Free Fall. A Tale of Loss and Gain.
Part One – The loss.

I woke up and thought that I had been buried alive. It was dark and I smelled pinewood. I started panting but then realised I could not pant because of my mouth being closed so my brain kicked into gear and I tried to breath slowly through my nose. After a while I was calm enough to try to make some sense of my situation and tried to bring a hand up to my face to find out what was blocking my mouth. I discovered I could not move my hands and further investigation made me realise that I was lying on my side with my wrists bound behind my back; not overly tight but enough to not allow me to free myself. OK, what about the legs – no, they would not move independently so must also be bound. Therefore, whatever was blocking my mouth must be tape or some other type of gag. I was glad that I had sorted that out at last. I was in a box, bound and gagged. Oh boy; I thought, how on earth did it get to this state of affairs?

Somewhat calmer, I tried to take note of everything else. When I concentrated I could hear a whistling sound and then realised that my confines were slowly moving up and down so I was either on a jet boat or actually on a jet. Just then I could feel my transport bank so I must be on a plane. As my eyes recovered I realised that it was not completely dark as I could see little pinpricks of light in a row in the pine wall in front of me. This made me realise that my box must be a transport container and steps had been taken to keep me alive, but for what? Further investigation with my sense of feel made me realise that I was not wearing the jeans and tee shirt I had started out with in the morning, nor did I still have anything on my feet. Instead, I could feel the touch of thin straps across my shoulders and the weight of something soft along my body. I suddenly realised that I had pissed myself as I could smell an odd odour in the box.

I was lying on a soft layer with my head on a pillow and I was stopped from moving around by some sort of soft material packed around me. Some care had been made to keep me from damage. With my brain now sure of my inability to make any changes to my position, it now started to work back to the last things I remembered before waking up. Start with the morning, I thought. I had woken up in my bed as usual, as Karel Cheznic; second generation British born and descended from a family of Muslims who had fled Albania as the country was invaded by the Italians, so being spared the Nazi rule that followed and the communist rule of Enver Hoxha that followed that. I had breakfasted with my parents and gone to work at the hardware store where I was a general hand, helping customers and cutting wood and board to size. Now we got to the point of difference. I distinctly remember the PA calling my name and telling me to go to the loading dock as there was a delivery I needed to sort out. I remembered going through the doors of the dock and then remembered strong arms around my body and a foul smelling rag pushed over my mouth and nose. My last view, before blacking out, was of a van pulled up to the loading bay. Kidnapped!! Why kidnap me? I was not worth anything, nor were my parents.

I lay there for a while, trying to think of any reason I was here and could think of nothing that made any sense. Then I heard the engines spool back and the whine of flaps being lowered then the whine of wheels coming down, followed by the bump as they locked. It seemed that I may know some answers soon, not that I was looking forward to them! I felt the bump as we touched down and heard the roar of the engine thrust being reversed and then things went a bit quiet as we must be taxiing. Finally, there was a jerk as we stopped and the engines spooled into silence. I could then hear voices speaking in Arabic, not that I fully understood what they were saying but they did break into English with a man telling someone else to be careful with the Princess. Not long after that my box was moved and I could feel myself being carried out of the plane and then could sense a very hot atmosphere before being placed on another hard surface. I must now be in the Middle East or Asia with the warm air I could feel coming through the holes in the box. Then I heard the sound of car doors shutting, an engine start and I felt myself moving again, on a much rougher journey this time. Once again I felt my bladder void but could feel no wetness on my thighs so realised I must be wearing some kind of diaper. I could, however, smell it again.

Eventually we pulled into some kind of garage, from the change of sounds that I could hear. I felt my box being moved again and being carried somewhere. I knew we went up some stairs because I was tilted a couple of times, but, finally, I was put on another solid surface and everything went quiet for a while. I was almost dozing off when I heard the distinct sound of a power driver undoing screws and, suddenly, the lid of my prison was lifted off; the sudden light making me close my eyes for a few moments. When I opened them again I saw a bearded Arab face looking down at me and the man then said “Welcome to your new home, Princess, you will not be leaving here for some time. Not until your marriage completes my plan.”

