Zainab the Princess

He pulled up my abaya around my waist and ripped off my panties. I felt his hardness at my anus. He had never been this hard in all the sex we had together. His fury seemed to stimulate him. He pushed into my virgin ass without lubrication. Thankfully, his erection was small, but I still felt like he was ripping me apart.

"Fuck me," I cried through the pain. "I'm your wife, I'm yours to take."

"Don't do this to her, master," Suhaila cried. "Don't hurt her, please, please."

"You want it, don't you, Zainab Habiba?"

"Yes, yes," I panted. "I want whatever you want."

"I am a lawful husband," he said. "I will never do anything against your wishes."

He began to fuck me hard, his mount pounding against my buttocks. He came after just a few thrusts and I was thankful for his minimal manhood. He spurted a tiny ejaculation in my ass and lay on me with his full body weight. I felt the pain of his beating all over my body.

"You wanted it, didn't you?" he asked again.

"Yes," I said. "I wanted it."

"You deserved to be beaten."

"Yes, I deserved it," I said, echoing what I heard my mother say to my father.

"You are mine, bitch," he said.

"Yes," I whispered. "I am yours, to use as you wish."

You own me, I thought. Like you own your luxury cars, your palaces, your yacht, your private jet. But I will never love you.

"Good," he said. "I pray to Allah that I will always do what my wife wants. But to make you a truly dutiful wife, I must tame your defiant spirit. I will break you."

No, I thought. You may beat me, you may fuck me rough, but you will never break me.

* * *

Walid and Najma left together. Suhaila helped me move painfully from the carpeted floor of my tent bedroom to my bed. She gently felt me -- my torso, my arms, my legs, my neck, my back.

"Oh, oh, oh," she kept sighing. "How viciously he beat you, princess. He has broken several ribs. You will have bruises all over your body."

"Yes," I agreed. "He broke some ribs. It hurts to talk, even to breathe."

"I will bathe you with some salve. And kiss your hurts."

"You are sweet Suhaila," I said. "Sleep with me tonight."

"Yes, I will hold you, princess."

We slept together, naked. She was true to her word, tenderly worked salve into my skin, then kissed me all over. She tenderly sucked on my nipples and hardened them. She gently kneaded my breasts and kissed the swell of my belly. Her lips moved lower, lower, and finally found the thick lips of my vulva. Her tongue darted out, teasing, exciting, stimulating. Somehow, the pleasure of her ministrations made the pain abate. Then she began sucking on my clit and I began to cum -- slowly, gradually, a long drawn-out orgasm. My hips undulated as though I was swimming, and I gurgled softly in my throat.

"Ah, Suhaila, my darling love," I whispered.

She crawled up and drew the heavy quilt over us against the cold night air of the desert. She held me, her little frame against mine, giving me warmth. I felt her little breasts with my lips and nipped her jet-black nipples with my teeth till they hardened and stood out. I suckled on her breasts contentedly.

"I should make you cum," I murmured.

"Not tonight," she murmured, kissing me on the lips.

* * *

We returned to the royal palace in Doha and I did not expect to see Walid till our next weekly night together. However, he came by my suite just a day later as I was handing the twins to the nursemaids to put them down for the night.

"We are leaving for New York tomorrow," he said, making no mention of our violent encounter the day before. "Najma and her assistants will help you pack. They know what you will need."

"Why, Walid? You should take Najma or one of your senior wives. They will behave properly and not embarrass you."

"Of course, Najma is coming, she always takes care of my arrangements," said Walid. Then he paced around the room, stopping once or twice to look out of the big picture windows. "But the emir wants me to meet a group of businessmen. We are hoping they will invest in the country. It will be good to show them a European face. It will give credence to our statements of being welcoming to Western business."

"I see," I said.

"Just make polite conversation at the dinners and receptions, be a demure Arab wife. Don't be forward with anyone like you were with that lowborn camel jockey."

"Mahmood," I said. "That's his name. I have known him since I was a little girl, Walid. There was never anything inappropriate between us."

"It is not what is done or not done, Zainab Habiba. It is how it appears to onlookers. You are still a teenager but you are now a princess. You must learn this."

"Can Suhaila come with me?" I asked.

"No," said Walid. "She is too dark, almost black. She is not the image we want to project in the West. Najma will take care of you."

