Lawyer Divya’s Secret Life as BDSM Slave 17

Chapter 17

The Jeddah airport buzzed with heat and haste as Divya and Ahmed disembarked, the business class perks fading into the humid Saudi air. Laila, the sleek Arab businesswoman from the flight, lingered near the arrivals gate, her model-like figure drawing glances in a fitted pencil skirt and silk blouse. She slipped a folded note into Ahmed's sweaty palm as they passed, her dark eyes locking on Divya's veiled form. 'For a private session later,' she whispered, lips curving. 'Name your price.' Ahmed pocketed it quickly, his greedy mind whirring. But he shook his head. 'Difficult. She's meeting someone important here. Business.' He kept the real reason vague—the tycoon's deal, the sale looming like a shadow. Laila arched a brow but nodded, vanishing into the crowd with a sway of her hips.

Ahmed scanned the throng, heart pounding. This was Mecca's neighbor, sacred ground for a lowly clerk like him. Then, a ripple parted the sea of thobes and abayas: the Arab tycoon himself, Sheikh Khalid, 65 and imposing at 6'2", his salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with decades of power and perversion. Flanked by two silent bodyguards, he strode straight to them, eyes fixed on Divya's covered shape. He'd devoured the BDSM photos Ahmed sent—her pierced snout deformed by hooks, tits bound and needled, ass striped from whips. That prominent nose, those full lips begging for abuse, the massive breasts heaving in chains—it ignited his harem-weary cock like nothing in years. No proxy pickup; he craved the first taste personally.

'Ahmed,' the Sheikh boomed in accented English, clapping the short man's shoulder hard enough to jolt him. 'And this... treasure.' His gaze raked Divya, who stood tall at 5'7", her form-fitting abaya outlining the jiggle of her 38DD breasts with each breath. Ahmed bowed low, stammering gratitude. The Sheikh waved it off, gesturing to the gleaming black limousine idling curbside, tinted windows promising privacy.

They slid into the plush interior—leather seats, mini-bar stocked with dates and forbidden liquors. Divya settled beside Ahmed, niqab still shrouding her face, the septum leash coiled in her lap like a serpent. The Sheikh sat opposite, legs spread wide, his thobe tenting already. As the door sealed and the car purred forward, he leaned in, snatching the niqab's edge. 'Off,' he commanded, yanking it away in one fluid motion. Divya's face bloomed into view: elegant features twisted by metal—quarter-inch septum ring gleaming thick and heavy, large silver hoops pulling her nostrils taut on each side, lip studs winking, eyebrow bars arching like invitations to cruelty, tongue piercing glinting as she swallowed. The leash dangled from the septum, a silver chain begging to be seized.

The Sheikh's breath hitched, fingers closing around the leash. He tugged sharply, forcing her head forward, nose stretching into a grotesque flare. 'On all fours, slave. Show your new master.' Divya's masochistic pulse thrummed; she dropped instantly, knees sinking into the limo carpet, ass high, abaya hiking to expose her bare pussy lips, already swollen and slick. Ahmed watched, cock hardening in his pants, thrilled at the display—his cash cow performing for the fortune ahead.

The Sheikh unzipped his thobe, freeing a thick, veined cock, uncut and curving upward, pre-cum beading at the tip. He hauled the leash, yanking Divya's face to his lap. 'Suck. Deep.' She obeyed, mouth opening wide, tongue piercing scraping his shaft as she engulfed him. Her lips stretched around the girth, studs pressing into his skin, while she bobbed, hollowing cheeks to pull him deeper. The Sheikh groaned, hand fisting her hair, thrusting up to fuck her throat. Gags escaped, saliva dripping down her chin, mixing with tears as the septum ring tore at her flesh with each pull. Ahmed grinned, palming his own bulge. 'Good girl. Earn that sale.' The limo swayed through Jeddah streets, the Sheikh's grunts filling the space as Divya slurped and choked, her heavy tits swinging free when he ripped the abaya open at the front.

He came hard, flooding her mouth with hot spurts, forcing her to swallow every drop around the tongue bar. 'Wipe your snout,' he ordered, smearing the leash across her lips like a rag. Divya knelt back, gasping, nose throbbing red from the abuse. The Sheikh tucked himself away, satisfied for now. 'To the villa. Crate her until the ceremony.' Ahmed nodded eagerly, the limo depositing them at a sprawling desert-edge compound—white walls, palm-shaded courtyards, the air thick with incense and anticipation.

Divya's world shrank to darkness and confinement. They dragged a steel crate from the trunk—two feet high, barred sides like a dog's kennel, padlocked door. She crawled in naked, abaya stripped away, piercings clinking against the metal floor. The Sheikh latched it shut, the leash threaded through bars and secured to a ring inside, keeping her snout pinned low. 'Stay, bitch. Reflect on your new life.' Hours blurred—sweat-slicked skin, muscles cramping, pussy aching from denied release. Ahmed paced outside, counting his impending riches, while the Sheikh's seven wives tittered in the harem wing, rumors of the incoming slave stirring their jealousy and curiosity.

