Diplomatic Immunity, Part One: Delilah’s Punishment by JG-Leathers
Being allowed to attend school in North America is a dream come true for the 18 year old Delilah, a Middle-Eastern beauty, who would have otherwise been consigned to a life in a household run by her authoritarian father.
As a coed at an exclusive East Coast women’s college, she benefits from the good education and her newfound freedom, out from under her father’s strict rule. She especially delights in dressing in Western clothes and showing off her well-developed body. Thus, it’s not long before Delilah sheds her virginity, and dives into the verboten territory of sexual exploration.
But when her stern religious father discovers her adventurous experimentation, he’s shocked and angered, vowing to take extremely harsh action to curb his daughter’s scandalous behavior. While naked and half-drunk in the back of a friend’s van, Delilah is suddenly frozen in panic, when bright lights spear through the van’s windows and illuminate her writhing body. Abruptly whisked away, bound and forced into the traditional chador, she’s once again under her father’s control.
With the assistance of a willing doctor, Delilah is soon fitted with extreme and permanent body jewelry, then returned to her home – although it’s not the loving one she departed from months before. She has dishonored her family with her promiscuous behavior, and now must pay for her ‘crimes’ in the decadent West. Condemned by her father to a chilling fate, Delilah becomes a secret prisoner.
What is done to her and how she now exists is a terrifying tale of crime and punishment, the stuff of nightmares and forbidding dreams. This startling new novel from author JG-Leathers includes sophisticated body restraints, body modifications, chastity, piercing, branding and corporal punishment.
I drive a golf cart at the airport … the kind used by airlines to transport people around the vast complexes of modern terminal buildings. Generally, only those who are mobility impaired, women with young children, and older people who cannot manage long distances are transported on these carts, but one day, I received a call on my radio to proceed to the First Class Lounge and pick up a party of three passengers and take them to the gate for their flight. It was a sufficiently unusual requirement that I questioned it, but I was informed that, yes, my presence and vehicle were definitely needed.
Upon entering the lounge, I was directed to one of the private conference rooms, and when I knocked on the door to advise the passengers that I was available for the required transportation services, it opened partially, and a crooked finger silently beckoned me into the opulent room. Now … I’ve seen all sorts of people and costumes in the course of my job, but this was the first time I had the experience of meeting some of the super wealthy of the earth. One of the men, tall, elegant, and immaculately dressed, spoke quietly, in keeping with the subdued atmosphere of the lounge environment.
“Thank you for coming so quickly. We require your assistance to transport our young lady to the gate, please.” The speaker gestured towards a black shrouded figure sitting erectly in a wheel chair by the window.
“Of course, sir,” I responded, a little surprised that she would require any sort of aid, but the wheelchair and its occupant were indisputable.
The other of the expensively dressed, swarthy skinned men, obviously from the Middle East, walked over to the chair and pushed it to the door. I assumed that the young woman in it was one of their daughters that had perhaps been incapacitated in a car accident or suffered from some debilitating condition. I was wrong about her being related to either although correct about her lack of ability to move freely. She sat silently uptight, staring directly ahead, swathed completely in one of those all-encompassing black robes women from that region are required to wear while in public. I was unable to see anything of her face other than a hint of skin tone through the narrow band over the position of her eyes, and even those were virtually invisible through the dense black, screening cloth that covered the slit in her head-encompassing veils. She kept her hands hidden within the capacious folds of the garment, but I saw the tips of her fingers emerge slightly for a moment and then withdraw again. They were tightly encased in what appeared to be snug, black, thick satin gloves. The long, full robe descended to cover her legs and feet, not even revealing the tips of her footwear.
I tried not to stare, at least too obviously, for the sight of a woman so thoroughly concealed from view, even though otherwise visible, was quite a startling one here in North America.
“Let us go to the gate now, please? The young lady is … ah … not fully mobile and is unable to walk very far or easily. However, we will assist with her being moved. We all possess diplomatic passports; and therefore, we need not report to departure control nor go through the security scanning equipment.”
“That won’t be a problem for me, sir,” I answered, “but I must see the actual documents please,” I said holding out my hand with a smile. He presented me with three passports, and I flipped quickly through each to ensure their authenticity. To say that I was stunned by the striking appearance of the young woman whose picture was in the passport would be an understatement. She was truly a beauty by anyone’s standards. Yet, here she sat before me, completely concealed within her traditional robes; the captive of a wheel chair; but how much a captive, I truly had no idea.
“Thank you,” I smiled again as I returned the documents. “Now, if I might ask you to come to the cart outside the door of the lounge, we’ll get organized and down to the gate.”
“Very well,” he said then spoke to the other briefly in their own tongue.
I turned and walked from the lounge, holding the door so that the wheelchair and its mysterious but apparently quite beautiful occupant could be brought out and wheeled over to my cart. The chair’s wheel brakes were locked, and the foot rests turned out of the way, then on either side of the young woman, the men reached down and grasped her firmly by the upper arms and assisted her to her feet. I heard a slight, metallic clashing when she was moved, and for a moment, I thought nothing of it, believing this to be the sound of hidden jewellery, and, in a way, I was correct. I stood just in front watching while she took a very short pace towards me, and again, I heard the noise of metal on metal when she moved. I stared at her more closely. Although her head was bent submissively forward, she appeared to try and raise it momentarily, and I thought I detected what appeared to be a bead of tears fall onto the cloth covering her eyes. At her front, the black robe draped attractively from her shoulders, down over her proud chest to the floor, and it appeared that her hands and arms were held across her stomach protectively. The diminutive young woman twitched and trembled, standing between the two men, then they turned her toward the cart, and to my surprise, lifted her bodily to stand in the area immediately before the front seat. Again, one of them spoke in his native language, but this time, he directed his words at her.
