The Unjustly Punished Lady Lawyer

I nodded because it was true enough. "All men are like little boys -- you were a toy in the store and he wanted you," she said.

She glanced at the older number one wife and continued, "In our culture, we have learned to share, so we don't feel angry with you. We are relieved because at least we can see that Hamid has good taste."

"We needed to meet you, to hear from you about the tapes, and we believe your story. The security people here have been able to find nothing beyond that address in London, plus the tapes. Your friend's role is speculative only. We don't have any proof at all that you are a spy or have done anything against our state or much against our society."

"You are an unfortunate case of a relatively innocent person caught in something not entirely of your own making, and you have suffered too much for it."

Lifting my gown right up to my shoulders, she ran a slim, brown henna-painted hand gently down my back. Gently touching my bruised bottom, she carefully replaced my gown.

There were tears in her eyes when she said, "If they had done that to me, I would have died."

As she dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her robe, I reached out to take the hand of this lovely lady and nuzzled up to it.

The older one spoke again. "You deserve and will get compensated for this. But please, understand that relations between your country and ours are vitally important to both parties. It will do no one any good if you make a fuss afterwards."

"When we have problems with foreign girls who are prostitutes or little better than that, nobody cares much if they make a fuss. In your case, as a professional person, it could have very serious consequences. "

"The state will give you sufficient money to buy yourself a very nice flat in a good London suburb and have some more to save. You can never come back here, but perhaps you would not want to come back."

That was true.

The wife went on, "It will help if you will agree to these terms and to sign a legal document saying that you agree. If you do later try to talk about your experiences or go to the media in Europe or the USA, you may find it difficult to get another passport or to get visas to travel."

"I don't expect an answer now, but please think about this. We will visit you again once settled in our hospital, where you will transfer later today. Now don't worry, all your affairs are being taken care of."

"Our officials have contacted and your manager warned him to say nothing or we will expel him immediately and the company closed down here. Your car is safe back at your apartment, which is being managed for security whilst you are not there."

I still wondered why they arrested me like that just after leaving the apartment and I asked, "But why did they arrest me?"

The younger one replied, "It scared them that after what Hamid had said to you earlier in the evening, you would go to your friend, discuss things, and decide to leave immediately."

"You could have gone to the airport, bought a ticket with your credit card, and left before anyone could have stopped you. They made a rushed, on-the-spot decision and things went wrong."

I looked away from them for a moment whilst thinking about what she had said and it all added up. The two ladies got up and kissed me. They were very forgiving.

The younger one said, "Before you leave, I want you to come to my house and bathe with me. I have never bathed with a European woman before. Will you do that, please?"

This was a little embarrassing, but if it would help to get me out of this place, I would do it. "Yes, I will. It would be a pleasant experience for me, too. I promise to come." She smiled and said, "We should both look forward to it. I know your address and I will leave my telephone number at your apartment."

They left quietly and a few minutes later Nabila came back and talked to me. "The younger lady has had an excellent education and works for the Government too. I think she was the one who found out what was going on and got things moving. The older one has some sort of powerful connections, but I'm not sure what they are."

"The ambulance comes for you in an hour, and I'm going with you to help you during the trip. Let's see how the healing is getting on. By the way, I've got your watch back for you," and she handed it to me.

Then she helped me off the bed and over to the bidet. Nabila always wanted to wash me before doing any kind of remotely intimate examination. With me squatting on the bide, she tenderly washed my nether regions.

We had become good friends over the few days since my beating and now she looked me in the eye and said, "The religious woman removed my clitoris when I was nine years old, and you are lucky." I stared at her and said, "I've never seen that before. Would you show me, please?"

She smiled, went over to the clinic door, and locked it, pulling the blind down over the window. I was no longer regarded as much of a security risk but as an embarrassment to them. She quickly removed her nurse's uniform skirt and her panties, then washed herself on the bidet before lying down on the bed next door with her legs open.

