The Adventures of Rania – Sex Stories

The king of the small Middle East state of Kazeb passed away, leaving his two children in control of the wealthy absolute monarchy. Nasser, the eldest child at 23, had been educated at Princeton, and 19-year-old Rania was between her freshman and sophomore years there. Both children were very handsome: their late mother was an Egyptian film and television star, and Rania had inherited her mother’s celebrated breasts, though she generally kept them hidden beneath fashionably casual Western clothes. Both children were personable and well-liked at the palace, and they had a good, light-hearted relationship with each other. It went without saying that, as the male heir, Nasser took the reins of government single-handedly, and that Rania had no official position of authority. Western-educated though they may have been, neither child questioned or resented this arrangement, or expected anything else. Rania attended all high-level government meetings while she was home, and Nasser conferred with her on matters of state.

During her sophomore year at Princeton, Rania spent many hours on the phone to Nasser, who liked to talk over the smallest decisions with her, to gossip about the palace life, and to laugh about the absurdity of exercizing power. But gradually the phone calls became less frequent, with Nasser complaining more and more about the demands on his time. Rania didn’t mind that she was becoming less involved with governing the country. She wanted Nasser to become a man and rule with authority, as their father did before him. And she was quite busy herself learning the social options available to a wealthy, beautiful young woman in the West. Just turned 20, she had become comfortable at last in the world of men, was enjoying giving her body or withholding it, as it pleased her. These were good times for her.

She returned to her country the next summer, a little sorry to leave the possibilities of America behind, but looking forward to seeing her brother and her home again. Nasser greeted her warmly, but she detected a difference in his manner: he treated her more like a prized guest than a childhood collaborator. He is a man now, she thought, and a ruler; he doesn’t need me in the same way. She was a little sad, but mostly happy for him.

There was a banquet in honor of her return, like the one that had been planned the summer before but cancelled because of her father’s illness. All the aristocracy of the country attended, and the slaves of the palace served the food and drink. Slavery was still legal in this little country, though the institution had changed with the times: today’s slaves were no more or less than servants, with money allowances and days off. There were old men and women in the room who remembered quite a different time…but for the royal children, those days were simply the material for the scary bedtime stories of their childhood.

That evening Nasser came to Rania’s bedroom, and they chatted as in the old days. Rania noticed that his palace gossip seemed tinged with—not cruelty, exActly, but a kind of contempt, as if the foibles of others were an annoyance to him. He has become used to power quickly, she thought.

At one point he leaned back on his pillow and smiled at her. “Rania, sometimes I feel as if I’m looking at you for the first time.” “What are you talking about?” she said. “It’s just that…your chest is so enormous. When did that happen?”

Rania didn’t enjoy this new topic of conversation. “It happened a long time ago. Where have you been?” “Well, you’re my baby sister, you know. One doesn’t notice these things. But they’re actually quite extraordinary.”

“All right, enough about my chest,” Rania said.

“Why? If I were you, I’d be proud of it,” Nasser persisted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

“That’s because you spend all your time in meetings and committees, instead of getting out a little.”

“I get around quite a lot,” said Nasser, “and I’ve seen a good deal more of women than you think I have.”

“Well, good for you,” said Rania.

“And so I’m in a position to tell you that your bosom is quite exceptional.”

“All right, that’s enough about my bosom!” said Rania, exasperated. “I hear quite enough about it in my daily life, let me assure you. When I come home, the last thing I want is to hear my brother going on about it!”

“Why, what do you hear about it in daily life?” said Nasser.

“Enough!” screamed Rania. “Enough!” The room went quiet for a moment.

“All right, but I just want to say one more thing before we leave the subject. Okay?”

“What?” said Rania crossly.

“Some time—not now, when you’re in such a bad mood—I think it’s really important that I—I mean, I’d really appreciate it if you’d show them to me. I mean, we’ve grown up together, and I’ve never seen them…”

“Get out of here!” yelled Rania. “You pervert! Get out!”

“All right, there’s no reason to…Ow!” Rania had thrown a pillow, hard enough to knock Nasser off balance.

“Get out! You’re disgusting!” She was throwing everything she could lay her hands on.

“All right! We’ll talk about it later,” he said, beating a retreat.