Obviously it was a command of some kind, for she turned slowly then sat, seemingly reluctantly, on the bench seat, bringing forth a further muffled metallic clashing while settling herself. The two escorts immediately sat on the rear-facing bench, and I climbed into the driver’s seat beside the young woman. I smelled a faint trace of cinnamon-like scent wafting from her robes, and then I reached down, inserted, and turned the key. When I did, I looked up into her downcast, veil-obscured face, and smiled into the kohl outlined eyes staring mournfully back at me through the narrow slit and fine mesh of her veil.
Surprisingly, I think she fluttered her lashes at me then stared intently. I sat up, surprised, and reached to flip the gear lever into the ‘Forward’ position, and when I moved my hand down and to the centre of the seat, it brushed against her robes. The contact was only momentary and inadvertent, but I felt the hardness of metal, and knew, instinctively, that I had touched a chain of some kind!
With a start of shock, I sat erect then gently depressed the accelerator pedal, and off we went into the depths of the busy terminal building. At that time of the day, it was very busy, and even though I drove slowly, I frequently had to make sudden stops, jostling my passengers. On a couple of occasions, I had to swerve to avoid some child who’d rushed unthinkingly away from its mother, or some ignorant dolt who’d stopped in the middle of the busy concourse to talk on his cell phone, throwing the girl gently against me. When this happened, I was again enveloped in her cinnamon like perfume, but not only this, I felt even more of her clothing … and what was concealed beneath it.
Metal. Hard, thick, unyielding metal.
We reached the departure gate some ten minutes later, and the escorts alighted from the back seat then came to stand beside the shrouded young woman sitting motionless beside me. She was spoken to once more and then stood with regal dignity, and they again grasped her arms to lift her bodily to stand beside the cart. Once more I hear a faint metallic clashing emanate from under her robes. Our little group had become the momentary centre of discreet attention for the other people already seated and waiting to board the aircraft, and then one of the men went to the counter at the jet way entrance to obtain another wheel chair. The other scanned the crowd, and I, by now deeply interested in the young woman and her costume, stood beside her, being completely ignorant and staring with fascination down at her slight yet obviously well developed form.
She seemed to sense that her escorts were momentarily distracted, and with a sudden rush, took five or six very short steps away from me, apparently trying to distance herself from the men. Again I heard the metallic clashing, and these strengthened, becoming more harsh with her every restricted step, until she managed to reach a space between two rows of seats. For a momentarily misunderstood reason, she tripped and fell, making no move of her hands and arms to break her fall. Actually, she’d only managed to move about two metres from me, and when I saw her start to go down, I quickly stepped over, but she’d already collapsed to the floor. She was almost hidden between the slightly separated rows, and so I suppose I was the only one who saw the real reason she’d fallen. Her costume had obviously caused her mishap, and when I looked down to where she lay curled on her side, I saw that the hem of the long robe had risen partially up her legs.
Surprisingly, the first thing I saw was that she wore very high heeled, ankle-strap pumps, but that wasn’t the reason she’d tripped. Clasped tightly around her light brown complexioned legs, encircling the narrowest part of each limb just above her ankle was a wide, thick, smoothly machined, gleaming band of what could only be steel! Cuffs!? Joining these was a very short, thick-linked, shiny chain. The ankle bands were about five mm thick and five cm wide, appearing to be virtually seamless and quite permanent, but they certainly weren’t some type of elaborate and expensive jewellery! The chain wasn’t decorative in any sense of the word, but most definitely a means of restricting her freedom of movement. For a moment, she kicked her legs against its shortness, making the voluminous garment rise even higher up her legs, and I saw that from the central link of the hobbling chain, another rose into the shadowed area within her long skirt! Under the upper body portion, her arms jerked, seemingly restricted by this chain, for it snapped tight with a subdued clinking, and she struggled a little more which caused the skirt to fall again and hide the flashing cuffs and gleaming chains. I bent down, and taking hold of her arm through the enveloping robe, carefully raised her to a sitting position then seeing she was unable to rise further by herself, I helped her to stand. While I assisted, my hands again sensed her undergarments. They seemed uncommonly inflexible; tightly clamped around her body, and she trembled quite violently while I held her, leaning a little against me. I thought I heard faint mewling and hissing sounds emerge from under her opaque veils and assumed that she had some sort of speech impediment, but how true this was, I only found out much later, and she did indeed have one … a man-made contrivance.
The escorts were beside me in an instant, speaking in low, harsh, and I thought, threatening tones to the girl while she regained her footing. She bobbed her head in silent obedience, and apparently some fear, then their eyes turned to me with a look of hard determination, slowly turning to stone faced indifference when I released my hand. They, however, remained quite courteous.
“Thank you for your assistance,” the one in charge said quietly. “We will have her in the chair in a moment. Please? May I have your name? I would like to compliment you for your excellent service and to officially advise your employer.”
I gave it to him gladly. Compliments in the airline business are hard to come by at any time, and one from a diplomatic source would truly be of major significance. The wheelchair was quickly brought over by one of my co-workers, and the black robed wraith sank reluctantly into it, all the while staring intently at me; her head making minute shaking motions. I stared back, fascinated still. Was she some sort of prisoner? Or, was this a part of her cultural heritage I had no understanding of, and I would be an oaf to query? “What had she done?” I asked myself. The junior of the men spun the chair away and pushed her over to wait beside the jet way door, facing out the window. With a sigh, I returned to my vehicle and went on to my next assignment. It was the last I saw her for some time, but not the end of my involvement in the events that have since shaped her life … and mine.