"Have a look," she said. Her inner labia and clitoris were missing, with healed-up scar tissue in place. "When I have a baby, they will have to take me to the hospital and make an incision or the scar could split and I might bleed to death." She got up and put her clothes back on quickly.

"Have you had sex?" I asked, "Yes," she replied, "I've had a boyfriend and get sensations, and I think I have orgasms, but I'm sure it's nothing like what it must be for you." I hugged her.

She held my eyes again. "When you go back to your flat, could I come and see you there? I want you to see if you can stimulate me and tell me what you see going on. It's difficult to look at yourself, and I don't have enough privacy at home."

I was a little shocked. I have never had a true lesbian experience. With a flatmate at university, I had joined in a little mutual exploration and anatomical knowledge gathering. We were both curious about what arousal entailed in physiological terms and we did "experiment" a bit on each other.

It hadn't done a lot for me, but it had been quite pleasant. I thought for a moment, appreciating that we are all sisters under the skin, so I looked at Nabila and said, "Yes, if you would like that, we can do it."

She came over, knelt before me, and quickly gave me an intimate kiss. It was VERY pleasant after all that pain! I put my prison smock back on again, feeling better than I had for weeks, despite my damaged bum!

"Nabila," I said. "I owe so much to you. Stay in touch, please."

I had a business card in my purse, and I gave it to her. "Here's my mobile number on the card. Please try to stay in touch with me. Once I am out of this, I would love to meet up. Nabila found a piece of paper and wrote her mobile number for me."

The ambulance arrived, and they took me most discretely over to the military hospital where they put me in a ward with its sitting room, video, satellite TV, cassettes on demand from a library, etc. I found myself cared for by an expatriate doctor who looked at my injuries and said with a little twinkle in her eye,

"You must have been a bad girl if they did that to you. It's worse than my canings at school."

By the time I arrived at the military hospital, I was already on the mend. They replaced the castor oil with something more palatable but just as effective, and that stopped after a few days as the healing progressed.

The next thing was skincare to reduce the marking. My back responded well, and within three weeks, the marks had all but gone.

There was still a lot of bruising on my poor bottom after the same time, with sensation when I touched it and some pain when I tried sitting on it. It was obvious too that the scarring would be there for a long time.

A few years later, if you look carefully and I let you, you can still see a fine white tracery because of the worst of the cane marks. A skin specialist told me that because I had received excellent treatment immediately after the beating, I had avoided the worst of the scarring. But without plastic surgery, I would have the tracery marks for life.

But they hardly show once I get a suntan and I rather like them as a memento of the experience. They were worried at the hospital about nerve damage and they gave me extensive tests. If perfect is one hundred per cent, they said my left leg was about ninety-eight per cent and my right leg ninety-six per cent because of nerve damage in the nerves under the flesh of my buttocks.

They said it might improve with time. I wasn't aware of any loss of sensation or control in my legs, but the toes of my right foot were slightly numb. After four weeks, my bottom completely healed, and the bruises were almost gone. There was no more sensation when I sat on it. I was back to near my normal weight (I had lost 12 pounds in prison).

Hamid's two wives visited with fruit and to chat, they were just lovely. Some awful fart from the embassy came and was downright frosty. I was rude to him and more or less told him to go.

They sent a much nicer younger secretary the following day, and she smoothed things over. I won't go into the details of the deal, but they gave me enough money to buy a flat outright in a smart part of London, with cash to spare. I left the hospital for my apartment after four weeks, being collected by wife number two in her Mercedes sports car.

Once out of the hospital, the Government gave me a month to settle my affairs, sell my car, get out of the apartment, and finally leave the country. They insisted I should be alone in the apartment between the hours of ten PM and seven AM each day, and I think they watched the place at night. I assumed they still bugged it.

They did not allow me to return to the office and severely warned me not to talk, this being emphasised both by the embassy and by Hamid's wives. My manager at work came to see me in the hospital.