The siblings met again the next morning at breakfast. Rania had lain awake angry for several hours, but had finally chalked the incident up to raging hormones. Never underestimate the ability of an Arab woman to identify with outrageous male behavior.

“Peace?” said Nasser, smiling.

Concerned but no longer angry, Rania said, “Nasser, you need to get a girlfriend.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Nasser. “Here, you have to try this coffee—Youssef brought it back from Marrakesh.” He poured for Rania, and was charming for the rest of the day.

The next morning, Rania attended an important meeting with Nasser, the Minister of Finance, and the ambassador to a neighboring country. The meeting concerned the ongoing fallout from a cooperative business development near the border between the countries. Rania knew quite a lot about the project and had been involved in last summer’s planning meetings, though Nasser and the finance minister had handled the project on their own while Rania was at school.

Rania arrived last, and greeted the minister, whom she had known since her childhood, and the ambassador, with whom she had only a slight acquaintance.

“You look more lovely than ever, your Highness,” said the old minister.

“Doesn’t she look extraordinary?” said Nasser. Rania, who had Accepted the minister’s compliment happily, shot Nasser a sideways look. Not seeing, or pretending not to, Nasser went on: “I was just telling her the other day that her breasts are a national treasure.”

Rania stared at the table. The minister and ambassador sat in horrified silence. But Nasser acted as if nothing were the matter. “You could really make an argument that such great beauty belongs to the country, and not just to one person. Rania is a very modest person, as you know…”

Rania got up and left the room like a shot. Appearing surprised, Nasser looked at the mortified statesmen. “What’s wrong with her? We have important business to discuss.” No one said a word. “Oh, well, we can get along without her. I apologize for her, gentlemen. As smart as she is, we have to remember that she’s just a woman after all. And she’s been so long in the West….” The statesmen could do nothing but murmur in vague agreement.

This time the rift was not so easily healed. Rania kept her distance from Nasser for several days, taking meals in her quarters and excusing herself from meetings. She thought about spending the summer in America, but finally decided to wait out the situation for at least a while longer. If she had followed her instincts and left the palace immediately, she might have avoided the very strange fate that was to befall her. But the ties to her family life were too strong.

Over the next few days, Nasser became more and more taken with the idea that his sister’s unique beauty belonged to the entire country, and that a proper acknowledgment of this beauty would somehow restore purpose and meaning to the traditional image of Arab womanhood. And so it happened that the designer who had created the royal uniforms was summoned to a private meeting. There, after being sworn to secrecy, she was told that Nasser intended to design a special set of clothes, the purpose of which was to enhance and reveal Rania’s loveliness for the edification of the court and, indirectly, all the people. The designer was quite dismayed at this strange request, but was afraid to ask questions.

All but the most urgent government business was put on hold as Nasser conferred with the designer for several hours a day over the course of the next week. Completely absorbed in his project, Nasser overflowed with ideas about every detail of Rania’s new outfit. The designer was shocked to discover that Nasser’s fashion concept was not conservative at all; timidly, she tried to preserve Rania’s dignity by suggesting more modest design ideas. But, though Nasser never said a prurient word during the whole process, all his revisions seemed to push the wardrobe further and further beyond the bounds of decency.

On one occasion, Rania passed through a room where Nasser and the designer were having an emergency conference on a suitable hair style. Nasser seemed to have stayed up much of the night pondering this question, and had brought in a series of sketches, inspired more by Hollywood than the actual history of Arab women. Rania nodded curtly at Nasser’s mockingly pleasant greeting, and walked on. She knew something strange was going on, but would never have guessed that these meetings were devoted to an intimate study of her body and how to present it.

One morning, Jamila, who had been Rania’s lady in waiting for four years, appeared in Rania’s chamber, flanked by two soldiers, and told her, with an air of sorrow, that Nasser wanted to see her immediately in the reception hall. Rania knew instantly that something bad was happening. She tried to order Jamila away, but it was plain that Jamila had instructions to the contrary. And so Rania was escorted like a prisoner into the hall, where Nasser sat on the throne, calm but formal. A few palace functionaries and a half dozen female slaves stood by.

“As of this moment, Rania, I officially declare your exceptional beauty to be a national asset, to be managed by the state for the enlightenment and uplift of all our citizens,” said Nasser.

“You fucker,” said Rania, trembling with anger and fear.