I figured that he may be a bit crazy as I was not a princess, nor was I female. I know I was not a weight lifter type and wore my black hair in a ponytail but that’s as far as it went. He went on, “I know what you are thinking, Princess. You are thinking that I may be crazy, eh! You think that just because you were born a man, you could never be a princess, but, the world now has many ways to transform an ugly duckling like yourself into a swan so beautiful no man could resist her charms. Your own transformation began before we took off from England; my doctor gave you an injection of hormones big enough to kick-start your journey to femininity.” His face then moved out of my sight and I heard a door close. Once again I was left alone for a while and then I heard the chattering of female voices. A number of women came into view and looked at me. One said, in good English, “Welcome to the harem of Prince Abdul, Princess; we are here to guide you as you voyage into the joys of full womanhood. This will be your home until your twenty-first birthday, when you will then marry Ahmed, the second son of the sheik Abdul the Third. You have been brought here by Abdul, the first son, soon to be Abdul the Fourth. Do not think of escape as there is none for you until you have been wedded and bedded by Prince Ahmed. Just let things happen, without any fuss, and I can assure you that your life will be as happy as we can make it.”

The women then set about unscrewing the sides of the box and, when I was laying free of my confines, untying the ropes that bound me and carefully peeling the tape from my face. I had sudden spasms of cramp as they carried me to a bed and laid me on my back, one bringing a bottle of water with a straw so I could suck some moisture into me. The one who spoke then took a syringe out of a case and proceeded to give me an injection in my arm and I, once again, blacked out.

When I came to I was lying in a big bed with fluffy pillows and satin sheets. I could feel the sheen with my hands. Before opening my eyes I carefully felt around my groin and was thankful that everything seemed to be still in place. I did, however, notice that I was wearing a satin gown of some kind. I really felt that I could go to sleep again but opened my eyes to see a room, bathed in sunlight from long, thin, windows set high in the wall and gauze drapes everywhere. A voice beside me said “If you think it looks like a harem, this is because it is. If you did not understand what was told you before you must now understand that your life has been set on another path. Any deviation on your part will mean your death, with your body chopped up and fed to the carrion eaters of the desert. Do not think of escape as there is no way out of these rooms that do not include you being escorted by men. Do not think of rescue as, by now, your parents will have received a large sum of money to forget you for ever.”

I turned over and looked at the woman beside me and asked “Why?” She looked sad and said “This is a typical patriarchal family. There is the King, our Sheik, his first wife and then his harem. Then we have his first son, Abdul, who brought you here to his harem to keep you out of sight until you marry Ahmed, the second son, in just over a year from now. You will then be his first wife and have your own rooms, while he is then able to create his own harem. There is a third son, Labid, who is currently at a college in Greece as King Abdul wants him to run the family businesses in Europe from there. I am told that he has become quite westernised, as opposed to the other two, who have no time for westerners, unless it is to fleece them or kidnap them. You are part of Abduls’ plan to make sure that Ahmed will never have a son to carry on his part of the family line. In the old days Ahmed would have been murdered years ago but we do have to accept some of the western thoughts on justice.”

I then asked “But why me in particular?” She said “Because one of the spotters saw something in you and your bone structure that would suit the plan. You have the basis to become quite a beauty and, on your wedding day, no-one will question your right to be the bride. If you say anything you will be immediately killed, no matter what the consequences may be, as revealing that you were a man would be a gross insult to Ahmed. While we had you sedated we cleaned you up and removed all of the hair from the forehead down. You now have tattooed eyebrows and permanent eye liner. We also plumped your lips and gave you a permanent red. Oh! We also pierced your ears and gave you a navel ring.” She then reached over and took a mirror from the night-stand and gave it to me so I could see myself, saying “this is the new you, Karima.”