The authorities had given him a version of events, but he didn't know exactly what had happened to me. He was still needlessly apologetic. He said that I had done a lot for the Company and that I had been unlucky, if a little unwise, and they would miss me.

I got a good severance deal from them as they regarded my predicament as having been work-related!

Back at the flat, I was very bored. Because I couldn't talk, I wanted to avoid my friends who were so inquisitive about what had happened. I went swimming, exercised, and took a long drive down to a big rock outcrop in the middle of the desert. There was an opportunity to visit a desert oasis, to explore an underground water channel, and I did a few things I had meant to do in the past but had been too busy for.

A local agent bought my car, as it was difficult for a single woman to deal with the local buyers.

I rang Hamid's number two wife, and she invited me around for the bathing session. Arriving on time, I found both wives were there with two other lovely-looking local lady friends. No one told me they would be there, but how could I object?

The place was enormous, and we had a luxury bedroom each to prepare in and we could walk about naked. Women-only and babies occupied that part of the house (the Harem!) with the older children at school for the day.

The nakedness amongst these women in those surroundings seemed completely natural. They were incredibly curious about the naturally blonde westerner. They all said they would find it very erotic if they could watch me pee and then wash me on the bidet.

I had to drink a big jug of water with lime juice. I forced myself to drink about three litres of water within about half an hour and it was distending my stomach as if I was pregnant. It wasn't long before I felt the urge to pee.

The ladies begged me to hang on for as long as I could and I did so until I was in pain and almost losing control. When I got to the loo, they all gathered around as I let go and I kept my legs wide open to let them get a good look.

It was like the London Fire Brigade practising. I've rarely had a pee like it. At the end, they accompanied me over to an ornate bidet. One of them washed my intimate parts, and another washed my bum. It was rather sweet with them practically fighting over me.

They all took a lot of interest in the still prominent cane marks on my bum, running their fingers over the now pain-free marks and clucking in sympathy. I noticed wife number two was the most interested in the same way as she had been in the prison and I thought she was quite a sexy little thing.

Sometimes five or six hands were stroking various parts of me. It was so erotic! A little while later, I needed to pee again as I had drunk so much. Someone once told me that a man can hold nearly a litre while a woman is capable of about 0.8 litres and I had drunk at least three litres. I repeated it three times, each time with a little less pee produced, but I certainly gave them their money's worth.

Hamid's first wife was well-educated and went on about the "G spot." She got me to finger hers and rewarded my efforts with moans and vaginal contractions when I "hit the spot."

Then it was my turn. My quite abundant blonde pubic hair fascinated them and they all loved my very pink and highly erectile clitoris. I'm blessed with a fairly big one, so I'm told! Wife number two stroked it and then gave it a lovely, long suck. I had an orgasm, and they all clapped! It was just a little embarrassing.

Then wife number two gave me a shock. She produced a cane. "No," I said, "No way." I was very alarmed. She dropped the cane right away, put her arm around me, and fingered my clit again. "It's not for you, it's for me."

"If I had been quicker, I might have stopped your ordeal. I deserve a few strokes, but I'm terrified. It will be better if we do it as a group and you can support me. I've always wanted to try it, but our men are not into it."

Wife number one looked impassively but intently on. I wondered if there had been an informal trial and punishment sentence handed out to wife number two before I arrived. The other ladies took wife number two over to a chair.

The bigger one put wife number two over her knee with her bum in the air. They handed me the cane first. "Please give me four strokes each," pleaded wife number two.

"Oh well," I thought, "She has asked for it and it's nothing." The cane was quite light and whippy, about six mm in diameter and perhaps ninety cm long, and wouldn't do her much harm. "OK, here comes the first one."

I took careful aim and gave her quite a light stroke. There was just a little rushing noise as the cane sped through the air and a very subdued "CRACK" as it landed. Wife number two jerked and let out a little yelp, and a hand flew out to rub the spot.

The lady holding her made soothing noises and praised her bravery in Arabic. It was lovely how they were all so mutually supportive. I was very patient and waited for her to get ready again, giving her another stroke, very much like the first, to be rewarded with a similar reaction.

