I was taken out to the courtyard, and put into one of the Rolls, and a convoy of three Rolls Royce's escorted by six Land Rover's set off into the desert.

We only travelled for five minutes, and then out we got. It was now, over a year since I'd seen my husband to be. But as I looked from the doorway of the car I'd just alighted from, I saw him getting out of his car, my heart filled with emotion. It brought back the memories of his love making, but even more, that first time I saw him striding into the den of depravity.

Now as I looked on, along with everyone else in his cavalcade, he was still the most magnificent specimen of a man to walk the earth. As everybody else stood at the doors of the cars they had just alighted from, he stepped out of the car in front of mine, and with robe flowing in the breeze, he strode across and up the stairway into the waiting plane. Just this one view of this man would be enough to make any woman want him, even if he'd been penniless. But he wasn't, and he was about to arrange a marriage to me. I felt I must be dreaming. But then I was ushered to follow, and along I went with my three attendant girls, and four of the little African boys.

We didn't see my master at any time during the flight, as he was in his own private area of the plane. When we landed in England, the disembarking was similar to boarding, we all waited until he had left the plane, and was installed in his car, (a Rolls; of course), and then it was the turn of me and my entourage, followed lastly by everyone else.

In total, they'd hired seven Rolls Royce's, and our convoy drove from London's Heathrow airport up to the midlands to Coventry. This was the city I was born in, and where my parents still lived.

Again, you have to remember this all happened back in the sixties, and in the street in Coventry where my parents lived, there were normally no more than ten cars parked in a street of over a hundred houses.

And to see a Rolls Royce in the avenue, meant either a wedding or funeral. But to see seven Rolls parked one behind the other, was unheard of, even if the queen had been visiting.

Now I hadn't been in contact with my parents since I'd gone on holiday over a year ago, apart from the one letter which had been dictated by the head wife. And she had arranged this meeting, so I had no idea just what had been said in those communications.

So as My Sheik waited for me by the little wooden front gate at my parent's house, I was wondering just what kind of reaction I would get when they came to the door. As it was, most of the neighbours were either out at their doors, or looking through their windows. I didn't even know if they knew anything about what was happening, but as I later found out, they had no idea, and indeed most of them had imagined it was either something to do with royalty, or Hollywood movies stars.

As the door opened, my mom dashed out, followed by my two younger sisters. The tears streamed down all of their faces, and on seeing them, I also burst into tears.

But my future husband, walked straight past all of us, and as he shook the hand of my father, they both went into the house. When we followed, we were shown into the back room, while dad and my sheik disgust my future in the front parlour. After only thirty minutes, I was being summoned to return to the car, and with only the briefest of goodbyes, I said my final farewell to my mom and sisters. As for my dad, the only communication I got with him was a wave goodbye as the cars drew away.

The next week I was married in Monty Carlo, and for the next three months, we honeymooned from one Mediterranean location to another. Every night I escorted him into gambling casinos and major socialite functions. I had money spent on jewellery, clothes, and beauty treatment, and I lacked for nothing money could buy.

But it was nothing like I'd expected marriage to be. I was his to command, and I never felt like I'd expected a wife should feel. It was more like I was just an expensive piece of jewellery, or one of his magnificent cars. The only thing that came close to my vision of marital life, was every night in bed.

This man knew more than any of my previous partners, and every night he'd take me to heaven and back; time and time again. But when on the third month, I told one of my attendants (a female) that my period was late, a doctor was called, and after a thorough examination, I was pronounced with child.

That was not only the end to my honeymoon, but almost the end to my involvement with my husband. I was taken back to Tunisia, to the palace, where I had my baby, a magnificent son; ten pounds plus in weight, and so beautiful.

But again, I saw little of him, he was breast fed by wet nurses, and brought up by palace nannies. It was forbidden for me to have contact with him, apart from birthdays.

But having a son, suddenly elevated my position in the harem. I had been up to that point, just a lowly seventh wife, but as all of his the other wives had either not produced children, or just had girls, I was now ranked as wife number two. In fact, my apartment was every bit as luxurious as wife number one, but unlike her, I was never given any power or administration roles. But for all my position and sumptuous living, I had nobody in bed at night, and was never allowed out of the palace.