When I looked in the mirror I almost blacked out again. Looking back at me was a raven haired beauty with very kissable lips. I put the mirror down and said, in a small voice, “That was the point of no return, wasn’t it?” She nodded and then told me about the harem. She was Fathiyyah, the third wife of Abdul; then the medical one who spoke to me first was Pursa, the fourth wife. I would be meeting Aalifa, Fantina, Vashti and Veesta in due course, Veesta being the second wife and, therefore, the head of the harem. I said that this seemed a lot of wives and she assured me that Abdul was only just starting out; his father had a harem of nearly a hundred. She then got me to get out of bed and, helping me wobble along, made me get my legs moving. She then helped me take off the night-dress and put on panties and a satin play-suit and slippers, followed by a satin robe. We went into another room where a table was set up with a selection of food and drink, all non-alcoholic, of course, and bade me to eat up as it had been several days now that I had been on a drip. When she said that, I could feel the place on my arm where it had been. As I ate, I was constantly critiqued on my style. With every mouthful I was told what size it should be and the way I chewed. By the time I had my fill I was getting it right most times.

Over the course of the next few months I met all of the others and had been schooled in my dress, manners and movements. I found that my maleness slowly diminished until I thought like a woman. Each day I had a hormone injection and one day, as soon as I had been injected, I blacked out again; only to wake swathed with a lot of bandages and Fantina by my side telling me I must not try to speak. They had got me into surgery somewhere and turned me into the woman they wanted. When I was able to use my voice again I found that I had a husky, but extremely feminine, tone. When the bandages came off my chest I discovered I now was a thirty-eight D and then, when my groin had healed, I discovered the joys of dilation. Pursa did inform me that I was to be careful with my dilation as they had inserted a thin membrane into my vulva, made from skin cultured from my own cells, that would fool Ahmed into thinking I was a virgin. Then came several months of training to walk, talk, sit, eat, dress, undress and act as a woman. The training on how to please a man was all theory, though. Pursa said it would not show me up as I was still supposed to be a virgin. She said there would be a sachet of blood in my bathroom cabinet that I should use on my wedding night so the maids could assure everyone that my hymen had, indeed, been breached.

Coming up to my twenty-first birthday I was told that my wedding would be in two weeks and that a dress and after-wedding clothes had been purchased. I had a fitting and was amazed at how much lace it had. All the girls told me I was beautiful and, when the day came around, I said a tearful goodbye to them all as I knew I may only see any of them again on special occasions. In my wedding dress, matching hijab and clutching a bouquet of flowers, they led me to the exit door. I was leaving the harem for the first time. There was a knock on the door and, when it was opened, Abdul stood there with a big smile on his face and his arm out for me to take. And so my year of loss was nearly over, just the night of losing my virginity lay before me.

Part Two – The Gain.

As we walked to the great hall where the wedding was to take place, Abdul told me that I had exceeded his expectations and that he would be very grateful in the years to come. I took that with the pinch of salt it deserved. I expected that his gratitude would be a quick death instead of a painful one. He did, however, give me some pointers on my husband to be. I was told that he was a bit of a drunkard and a playboy, with a love of dangerous sports, such as high-mountain skiing and sky-diving. Now that one interested me as I had done a bit of sky-diving myself in my teens. I could no longer imagine myself as a young man. As we walked along I realised just what I had been given and thanked Abdul for his generosity. He was surprised and said “For what? Kidnapping you and tearing away your masculinity?” I laughed prettily and said “No, for taking a nondescript person and turning it into a beautiful woman who is soon to be a genuine Princess, married, I hope, to a reasonably wealthy Prince.” He then laughed himself and said “Wealthy, yes, but reasonable is not a word I link with my brother.” Oh! Dear!

We then entered the grand hall and there they all were. The Sheik, King Abdul the Third, a large ball of blubber and jowls who may not be a day over fifty but only a little while from death; a court full of viziers and petty officials and my husband to be, an ugly gnome of a man, with an obvious attitude. The attitude did drop a bit when he saw me; I expect that he thought his older brother would pick him a hag to marry out of spite. I gave him a big smile and, as we stood side by side, we all got on with the Muslim wedding. Finally it was over and we all retired to another large ballroom where the ladies of the court joined us. I was introduced to the First Wife of Abdul, who I immediately put into the same devious slot as him, they deserved each other. I was now formally introduced to the Sheik and his First Wife, and then, finally, to Labid, the third brother. Where my husband was a gnome, Labid was a racehorse and I felt my heart flutter when he told me he was happy to meet me as his sister-in-law. I was sure he would have noted the flush on my cheeks when I shook his hand.