I saw wife number one look at me and frown a bit. "That's not a caning. That's just a light spanking. Give her good cuts for the last two" (Maybe there had been a trial and a sentence!) She said it with such an air of authority that she had to be obeyed.

There was an expectant hush and WHOOOSH ZWEEEP as this time the cane bit home and I followed through. A frenzied howl came from wife number two, who jumped to her feet, rubbing frantically at her bum with one hand whilst she tried to wipe away tears with the other.

There was not a murmur of criticism or admonition to be gentler to be heard! Wife number one smiled! Wife number two calmed down fairly quickly and got back over her friend's lap. "Right, my girl," I thought, "You will now find out just how much strength a British girl can have in her right arm."

I swung the cane back over my shoulder and hit her as hard as I could. There was a terrific crack as the cane bit home and you could see the force of the impact ripple out across her quite plump buttocks.

She let out a series of high-pitched squeals, got up, and collapsed onto a bed, where her lady friends and wife number one comforted her. She recovered after a little while, and I got her to stand up and knelt behind her to inspect the damage. Even the last two strokes had left only heavy red marks that would thicken into presentable welts. the cane was very light and the strokes had not broken the skin.

I gave her bum a little kiss! She would not be in much discomfort for long. The older of the two other ladies took the cane and motioned for me to sit in the chair to hold the victim. What a naughty lady she turned out to be, giving poor wife number two four very hard cuts in quick succession, probably only four or five seconds apart.

Number two threw herself on the bed again, howling like a child, rubbing frantically at her bum and kicking with her legs. She babbled away in Arabic about being a good girl now and being let off the last four, but wife number one was having none of it.

Eventually, they hoisted wife number two back over my knee and the other lady held her feet. Wife number one landed four well-aimed and very hard stingers all over her bum. Some marks crossed over.

Wife number two was in floods of tears. In the end, she got up and went miserably out to the loo, and I went to comfort her and watch as she had a pee. As the possible instigator of her misfortune, I needed to go to her rescue.

I took her over to the bidet and helped her wash her bottom, and she soon stopped crying. She got up and looked over her shoulder at the mirror as she fingered her welts. There would be a few bruises, but she wasn't bleeding at all. She wasn't angry with me, and I think she was angry with herself.

"You've been brave," I said. "I think this is your first caning?"

"My Dad hit me a few times with a camel stick when I was a naughty girl, but it wasn't anything like this," she replied.

She gently got hold of my head and made it clear she would like me to kiss her pussy. I did so, and she seemed to get a lot of relief from that.

We all got back together for a spell in the big Hammam or Turkish bath. It was in an enormous bathroom. A servant girl had got the bath ready. What an education those girls got. I hope one of them writes a book, eventually. We got in the bath, with wife number two wanting me to be beside her, and she kept getting me to put my hand on her pussy and gently massage her clit. No one was the least bit embarrassed.

Those Arab ladies put us to shame for sheer horniness. The servant girl came and tipped water over us from jars. It was lovely and warm in there. None of them seemed to care the servant girl was there, and I felt relaxed.

It was in a way better than being with a man because there was so little pressure. There were a lot of sexy ladies talking in there, with them describing what they liked. Most of it was normal stuff, but there was the odd way out desire, which I cannot mention here, and the likes of which I had never dreamed about.

I could see the others didn't approve! The younger lady spoke good English and asked me if I would mind talking about what had happened in the prison. I looked at wife number one, knowing that I had been told not to talk.

She nodded her head and smiled to show it was OK within those walls. When I went into details of the flogging and final caning, they all went quiet and stared at me whilst wife number two started crying.

"What do you think of us?" one of them asked, "I don't think it's so much your fault as political," I replied

"They see a problem where it doesn't exist. I'm not saying they are wrong to be like that. So often I think the security services watch the wrong people for the wrong reasons. But your government has done everything to put things right."