Chapter Two

Yasmin opened her eyes to a vaulted ceiling, blinking as her mind tried to piece together her surroundings. She sat up against the plush golden pillows and rubbed her face, a dull ache throbbing behind her temples from the relentless stress of the previous day. The luxury hotel suite offered a spacious double bed adorned with white and gold linens, though she had no memory of actually climbing into it. The events in the airport interrogation room blurred together, leaving a chaotic mess of panic that must have caused her to block out exactly how she and her colleague reached the room. She shifted on the mattress, noticing a cool draft against her bare skin.

She looked down at her body and gasped. She wore no underwear, and the black sheer nightgown covering her frame did nothing to hide her nakedness. The dark material put her nipples on clear display, and her bare pussy was just as visible through the thin veil of silk draped across her lap. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach as she stared at her exposed flesh, wondering who had dressed her before she went to bed. It was arguably better than what those guards put her in at the airport, but the fact that someone may have touched her body while she was unconscious made her feel sick. Where were her actual clothes?

The bedroom door opened, and Toby walked in carrying two white cups of coffee. He wore a poorly fitted white vest and a pair of cargo shorts.

Yasmin snatched the duvet and pulled it up to her chin, making sure the blanket hid her exposed breasts and crotch before her colleague could get a good look at her body.

“Morning,” Toby said. He stopped near the edge of the mattress and offered a polite smile. “I brought you some coffee to wake you up. I hope you slept well, because the sofa out in the living room is a lumpy mess.”

Yasmin ignored his attempt at small talk, keeping a tight grip on the bedding as she stared at the chubby man.

Toby placed the cups on the bedside table and took a step back to give her space.

“Can you bring my suitcase in here?” the dark-haired journalist asked. “I need to put on some actual clothes before we do anything else.”

Toby rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh. “About that. I don’t have your suitcase.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it?” Yasmin demanded.

“The customs agents wouldn’t release your cases,” the photographer explained. “They classed you as a Khavari citizen, which means your American items were impounded at the airport. I tried to get them back, but they refused.”

“Are you kidding me?” she shouted. She tossed a hand out in frustration before pulling it back to cover her chest. “What the hell am I supposed to wear? I can’t walk around Khavaristan with my breasts on display. I’m not one of these women!”

“Hold on, don’t blame me for this,” Toby said defensively, holding his hands up. “I signed those documents to keep you safe. If I hadn’t done that, they would have locked you up somewhere until they found a local man for you to marry. Is that what you wanted? I am doing the best I can to protect you, Yasmin. Unfortunately, that means playing their game.”

The young woman bit her lower lip, fighting a wave of despair. “I know you are, and I appreciate it, but I still need something to wear.”

Toby walked over to the closet on the far side of the room and pulled the doors open, gesturing to the garments hanging inside. “These clothes were already here when we checked in. They said they would provide them as a replacement for your suitcase.”

Yasmin pushed the duvet aside and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She stood up, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing her thighs together to shield her pussy from his line of sight. The sheer nightgown brushed against her calves, failing to conceal her nakedness as she walked over to the open closet.

She stared at the hanging fabrics, feeling a cold sense of dread. The closet held rows of sheer silks, translucent veils, undercup bikinis designed to push breasts upward, and chains of gold jewelry. She brushed her fingers against a pair of translucent harem pants, noticing the crotch was split wide open to ensure the wearer remained exposed to the public. None of the clothing offered the protection and coverage she was used to; they were designed exclusively to present the female form for men to ogle.

“I can’t wear these,” Yasmin said, shaking her head as she backed away from the closet to face him. “This isn’t right, Toby. How the hell am I supposed to do my job here dressed like a naked concubine? No one will take me seriously wearing that.”

“I know it’s a sticky situation, but I am trying to help you navigate this,” the photographer replied. “Going out naked is even worse, and they don’t exactly have a Western clothes store down the street. You saw the women at the airport yesterday. They all dress like this, and most men didn’t pay attention to you when you walked to the taxi. It’s normal for them, and it’s nothing special.”

“It isn’t normal for me!” she argued.

“If we treat it like nothing out of the ordinary, you shouldn’t feel embarrassment,” the chubby man reasoned, crossing his arms over his protruding stomach. “There is no shame in following the culture while we figure a way out of this mess. No one back home will know.”

Yasmin glared at him, anger boiling in her chest at his casual dismissal of her humiliation. “Why don’t you fucking wear silks that show off your tits to the world and see how embarrassed you get!”

Toby frowned, cringing at the thought. “I contacted someone at the Times this morning, and they’re looking into the best way to handle the situation. For now, we need to do the job the Khavari government allowed us here to do. If we do well here, we build our profile and find someone with power to let you leave the country.”

Yasmin stood in silence, her arms wrapped tight around her chest. She was trapped in possibly the most degrading country in the world for women, with no passport, no clothes, and a set of laws that viewed her as subordinate to the men around her. She looked back at the closet, her mind racing with the terrifying prospect of walking out into the streets wearing nothing but what she saw before her. She imagined the perverted stares of the men, sickened by the degradation of having her tits on display for anyone to look at.

Toby turned his back on her and walked toward the door. “Get dressed, Yasmin. We have an interview to get to.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Yasmin alone with the pornographic Khavari silks and the grim reality of her new life.

❖

Toby walked through the chaotic paths of the Souk Al-Zahra. He held a metal chain in his right hand, keeping a firm grip on the links as he navigated the crowded marketplace. The bazaar spanned several city blocks, consisting of narrow dirt roads flanked by wooden merchant stalls. Thousands of Khavari citizens moved through the area, creating a deafening wall of noise as vendors negotiated with customers. Toby kept his eyes focused on the wooden signs hanging above the storefronts, searching for the specific business his editors had arranged for them to visit.

