Sample of Trained to Obey Part One

 

We had just returned to our drinks when Rimsha nudged me. "There's a guy over there..." I turned to see where she was pointing. It was the Arab in the yellow shirt. "I think he wants to chat to you, babe."

I made eye contact and pointed at myself. He nodded, so I picked up my glass.

"Watch out Nadia, he's already got a couple of girls," she said in my ear.

It was true, two pretty Arab girls were sitting at his table, possibly like me, plucked from the dance floor. I approached him and after placing my hands together and bowing, I gave him a smile.

He was in his thirties, I guessed, and had a dark complexion, a trimmed beard and dark, unsmiling eyes. I only noticed how cold they were when I arrived at the table. Curiously, he was wearing the jacket of his grey suit, unlike most of the other men in the room. He waited for me to speak while he scanned my body.

"Hello, Sir, I saw you signal to me."

He stood up. At just under six feet, he would have been six inches taller than me if it wasn't for the 3" heels on my stilettoes. Wide shouldered and stocky, I guessed he weighed north of sixteen stone. Despite his size, he looked fit. relaxed and extremely confident.

"My name is Javid Fadel. I would like to know your name."

I glanced at the other two girls who looked a little on edge. Both were light skinned Arabs, making me wonder if Javid had chosen me because my skin was even lighter than theirs, probably the lightest in the room apart from Sheik Husni's wife. I spoke Emirati Arabic fluently, but he would know I wasn't from the region by my accent.

"My name is Nadia Kateb, Sir."

"Do you have a boyfriend or husband?"

Such a direct, blunt question. Again, I glanced at the other two. Maybe it was a fair question. "No, Sir, I'm Abdul Hegazi's PA. He owns Hegazi Engineering. Are you familiar with the company?"

He totally blanked the question. "What nationality are you, Nadia?"

"I have dual Emirati and UK citizenship, Sir. Am I applying for something? A prize maybe?" I asked with a smile.

I had to show the man respect, regardless of the question, but a little humour usually broke the ice.

"Nadia, there's a private gathering in another room. Would you like to join these girls and dance for my Master?"

Abdul was busting a gut to find out what was going on at the private function and there I was with an opportunity to get into the room. I was hesitant though and needed a moment to think. What should I do? I wondered...

It would be impolite to ask him who his Master was... "I'm, not a good dancer, Sir. Does that matter to your Master?"

"Actually Nadia, I've been watching you from here and I think you are a very good dancer. Make your mind up if you want to join these girls."

He was blunt but seeing as he was just the messenger, I understood his attitude. "Yes, okay. Will it take long?"

The man had a habit of ignoring questions, not an uncommon practice among Emirati men. He turned to speak to the other girls and in that moment, I got a brief glimpse of a gun tucked in a shoulder holster, under his jacket. I wasn't surprised to find out that he was a bodyguard. Anyone associated with the ruling family was always well protected.

"Samreen, Uzma, we're going through now," he said to the girls, who immediately stood up.

I looked over toward the dance floor but couldn't see Rimsha. Then, as I followed the bodyguard, I spotted Asif standing with the teenager, watching my journey. He put his thumb up, suggesting he approved of my acquiescence to dance for the mystery dignitary.

We exited through the door on the opposite side of the room and entered a short corridor. I spotted our destination because there was another 'bodyguard' standing outside one of the doors. Sure enough, he opened the door, enabling us to file into a small anti room. I noticed that I was roughly the same height as the other girls, 5'5", and had the same body shape. Had we been selected to order, like I would choose items from a catalogue? I wondered.

There was a line of four red leather chairs. Three were empty but there was a black holdall sitting on the fourth.

Javid Fadel went to the bag and unzipped it. "I have your costumes in here."

We looked at each other. "Costumes?" I asked.

"You want us to change out of our dresses?" One of the other girls asked.

"Of course." He removed the colourful garments, which were contained in small cellophane packets, and placed one on each chair.

It was the first time he had replied to a question and by doing so put us on the spot. One of the girls picked up the packet and pulled it open. It contained a stunning, purple gauze tunic and pantie set. The top had puff shoulder sleeves and a scoop neckline. All the edges were trimmed with gold filigree and dotted with tiny glittering gems of every colour in the rainbow.

When the girl held it up, we saw that it was the size of a t-shirt and that it was semi-transparent. The flimsy panties were made of the same material and without any reinforcement in the gusset.