The room was still. Women did not speak this way in public in this culture.

Nasser remained calm. He nodded to Jamila, as if giving her a prearranged order. Then he went on: “It is a goal of this monarchy to restore to our culture the traditional images of Arabic womanhood, images that are being swept away by progress but without which both our men and our women are deprived of their connection to the strength and dignity of our past.”

Rania looked around her. There was no way out of the room.

“At today’s official reception at 16:00, you will represent the state for the first time in a new wardrobe, designed to evoke in all of us the awe and worship due to Arab womanhood, which you will heretofore embody in an official capacity,” said Nasser. “You will now accompany Jamila, who has instructions to prepare you.”

Nasser rose and left the hall amid obeisances. Rania stood petrified. She would be taken away by force if she didn’t comply. Jamila bowed to Rania, then took her arm gently. Rania allowed herself to be led away by Jamila to the women’s quarters, followed by the slaves and the soldiers.

“Jamila…please…” whispered Rania, her legs unsteady beneath her.

“Hush, my lady,” whispered Jamila. “I love you, but we must obey.”

The soldiers waited at the doors of the women’s quarters, while Jamila and the slaves bustled about within. They had six hours to make Rania over according to her brother’s specifications, and they were going to need all of that time.

Though she tried to maintain her composure, tears leaked out of Rania’s eyes as the slaves stripped her naked, removing even her jewelry and hair adornments. For the next three hours she was washed, shampooed, shaved, styled, painted, and made up, all according to Nasser’s detailed instructions. The slaves were infinitely gentle with her, leading her softly from one station to the next. Rania saw them refer to Nasser’s drawings at every step of the way; there was no part of her body that he had not visualized and made detailed plans for. Whenever Rania tried to protest or plead, the slaves smiled sadly and shook their heads—their orders were strict.

In the fourth hour, Rania was given a meal, taken to a toilet to relieve herself, and washed yet again. Then Jamila brought out a box of jewelry, with each piece tagged and numbered. Referring to a diagram and a book of pictures, the slaves began adorning Rania’s naked body with gold and silver. Rings were placed on each of her fingers, and on several of her toes; then two elaborate slave bracelets on her wrists, and matching anklets on her ankles. The bracelets and anklets were strung with tiny bells on the strands that encircled Rania’s fingers and toes, and her smallest movement generated a soft glistening sound that sustained for more than a second after she was still. Some of the rings on her fingers and toes were belled as well, and then the slaves Added bangles of different sizes to her wrists and ankles. When they were finished with her hands and feet, Rania found that she could no longer be silent: even breathing created a shimmery sound, and the tiniest movement was accompanied by a small symphony of clicks and jangles.

A gold collar, one inch high, with delicate engravings, went around Rania’s neck; it took the slaves a few moments to attach it in the back. Then came a pair of earrings with light, cascading strands of silver that separated over Rania’s bare shoulders and hung to her armpits. A single solid arm bracelet went on her left bicep; a belly chain, hung with several descending strings of rubies, was fastened behind her (a link was bent into place—the chain wouldn’t come off easily) and slung low on her left hip. Two very expensive necklaces, of rubies and diamonds, were placed on top of the collar, both hanging high on her chest. There was almost no place to put another piece of jewelry without piercing her—but the slaves found one, hanging a diadem across her forehead, with a single tear-shaped ruby suspended between her eyes. And then they found another, as Rania’s waist-length hair was gathered at the top of her head and forced through an engraved gold cylinder about six inches long. After small golden clips were attached to hold her hair together at strategic places, Rania was quite a sight, her hair flowing straight up into the air for almost a foot, then falling straight down again.

Then came a surprise. Jamila approached Rania with a kid-colored piece of leather, whispered “I’m sorry, my lady,” and pressed the leather into Rania’s mouth. The alarmed girl found a soft wad of leather filling her mouth and covering her lower face. As she made a futile effort to speak, Jamila locked the leather in place from behind her, using a key. Rania was gagged, as a result of her public obscenity earlier.

As the unhappy girl shed tears and made muffled, unintelligible sounds, the slaves covered the leather with a dark black veil, embroidered with small jewels and hanging from the bridge of Rania’s nose to just below her jaw. When the veil was fitted onto Rania’s face, her gag was invisible.