The wedding celebration went well into the night and I did, eventually, get to dance with Labid. As we waltzed around in appropriate separation I asked him, in Greek, how he enjoyed his time in Athens. He was quick on the uptake and we had a lovely chat, in Greek, during the dance and, when he was escorting me back to my husband, he said “We will meet again, in a not so crowded place, my word on that.” At the end of the evening, my husband escorted me to his chambers. Well, actually two footmen half carried him to the door, which I opened, and they then deposited him on the bed, leaving with smirks on their faces.

I got myself undressed and put on a sexy white nightie, then proceeded to undress my husband while he snored and drooled. I then smacked his face with a wet flannel to get him to wake up enough to ravish me. It was somewhat of an anticlimax (he he) but he did manage to get some of the job done before he rolled onto his back and started to snore again. I took one of my biggest dilators and finished off the deflowering and then went to the bathroom cabinet to get my sachet of blood to prove that the act had been completed. I then moved as far to my side of the bed as I could and tried to sleep, leaving a wet and bloody spot in the middle. So much for the best night of a girls’ life!

Next day I was showered and dressed and had ordered my breakfast before he woke up. I made sure that I had footmen in the room to give him his morning hangover cure when he sat up. He passed on breakfast and stumbled off to his bathroom with a footman in tow to help him meet the day. When he came back he was dressed in a tee-shirt, jeans and boots. I asked him where he was going and he told me it was a lovely day to go sky-diving after lunch. OK, he has his own priorities. I asked him if I could come and watch as I had been indoors a fair bit lately and he brightened up with the prospect of showing me off to his cronies and told me I could wear a hijab that kept my face exposed. We left the palace by limo and I saw, for the first time, where I was. I could tell we were somewhere close to the Gulf of Oman as I could see oil derricks on the horizon and it was hot.

The flying field was near the coast. He told me that the usual dive started over water and he then he needed to aim at a point some half a mile inland. The clubroom was a magnificent building with a beautiful restaurant with views over the water and I was looking forward to sitting by myself and contemplating my future. We were, however, accompanied by two bodyguards, with one going with him and the other staying with me. So much for my solitude! He went off to get kitted up for his first jump and I got my guard to go into the restaurant and lead me to a table with a good view of the field. We were waited on by the club manager who welcomed me to his premises and brought the ice tea that my guard had ordered for me. We sat and watched while Ahmed did his first jump and I was amazed at how close he got to the ground before deploying his parachute. His guard was a lot higher and well into the safe zone. He shed his pack and it was carried off by a member of the club staff while another was offered to him. I asked the manager, who was hanging around, who did the chute packing. He told me that there was a group of women who did that job in the evenings in a large room next to the main hangar. I saw my husband getting back into the aircraft and I asked my guard if it was allowed for me to inspect the club. He answered that as my husband owned the club, he was sure it would be all right.

I was shown the social side, with a visit to the kitchens and the pool room. We then went outside just as my husband made his second jump. Once again he got very low. I remembered what Abdul had said about Ahmed loving danger. We were by the hanger when he changed to another parachute and I gave him a wave. As he taxied out for the take-off I asked the manager if I could see the repacking room. I was shown a long room with just the one entrance but a door at the far end that I thought may go to a toilet. I was shown where Ahmeds’ chutes were stored, with there being now three empty slots. All of his were marked with the family seal and I could see another three to be used. I thanked the manager for his time and told him I thought the club was magnificent and magnificently managed. Going back into the restaurant I asked my guard to allow me to use the ladies toilet. We went through to the toilet area and, after he had a quick look to see there were no assassins present, allowed me to enter. I walked to the toilet booth with my heels clicking and then banged the door as I took of my shoes. I then padded around the room until I did find a door, in the back corner at the end of a short corridor, with just a Yale lock that could be opened from this side. I was certain this would be the door that the women of the packing room used at night. I walked back to the toilet, flushed as I put my shoes back on and made my way out, where my guard took me back to our table.