"Um, can't we dance in our own dresses, Sir?" I asked.

He glanced around our shocked expressions. "If you want to pass up the chance to dance for my Master, I can take you back to the main party." He was serious.

"Um, I didn't say that, Sir," I replied

"I don't mind," the third girl said. She picked up her packet, opened it and emptied out the baby blue tunic on to the chair.

The challenge was like none of the other crazy thing I had done in my short life. I wasn't risking my life, but I would be exposing every detail of my body to a group of strangers who just happened to be billionaires and maybe even a member of the ruling family.

If it was happening anywhere other than in the UAE, I would have flatly refused. What the sheiks were demanding though, was what they expected from their concubines and even their wives at home in their palaces. They might not even take an interest in me. Then again, they might.

The other two girls were younger than me but may have had more experience with Arab men and their customs than I did. However, they probably weren't as aware of the possible ramifications of rubbing shoulders with men who bought slave girls and thralls from private auctions, like we buy our shopping at a supermarket.

I didn't think we were putting ourselves in the shop window because of the group circumstances. Still, we were three attractive girls who were going to look like the concubines living in their palaces. Uzma, who had shorter black hair, was maybe only 18, while I guessed Samreen was a year or two older. I was the odd one out being twenty-three.

I was desperate to be close to the powerful men, but the ticket to get in meant I had to dance in transparent clothing. I tried to imagine what my dark areolas and nipples would look like through the diaphanous material and lower down, my peeping cleft through the gossamer panties.

Joining a sheik's harem wasn't something I would write on my bucket list. So, because I may never get another chance to experience something similar to a sheik's boudoir, I decided to take the plunge.

I opened my packet and pulled out the pink tunic. It was stunning, and so 'Harem-like', my fingers were trembling when I held it up. The other girls were already undressing, so I dropped the garments and followed suit.

The odd glance behind me told me that the bodyguard was watching us intently. After taking my shoes off, I removed my dress and slipped the tunic on. I wanted to pinch myself as soon as I had pulled the exotic garment into place. It only just covered my ass cheeks, so I didn't have to lift the hem far to ease the thong down and step out of it. I hurriedly pulled the panties on and was the last one to present myself.

The expensive tunic had a curious effect on me. It was such an exotic and erotic costume to stand in, let alone dance in. It was obvious that the three of us could pull off the illusion that we were concubines. However, it was clearly going to be the most breath-taking challenge of my life. Walking out in front of a group of billionaire Arabs while virtually naked was way more heart-stopping and nerve jangling than hang gliding in the Swiss Alps.

I wasn't surprised to find that the outfit fitted me like a glove. I suspected that we were chosen to fit the tunics! The fabric was so light, if I closed my eyes and stood still, I could imagine that I was naked. I didn't realize until I pulled the flimsy garment on that the gauze used to make the top half of dress was elasticated and cupped my breasts, thus accentuating their appearance. My tits and erect nipples looked outrageously lewd!

The fabric flared out slightly and only just covered my butt and mons. I thought that if I bent my knees a lot, I could avoid flashing my panties too much. It was at that point I noticed that none of us had thin legs, which was a common factor among Arab girls.

We stood side by side while the bodyguard studied our appearance. He seemed satisfied but our costume wasn't finished.

The next items out of the bag were gold collar/chokers, a common requirement in a lot of harems. I had heard many descriptions of the conditions the girls lived under and thanked my lucky stars I was free to come and go as I wished. The half inch wide gold collar was just a decorative one. I made sure of that. The bayonet fitting at the back could be released by squeezing buttons in and pulling it apart. The same applied to the pair of wrist bracelets.

Then, Javid Fadel produced the pies de la resistance, three pairs of ornately decorated dancing slippers.

"Oh, these are beautiful," I gasped while studying the footwear.

"Put them on, then I want you to sit on the floor cross-legged."

"Cross-legged?"

He folded his arms and looked at me sternly. "Once you have learnt the correct way to sit, I can take you in."

"I thought we were here to dance not to sit," Uzma said timidly.

"Uzma, do as you're told. This won't take a minute."

His brusque manner was par for the course with many Arab men, but we were resistant to his request because he was changing the goalposts once again. First it was dancing for the sheiks, then it was dressing like concubines and thirdly, we were being asked to sit with them, cross-legged!

Then, what would they expect us to do?