It was in these three years, I decided to get some education, after all, I reasoned with my new seniority in the harem, with the right education, I could maybe take over some of the head wife's duties.

Anything I wanted was possible, I had tutors for business finance, management, and everything necessary to equip me for running a large household such as my master's palace. Or even for that matter, any modern business.

This carried on in the same way for nearly three years, and in those three years, I only left the palace six times. Each of the six times, it was to adorn him to royal parties in Monty Carlo. It seems that someone, who will remain nameless, took more than a shine to me, and whenever my husband was invited to one of his parties, he'd take me along to impress his host. Not that this man was ever allowed any involvement with me, apart from maybe a dance.

So it was; I'd resigned myself to this being my lot in life. Being displayed at my master's whim a couple of times a year, and an annual visit to see my son. While I gradually equipped myself with enough knowledge to find a more challenging roll in the household.

But as it was approaching my son's third birthday, I had at least got that to look forwards to.

But around a month before his birthday, I was summoned to see my master, and he explained he had been visited by a vision. He had been told by a prophet of Islam to change his ways. He said this vision had shown him the Christian way was evil, and he was now going to devote his life to the real god. But as I had been brought up in a different culture, he would give me a choice.

He said our marriage was automatically void, unless I worshiped his faith, and we re-marry. He then said, I could choose my destiny, either worship his faith, and continue as his wife, or go back to England, and make my own way in the world.

He said I'd have a week to decide. I asked about my son, but even before I'd asked, I knew his reaction, and it was as I'd expected. That was his son and heir to his wealth, and nobody or no power on earth would change that.

So I had a week to decide if I'd leave my son, or carry on with my life as a pampered prisoner. There was also the change in faith, and I'm not for one second saying I'm religious, but like most people, when things go wrong, I pray to god.

I know a lot of women will condemn me for my choice, but as I only ever saw my son once a year, and even then, he never really knew who I was, I decided on my next meeting, I'd tell my master I wanted to go back to England.

He wasn't surprised, and he didn't appear to be in any way put out by my decision. Then he began to go through what would happen to me when I left.

He explained as his relationship with my world, the western world that is, was being terminated. He said he couldn't keep any kind of agreement where he paid me an allowance to live on. In his new world, we, the westerners, would be his enemies.

This was really no more than I'd expected, I hadn't expected him to keep me when I left him.

But then he dropped the bombshell. He signed over an area of land to be owned by me. This was land in Tunisia, one of his minor oil fields. This he explained would give me independence, and my own income. Also, the house in England that he said I'd said I loved. This was a castle with over two thousand acres of land; where we'd spent a weekend, about six months after my son had been born. I'd just imagined he'd rented it. But no, he'd bought it, and now given it to me. Then the house in France, again, I'd only ever been there once. And lastly, another in Spain, again, when I say house, it was like the other two, vast, with its own land.

So it was, a week later, without ever seeing my son again, I left Tunisia for the last time. My new life was difficult to adjust to, I'd never been my own master, and although still only twenty years old, I was now a very wealthy woman.

But owning all this property, and power, was so daunting. To try to get my head around my new situation, my first move was back home to my family. But my re-arrival meant either my sisters having to share a bedroom, or me sharing with one of them. After them both being used to having their own space, this didn't go down too well. Then there was my dad's attitude to me. He still looked on me as one of his children to be bossed around. So I guess it was no surprise that after only a week, I moved out of the family home, and into my castle in Yorkshire.

During the brief stay at home, I'd found out, Lewis was now engaged to my sister Kelly, and they'd planned to marry some time next year. My other sister Helen also had a steady boyfriend, but they were not actually engaged, or at the point of planning a permanent future together. After I'd moved out, there were so many changes brought about by my wealth, changes not only to my life, but to that of my parents and sisters. But I guess this is a totally different story.

So now back to the present, my studs are oiling my body, and I'm about to reach a climax. So as I drift off to heaven again...

"Oh yes. Oh god yes. Yes."

*

At this point, I'd like to acknowledge the help I received from Hafsa Usman. She is a reader of some of my previous stories, and realising my obvious failings with grammar and spelling, instead of criticising, she generously offered her help in that respect. So although the storyline is still mine, I'm sure all readers will have noticed her influence in its readability.

Thanks for reading, and please feel free to email me.