Dusk fell, the call to prayer echoing as servants hauled the crate to a candlelit hall. The marriage ceremony was a farce—halala ritual twisted for profit. An imam, kin to the one back home, chanted verses while the Sheikh 'divorced' a proxy wife, then 'remarried' her to legitimize Divya's transfer. But the real rite was Divya's: crate unlocked, she emerged on hands and knees, leash in the Sheikh's grip. He bound her wrists behind her back with silk cords, forcing her to kneel before him in a flowing white kaftan. Vows were growled—her submission eternal, his ownership absolute. Rings exchanged: a massive gold hoop for her septum, dwarfing the existing one, locked through the grommet with a click. The wives watched from divans, eyes wide at the pierced lawyer's degradation.

Post-rite, the Sheikh lounged on a throne-like cushion, his seven wives arrayed around—slender Bedouins in sheer silks, from young favorites to weathered elders, all eyeing Divya with a mix of disdain and intrigue. 'Train her, Ahmed,' the Sheikh commanded, tossing a bag of tools. 'Show my household what this Indian whore endures. Make it hurt.' Ahmed's ugly face split in a grin, stepping forward as Divya knelt center-stage, naked and trembling, fresh wife-marks branding her as property.

He started with the nose—his favorite canvas. Grabbing pliers from the bag, he clamped the side hoops, twisting them outward inch by inch. Chains rattled as he linked heavy links between them, pulling her nostrils splayed wide, the skin stretching thin and raw. Divya yelped, head jerking, but he yanked the septum leash to hold her steady. 'Wider, pig. Show them your snout.' Pain lanced like fire, her prominent nose deforming into a bull's flare, blood beading at the edges. The wives gasped, one covering her mouth, another leaning closer, aroused by the brutality.

Next, weights. Ahmed selected lead bells—each a pound—clipping them to the massive septum ring. They swung heavy, dragging her head down, the grommet gouging flesh with every breath. Divya's neck strained, tears streaming, but her pussy dripped onto the marble floor, the humiliation fueling her core. 'Beg for more,' he snarled, slapping her cheek. 'Please... torture me,' she whimpered, voice breaking.

Whipping came swift. He uncoiled a bullwhip, leather thick and oiled, cracking it once in warning. The first lash bit her back, splitting skin in a red welt from shoulder to ass. Divya arched, screaming as he circled, targeting thighs, belly, the undersides of her swinging tits. Stripes bloomed—ten, twenty lashes—each snap echoing, her body jerking against the chains. The Sheikh stroked his hardening cock through his robe, wives shifting uncomfortably, some fingering hems of their silks.

Candle wax followed, a cluster of thick beeswax pillars lit nearby. Ahmed tilted one over her chest, hot drips splattering her 38DD breasts. Wax hardened on nipples, sealing the rings, then he poured trails down her cleavage, across her pierced belly button. Divya bucked, the burn searing like brands, welts from the whip bubbling under the molten seal. He focused on her tits, dripping until they gleamed white and rigid, then peeling strips away to expose raw, red skin.

Breast torture escalated. He bound the globes base-to-tip with wire, forcing them to bulge purple, veins popping. Clamps bit nipples—vicious alligator jaws with teeth—screwing tight until blood welled. Chains linked clamps to her septum weights, every tug on her nose yanking her tits viciously. Ahmed twisted the clamps, rotating them to grind metal into flesh, Divya's cries turning to sobs as milk-white skin bruised black.

Finally, the cocks. The Sheikh rose first, shedding his robe to reveal his thick shaft, erect and demanding. He hauled the septum chain, forcing Divya's mouth open. 'Suck your husband.' She engulfed him, lips stretching, tongue bar rasping his length as he face-fucked her, balls slapping her chin. Ahmed joined, unzipping to shove his shorter, uglier cock alongside—double blowjob, her mouth crammed full, gagging on the dual invasion. Spit foamed, dripping down her wax-crusted tits, as they thrust in tandem, using her throat like a sleeve. The wives watched transfixed, the Sheikh grunting release first, cum spurting across her tongue and face, Ahmed following to paint her septum ring white.

Divya collapsed, body a map of agony—nose splayed and weighted, back lashed raw, tits clamped and welted, wax flaking from her skin. The Sheikh nodded approval, pulling her leash to drag her to his feet. 'Welcome to the harem, slave. Tomorrow, the real breaking begins.' Ahmed pocketed another wad of cash, his pride swelling as the wives dispersed, whispering of the new toy who'd endure what they never could.