Five and a quarter hours had elapsed. The slaves positioned themselves on both sides of Rania, as if in readiness for some event. Looking her silenced mistress in the eye, Jamila said sadly, “You are ready to be presented, my lady.”

Rania’s eyes widened in confusion. She had not yet been given any clothes. Then her face went pale.

The slaves were ready to restrain Rania when she flew toward the door, screaming into her gag. As they pinned the frantic princess into a chair, a stream of urine poured down her legs.

“Get the doctor!” yelled Jamila. “And clean this up!”

A doctor was standing outside with a hypodermic needle. He was the first man in the court to see Rania’s nakedness, though far from the last. The hysterical girl was sedated while slaves held her down and cleaned her. In five minutes, Rania’s hoarse, muffled cries subsided, and her tears were reduced to a trickle.

The final half-hour was devoted to repairing the damage done by Rania’s expected rebellion. Makeup was fixed, jewelry was adjusted. Rania was taken to the toilet again and given an enema, which she endured with no resistance. Her gag was removed to give her water, then replaced.

The sedative had replaced Rania’s stabbing terror with dull misery and a paralyzed will. She saw each separate horror that awaited her, and played them over helplessly in her head. I will be displayed naked to the entire court, she thought with a leaden feeling in her stomach. She reviewed each separate witness to her humiliation: the old men she had known from childhood, the young ones on whom she had had teenage crushes, the girls of noble families who had been her schoolmates. And the mirrors all around her showed her every detail of what they would be seeing, every swaying piece of flesh, every moist, unguarded pathway into her body.

At 16:00, the royal hall was filled as Jamila led Rania down the center of the room. There was absolutely no sound in the room except for the glistening and jingling of Rania’s jewelry. Jamila led Rania to Nasser’s throne, and prompted her to bow before the young king, who himself seemed stunned at what he had wrought. Then Rania was steered to the side of the throne, and was turned to face the court. Even tranquilized, Rania appeared agitated: her movements were jerky, her breathing was heavy, and her dark skin did not conceal a furious blush all over her face and chest.

Over the spasmodic jingling of poor Rania’s jewelry, Nasser was delivering a speech to the court, again extolling Rania’s commitment to restore meaning to vanishing images of Arab womanhood. It is unlikely that anyone heard very much of what Nasser was saying—all the court’s eyes were on their naked princess. Nor did they believe what they heard. The princess’s humiliation and helplessness were apparent to all.

We have not yet described Rania’s appearance, and it now seems appropriate to go into detail.

Rania and Nasser’s parents both had essentially European looks, which Nasser inherited. Rania had some European features—a small, straight nose and a heart-shaped face—but also some Semitic features that had jumped a generation or two. Her eyebrows were thick and low, and her lips were almost Negroid, though her mouth was small and round. The combination of traits was a bit exotic, and beautiful by any standard. Rania had plucked her eyebrows considerably in America; Nasser hated this and had considered using makeup to restore her natural look, but had given up and resigned himself to growing her eyebrows back in. With most of her face hidden by the veil, Rania looked more Arabic than usual, her dark brow dominating.

Rania was 5′4″ and solidly built, with a large rib cage and hips, and a slightly thick waist. One of her Semitic features was dusky skin, much darker than her brother’s. The audience who stared at her nakedness could not fail to note something animal and carnal about her appearance. Rania’s nipples were both long and thick, with large blue-black areoles that were studded with little bumps, and that were not clearly demarcated from the dark skin of her breasts. They were nipples to be chewed on and bitten, nipples to draw milk from. Her sex was matted with coarse black hair, straighter than that on her head. But her vulva were large and low enough that they made two furry, irregular bumps in her damp-looking foliage. Anyone in the room who had imagined what a princess’s body looked like would have conjured up a more classical, wholesome image. But Rania’s body was earthy, raw; it made one think of smells, of fluids, of biology.

Rania’s breasts were as exceptional as Nasser imagined. Each one was a little smaller than her head. They sloped pleasantly outward, pulled into pointed ovals by their oversized, pimply nipples. With her long hair thrust straight up into the air, and her heavy chest obeying the laws of gravity, Rania looked like some kind of optical illusion, flying apart in opposite directions.

#Adventures #Rania #Sex #Stories

The Adventures of Rania – Sex Stories

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