Watching my husband’s last couple of jumps, I realised that, although he was dangerously close to the ground when he deployed, he usually made the target, or very close. He was using a manoeuvring chute that you can guide your fall with and he was very good with it. I also noticed that one of the other sky-divers that day was a very buxom, blonde, western woman. When he had finished all of his jumps he came into the restaurant so we could have a meal and he started drinking. He chugged the spirits like they were soft drinks and, when he couldn’t drink, nor stand properly, any more, both guards man-handled him to our vehicle and we drove back to the palace. I didn’t think there would be any sexual encounters tonight. I left the footmen to put him to bed and found my own rooms for the first time. They were well appointed, with everything a lady would need; a fully stocked cosmetics drawer, lots of nice clothing, including some nice western skirts and dresses, and drawers full of expensive lingerie and night attire. I could see that, other than freedom, I would want for nothing. There was a television on one wall, a huge flat screen, but no phone or computer.

Over the next few weeks it carried on in much the same vein. We ate, went sky-diving, ate again; he got drunk and I slept alone. This did alter during the second month when Ahmed announced that he had pressing business in Europe and would be away for a while. I took the opportunity to ask for a lap-top computer so that he could email me some times. He thought about it for a few seconds and then told a footman to get one for me. “Just remember, Karima, we have a central wi-fi in the palace and all outgoing and incoming emails will be monitored by our security. You will be blocked from internet surfing, unless it is an educational or Muslim site.” I agreed as it was just one step forward. I also asked him if Abduls’ First Wife helps him with his business dealings and if I could do a similar service for him. He was a bit cagey about this but allowed me access to a small number of dealings. I think that there were many more that were a bit less than legal. I then went for the ultimate goal; I asked him if I could have an email address list for the family as it may be nice to communicate with them while I was left alone. He said he would ask if it was allowed and I left it at that. I was sure that he would need Abdul’s permission and I was certain he would give it.

I was right and, with the delivery of a very powerful lap-top, I was also given the email address list. For several weeks I chatted with the various women that I had met that were on the list. All discussions were about daily life and some religious affairs. One day I got an email from Labid, asking me how I was. He said that Fathiyyah had let him know I was on the web. We then opened up a discussion about his life in Athens. I continued to visit various educational sites that I was allowed to view and, one day, in my email to Labid, I asked him he had ever looked at the historical writings of Theophrastus and his thesis on stones. I mentioned it that I loved the look of Rose Quartz as it suited my colour. I think he must have caught on as a later email said that he had also been looking for nice stones when out in the countryside and had picked up some Alexandrite. I hoped that the security had not picked up that I had used a stone that denotes an open heart to love and he had replied with a stone that denoted joy.

I did spend some time looking through my husbands’ business dealings and made some suggestions that he considered and sometimes followed. I knew that there was no way I would benefit should my husband die so I worked hard to integrate my web self into the dealings where I could. Ahmed was away more often now and I detected some blonde hairs on him at times. I had decided that I needed to do something drastic. Labid came to the palace when we had a party or religious ceremony and we were able to chat, in Greek, about our predicament. I told him that I may send him an email with a reference to Rutilated Quartz, which is an indication of a broadcast of intent. I told him that, should he get that, he should arrange a visit to the palace and to accompany us to the sky-diving club on the following Sunday, should we go. I knew Ahmed went every Sunday when he was home.

I bided my time and kept my head down and made sure I monitored my husbands’ activities. One day I was certain he would be home two weekends in the future, on the occasion of a minor religious festival. I mentioned the festival in my next email to Labid and also spoke about the beautiful image of Rutilated Quartz that I had seen on the internet. It all came together as I had planned; Ahmed was home and, by the Saturday evening, was more drunk than usual. I made sure that there were several paracetamols in his morning hangover cure to slow him down. When we went to the sky-diving club I waited until his plane was about to land after the first jump and got the guard to lead me to the ladies toilet.

After he had checked for assassins, I was allowed in. I clicked my way to the toilet cubicle, banged the door and, taking my shoes off; hurried to the back door. I knew that my guard would not allow anyone else into the toilet while the Princess was inside. I carefully opened the door and peeked in. As I expected there was no-one in the packing room as the two girls on duty were waiting on the tarmac to change over the parachutes. Propping the door open with my shoes, I went to the rack of my husbands’ chutes and took a small bottle of clear nail polish out of my bag. I selected the fourth chute, put it on the packing table, undid the bag to the point I could see the release mechanism and then poured a small blob of nail polish into the mechanism. It would not resist a good, hard pull, but would slow his deployment by a few seconds. At the rate he fell and the closeness to the ground he deployed, I expected it may be just enough. Doing the bag up, I put it back on the rack, went back to the cubicle, flushed as I put my shoes on, preened in the mirror and went back to our table to join Labid. We made small talk as we watched proceedings. I was happy to see the blonde westerner join Ahmed on his third jump. I knew he couldn’t help himself when it came to showing off. I asked the guard if that was the same girl we had seen before and he told me that it was; as well as a possible start for my husbands’ harem. I said “That would be nice, company at last.”