* * *

Najma oversaw my make-up and dress. She did not approve of the colorful muslin hijab I wore, but I argued with her till she relented. However, she made me pull it up to cover my face whenever we were not in private. Our entourage was too big for Walid's private jet, so we took over the First Class cabin of a regular Qatar Airways flight. Many of the lesser staff were seated back in economy.

We arrived in New York, were met by diplomatic limousines, and whisked to a dinner reception at our country's consulate. Walid and I were at the head of the receiving line. I had slept on the flight, but I was still jet-lagged and wanted to get to our hotel suite as soon as possible. But my fatigue soon fled -- for as the businessmen filed in, I could not believe my eyes. There, looking as handsome and athletic as ever, was Jack! His bright blue eyes sought me out and I gave him a cautious smile, trying not to stare at him.

"John Grierson, CEO, The Foncault Group of Companies," our majordomo intoned as his turn came.

"I'm pleased you could make it," Walid said, shaking his hand. "We are appreciative of the work Foncault companies are doing in Qatar and hopeful you will consider expanding your investments."

"We will certainly consider it," said Jack. "But first, I must congratulate you on your nuptials." He turned to me. "Your new bride is stunning, a wonderful European face of your country. And so young."

"Yes," said Walid, pleased. "She's nineteen and does represent us well. She went to finishing school in Switzerland, you know."

"I must also congratulate you on the birth of your twins. Your young wife has brought a lovely pair of bonny children into this world."

"Thank you. The birth was kept very private, I am surprised you know so much about it."

"Oh, you know the paparazzi and the gossip sites," said Jack easily. "Nothing escapes them, especially when you have such a beautiful teenage princess giving birth."

He extended his hand to me and I shook it. He put out his other hand and held mine in both of his. The slight tug put pressure on my broken ribs, and I winced with pain. Jack immediately released my hand, his eyes growing hard.

"Princess Zainab Habiba," he said. "You give Western business a powerful incentive to invest in your country."

"Thank ... thank you," I said, faintly. Breathing still hurt my ribs, though I tried hard to control my expression.

He passed on into the reception hall. Per our country's policies, there was no alcohol being served, only fruit juices and soft drinks. I thought it was hypocritical since Walid and most of the aristocracy drank alcohol quite freely in private. Ironically, even though I was called 'the Russian', I was the one who had never tasted alcohol.

Without alcohol, the drinks reception was necessarily short and we soon dispersed to our tables. Walid and I were seated at table 1 at the head of the hall under the dais. It was out of the center of the room and as private as one could get in a public dinner. There were two other seats at the table. The majordomo told us that the consulate had reserved them for the biggest investor in our country. A look at the name tags gave me chills, both from excitement and fear -- for they were for 'John Grierson' and 'Isabelle de la Roque Grierson'.

Jack came to the table just a few moments after Walid and me with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. She immediately went up to Walid and put out her hand.

"Hello, I'm Isabelle," she said. She had a French accent, but with an overlay of English/American. As Walid shook her hand, she turned to me.

"Enchanté de faire votre connaissance," I said.

"Ah, you speak French," she replied. "And such a good accent. Swiss?"

"Yes," I said. "I went to school there."

"Let us not be boring old folks," Isabelle continued. "Let's be bold and switch around. I would love to sit by a dashing Arab prince. And I am sure Jack would love to sit with your charming young wife."

"Well ... " I said, unsure of how to respond.

"Unconventional," said Walid, smoothly. "But why not?"

Isabelle switched the place cards and we sat down.

"You also have a very young wife," Walid said to Jack immediately.

"Oh no, you've got that wrong," said Isabelle with a laugh. She had a very sweet laugh, it was like tinkling bells. "Jack's wife Carmen was indisposed and so he asked me. I'm his daughter-in-law, married to his son, Martin."

"Your son is a lucky man," said Walid to Jack, giving Isabelle a seated half bow. The soup was served and he went on. "I am sorry to bring up boring business, ladies, but I am afraid that is the purpose of our trip. I hope you don't mind."

"Talk away," said Isabelle, touching Walid lightly on the arm. She drew a look of frank interest from him. "I'm only here to be decorative."

"Me, too," I said.

"Jack, I would like to say that our government is very happy with the MRO work your companies are doing for Qatar Airways," Walid said, as the soup was cleared away. "Would you be willing to work with us to set up a full-fledged aircraft service center? We think we could bring in many airlines in the One World network."