He was almost beyond the point of no return on his third jump and I thought that the paracetamol in his system may have slowed him down. The fourth jump came around and I watched carefully as he put on the harness and helped the blonde into the plane. It all worked perfectly; he and the blonde left the plane together and they fell, holding hands, until she chickened out and pulled the ripcord. He took it to the lowest I had seen him and I wondered what went through his mind as the chute refused to deploy. He must have given it a good tug but the small chute only came out as he hit the water. I stood up with a cry and a wail and collapsed onto the floor in a faint. Labid, being the quick witted person he was, told the guard to stay at the club and sort out the authorities while he took me back to the palace.

Weeping copiously, I was helped to the car by both of them and Labid drove us out of the club gate. “I am not going to ask you how you knew that would happen as I do not want to know the answer” he said “but it went well, didn’t it.” I told him I had no idea of what he was talking about but then told him I needed to get to my rooms as soon as possible once we arrived at the palace. Once in my room I powered up my lap-top and, accessing my husbands’ password to his business accounts, created a second credit card in my name and gave it a considerable positive balance. I also let the bank know that I, Ahmed, was allowing my First Wife to carry on looking after these businesses while he had other important things to do. I thought that the different time zones would mix up the timing so that they would think he had made these changes while he was alive.

My ladies-in-waiting looked after me for a few days but I was soon able to meet with my relatives. Abdul was very careful around me and Labid suggested that I needed to be removed from the palace, seeing that it now held bad memories. He suggested to Abdul that he could, with Abduls’ permission, host me at his villa in Greece while I mourned. Abdul, no doubt thinking that I had somehow contracted an assassin, wanted me out of his sight so agreed. Before we left, Abdul asked to see me and we had a bit of a serious discussion. He wanted to make sure I would not let the family down and then asked me if I knew the password to Ahmeds’ shadier business dealings. I asked him what it was worth and he told me I would be allowed to marry again and continue with running the legal businesses. We shook on it and I told him that I thought the password may be ‘aceskiracer’. He fired up his computer and tried it and, hooray, it worked. I told him that whatever happened, I would run the other businesses for the benefit of the family.

Labid and I flew, in the family jet, to Athens and were driven to his villa. We kept our cool politeness around the staff but, when I was shown my room, he told me that there was a secret connecting door to his rooms and that he would see me later in the evening. I showered and dressed for dinner in a western-style skirt and top and went to meet a man for dinner without a hijab for the first time in more than a year. He was in a business suit and we chatted over our meal. At a reasonable hour I bade him goodnight as the staff were clearing the table. In my room I prepared myself with a good scented bath and put on my sexiest nightie. I was nearly asleep when a door in the walk-in robe opened and he came in, wearing nothing but a robe and a big smile. We spent the night in unbridled sex; my longing for a strong man was being fulfilled.

Next day, in a nice dress, I sat in his office and turned on my computer to start running the businesses for myself. The first email I got was from Abdul, informing me that the official enquiry had found that Ahmeds’ death had been caused by a high level of alcohol that was still in his blood, combining with too many paracetamol, which slowed his reflexes. They had tested the parachute and found that the release mechanism worked perfectly. It became ’Death by Misadventure’. Over the next few months Labid and I carried on with our secret affair and, after a suitable length of time, he asked his father if we could marry. His father agreed but denied us a palace wedding, so we got married in Athens, western style. Of course, I could not wear white but a knee-length scarlet dress, topped off with a diamond tiara, gave this Princess the right look.

I know you may wonder what Ahmeds’ password for his legal businesses was. I am sure you can guess that it had to be ‘freefaller’. Rather apt, don’t you think?

Marianne G 2020