"That's a tempting prospect," said Jack. "Especially since the only other center in the area is in Dubai. Emirates Airlines is independent, so that service center rests on shaky foundations."

"That was our thought," said Walid.

"However, at Foncault, we need to be cognizant of the current mood in the West. These days, all companies are potential targets in social media. And many feminist groups are unhappy with the state of affairs in your country."

"Why?" asked Walid. "We are committed to women's rights. Our government sits on the United Nations Panel on Women."

"There is evidence that female slavery is still ongoing in your country. The report by Oriana Perretti is continuing to get a lot of play in the media."

"Oh, that Italian b--" Walid began, but cut himself off. "She never produced any hard evidence, just hearsay."

There was a pause as the salad was served.

"She reports the story of Aiza Ismailova," said Jack, after the waiter left. "Perretti claims she was enslaved by one of your aristocratic families, beaten mercilessly, and used as a concubine. She gave birth to a daughter in captivity, a girl she named Tasvir. Defending her daughter from abuse, she struck her captor. For this, she was sentenced to a medieval punishment of being chained by the neck, arms, and legs in the royal dungeons. She died in chains before her twenty-fifth birthday."

"A fanciful story," scoffed Walid. "And in any event, I find it difficult to believe that a man with your reputation cares much for women's rights."

"Ah, you've been doing your homework on me, have you?"

"You and me, we're the same, Jack. We know that women must be kept in their place, by force if necessary. A woman like Oriana Perretti just needs a strong man to tame her. Her report is the result of her own sexual frustration."

"I see," said Jack.

"If you allow indiscipline, it's chaos. Aiza Ismailova, for instance. She struck her man with an iron poker, and seriously injured him. The court had no choice but to make an example of her."

"I confess to being softhearted," said Jack. "In my mind's eye, I see a beautiful young girl, barely out of her teens, with a heavy iron ring around her neck, chained to the wall with leg irons and manacles. Raped by guards every day. Till one day she finally managed to use the manacles to slit her wrist and welcome death."

"Ancient history," said Walid, brusquely. "Even if it were true, nothing like that could happen in my country today."

"No, of course not," said Jack. The salad plates were cleared away and the main course was served. Jack pulled his phone out and put it on the table between us.

"I know how many aircraft Qatar Airways runs," Jack said, his finger poised over the notes page on his phone. "But what's the age profile of the fleet?"

"It's a fairly new fleet," said Walid, before going into a description.

Jack's finger tapped on his phone as though he was taking notes. I was about to say something to Isabelle when Jack's hand gripped my thigh under the table. I gasped and Walid looked at me sharply.

"Sorry," I said, worried about what Jack was going to do. "I swallowed something the wrong way."

I looked down at Jack's phone. Make an excuse and go to the toilet, he had typed. The handicapped toilet, it's in between the men's and the ladies'.

I did as he said, and excused myself. Isabelle put her hand on Walid's arm again and said, "I hear you ride in camel races, Prince Walid. You must tell me all about this. You must cut a dashing figure out there in the desert!"

"Oh, well," said Walid, feigning modesty. "Camels are dangerous beasts, you know. One has to know how to tame them, to keep them under control." He put an arm around her waist. "It is quite similar to taming a woman."

I walked away quickly and when I got to the edge of the room, I looked back to see Jack excuse himself and leave the table. I had barely shut the handicapped toilet door behind me when it was pushed open and Jack entered. He locked it and we looked at each other for a brief moment. It was a big room and there was a padded bench on the far side away from the toilet and sink.

Jack came to me and without a word, bent and lifted my abaya to my armpits. As he stared at my torso and legs, his expression went hard again.

"You are a mass of bruises," he said finally. His voice trembled, and I was surprised to see tears forming in his bright blue eyes. "How many broken ribs?"

"I don't know. Two or three. Maybe more."

"You haven't seen a doctor?"

"Of course not. It would embarrass the family."

"So Walid can beat you with impunity?"

"He owns me," I said. "It is his right."

"The bastard! The fucking bastard!"

"How did you know so much about my grandmother? You seem to know even more than me."

"I investigated. I met Oriana Perretti. She interviewed some of the female guards at the royal dungeons. They gave her graphic descriptions."

"How she must have suffered!" I said, with tears in my voice.

He put his arms around me and held me till I regained control of myself.

"How are our babies?" he asked.

"Thriving. I wish you could see them."

He got down on his knees, unmindful of his designer tuxedo, and softly, felt my ribs, kissing each one, touching it with his tongue.

"At least five are broken," he said. "It must hurt just to breathe."

"Yes," I said.

"Why did he beat you? Or does he do this all the time?"

"He beats me whenever he cannot perform in bed. But this was much worse than usual. It was because I won a camel race, against him and all the chieftains. It was foolish of me, but I had not ridden a camel in so long, cooped up in the royal palace! It was sort of worth it, I had such a good time."

"You deserve a real man, Zainab Habiba. A real man who can appreciate what an exceptional woman you are."

"There is no escape for me, Jack. Walid will have me beheaded if I try to leave him."

Jack pounded the wall with his fist.

"I know the risk you are taking being here with me."

"I have missed you, Jack. Every day and every night. Maybe all the good I ascribe to you is just my imagination. Maybe you are a lowlife asshole. But I don't care. I want you to give me another baby."

"I am a lowlife asshole," he said. "You've got that right."

I rapidly unbuttoned his shirt, felt his hard body, and for the first time saw the many scars that blemished his perfectly muscled body.

"My bruises are nothing compared to your scars," I said. "But we must hurry. Walid will soon become suspicious."

"Not here," said Jack. "I want to spend all night with you. I'll make it happen. We're in New York."

I returned to our table and Jack left the toilet a few minutes later, but made a circumnavigation of the hall, stopping to chat with many other business acquaintances. He finally came back and resumed talking business with Walid.

* * *

I didn't really believe Jack when he said he would find a way. Walid and I left soon after the dessert and our limousine took us to our hotel suite. It was the penthouse suite at the Plaza Hotel, overlooking Central Park. Walid was yawning all the way back to the hotel in the limousine. He could barely keep his eyes open and immediately stripped off his clothes in the living room of the suite. He just about managed to get into his sleeping kaftan before falling into the huge king bed and going out like a light. He emitted soft snores.

I was jet-lagged and tired as well, but I was surprised by just how badly it had hit Walid. After all, he traveled so much more than me. I took off my abaya and went to the wet bar in my hijab, bra, panties, stockings, and high heel shoes. I poured myself some sparkling water and drank it as I wandered around the suite checking it out. I heard some tapping but thought I was imagining it. Then I heard it again.

I went to the suite side window that looked down on an alley -- and Jack was outside. I managed to unlatch the window and he swung inside, still in his tuxedo.

"Omigod, Jack!" I whispered. "How did you get up here? We're on the 21st floor!"

"There's fluting up the walls," he said. "It wasn't difficult."

"You could have been killed!"

"It would have been worth it," he said with a laugh.

"Walid is right here!"

"I slipped him a pill in his orange juice," said Jack. "He'll be dead to the world for twelve hours. Nothing will wake him, we could set off a bomb in here if we wanted."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain. I've done this before. Not to fuck a woman, but for other reasons." He took me in his arms, gently to avoid hurting me. "But right now, my balls are on fire. Here you are in your lingerie and hijab -- just as I pictured you when I first saw you."

He pulled down my bra cups and kissed my nipples, bringing them to hardness and fullness, dark pink.

"I wish I could manhandle you, get you really hot," he whispered. "But I will not hurt you."

"I don't care," I said. "Fuck me as hard as you like, I can take it. I want to take it."

He dropped to his knees and kissed my pussy through my panties, then stripped them off and kissed my vulva, sucked my clit. I clasped his head with both hands, rotating my hips to encourage him. He used his fingers in me and I moaned out loud, happy to give vent to my passion without reserve. He did not stop and kept going even as I began to cum. He was dexterous and brought me to climax once again. I sagged down on him, and he picked me up and carried me to the wide bed.

"I know a lot more about sex now, Jack," I said. "I'm not a virgin anymore."

Somehow, he had managed to get naked and rolled me on top of him.

"Show me what you've learned," he said. "Ride me, let me take your weight."

I reached down and took his monstrous cock in my hand. I still could believe how big he was. Seeing it unsheathed for the first time, I took a long moment to stare at it, the purplish bulbous head, the shiny, veined shaft that had the sheen of metal. I positioned my pussy and slowly used my weight to drive him into me. As I lowered myself, my tightness stripped back his foreskin. He arched his back and sank into me, plumbing depths only he had touched before.