He felt a sudden resistance on the chain pulling his arm backward. He stopped walking and turned around to see his colleague lagging behind.

“Hurry up,” Toby said, giving the metal tether a tug to encourage her forward. “The faster we find this shop, the quicker you can get away from these people.”

Yasmin stumbled forward to close the distance between them, her bare feet navigating the uneven path as she struggled to match his pace. She kept her arms crossed tight over her chest, but the gesture did little to hide her body from the passing crowds. She wore a purple undercup bikini that pushed her breasts upward, putting her bare tits on public display. Streams of gold coins adorned her exposed chest, the metal pieces clinking together to draw unwanted attention with every step she took. Purple cuffs wrapped around her forearms, wrists, thighs, and ankles. A sheer purple cloth encircled her waist and flowed down to her feet, but the thin fabric was transparent enough to leave her crotch visible to anyone who bothered to look, and plenty of men did. She had no underwear to hide her pussy, leaving her lower half exposed to the perverted gazes of the locals.

The packed paths forced everyone into tight quarters, which meant the men in the market constantly rubbed up against her exposed body. A guy with a thick beard bumped her shoulder and purposefully dragged his knuckles across her bare stomach, while another man grabbed a handful of her left tit as he walked the opposite direction. She had screamed at a guy a few minutes ago when he squeezed her hip, but the anger and alarm in his eyes at her disrespectful tone had scared her back into keeping her mouth shut. She had no idea if it was illegal for a woman to speak to a man that way in this backward country, so she just had to grit her teeth and bear the humiliation in silence. She wrapped one hand across her chest in a desperate bid to cover her breasts, edging closer to the photographer.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice shaking with suppressed rage as she cast a nervous glance at a passing merchant. “These guys are fucking animals.”

“As you know, our ultimate aim is to interview the King of Khavaristan,” Toby explained, keeping his eyes on the path ahead to check the names on the signs. “He hasn’t responded to any of our requests yet, so we have to work our way up.”

“So what are we doing in a market with this filth?” she snapped, bumping into a tall man and muttering an apology while her free hand instinctively dropped to cover her crotch.

“Someone back at the office got us an interview with a shopkeeper,” Toby said, giving the leash a gentle tug to guide her around an intersection. “This guy has a cousin who works for the government. If we can win him over, he might be able to help us get an interview with him.”

“So I have to parade around with my breasts out in public, and this guy isn’t even important?” Yasmin asked, hating how convoluted their mission had become.

“It’s a stepping stone,” the photographer told her, walking a little slower so she could keep up with his pace. “We have to play the game to get the story, and that means starting at the bottom and working our way up.”

A passing man slapped her bare ass hard as he brushed past, leaving a stinging sensation running through her body. Yasmin let out a loud gasp of shock, her face flushing a deep shade of red as she spun around with her free hand clenched into a fist. She was ready to smack the man who assaulted her out of pure feminist instinct.

“Calm down,” Toby warned, stepping between her and the perpetrator before she could do anything rash. “Just look at the floor and act like this is a bad dream.”

“He just hit my fucking ass!” she hissed, pointing a finger at the retreating man in the crowd, who went about his business as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. “Did you not see that?”

“I saw it,” Toby replied, keeping his voice steady to defuse her anger. “I don’t know much about the laws around here, but women punching men in the face won’t go down well. We can’t afford to cause a scene, Yasmin.”

Yasmin glared at him, wanting to tear into him for telling her to calm down after a random guy casually smacked her bare ass. She bit her tongue instead, knowing she had no real power here to fight back against a mob of Khavari men. She turned her head forward and followed Toby deeper into the marketplace, allowing him to lead her by the chain while she seethed in silence.

Toby kept his grip on the leash, a dark thrill pumping through his veins as he guided his topless colleague past the stalls. He led the beautiful American woman through the bazaar, watching the way the men looked at her exposed tits and pussy with hunger. He had spent years hovering around Yasmin in the newsroom, accepting her casual dismissals and pretending he didn’t want more from their professional relationship. Now she was relying on him to protect her, walking obediently behind him while wearing an outfit straight out of some harem porno. He kept his face neutral to hide his growing erection, careful not to give her a reason to question him while he secretly relished his newfound dominance over her life.

Yasmin tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The sheer purple cloth wrapped around her waist did nothing to hide her bare pussy as she walked. She felt a deep sense of shame knowing her body was available for public consumption, reduced to a piece of visual entertainment for a patriarchal society that viewed her as subordinate property. She squeezed her thighs together whenever a guy walked close, but her efforts to maintain modesty proved useless against the mandated Khavari attire. Toby walked with a newfound confidence, his shoulders pulled back as he navigated the foreign environment with an ease that unsettled her.

Another man brushed past her, his fingers purposefully sliding across her bare stomach to grope her navel. Yasmin flinched and pulled away, her bare feet stumbling on the dirt path as she struggled to maintain her balance. She wanted to scream at him, but he didn’t even look back, treating the invasive grope as a casual interaction that warranted no apology. She bit her tongue and forced herself to keep walking, focusing her attention on the back of her colleague to distract herself from the constant humiliation.

“Are we close?” the dark-haired journalist asked.

“I think we’re almost there,” Toby assured her.

They walked through another intersection filled with shouting vendors before Toby stopped outside a large stone building. A wooden sign hung above the entrance, reading El-Hashem Antiquities & Silks in bold lettering. The shop sat on a busy corner, and the loud noise of the marketplace swallowed them as they stood outside.

“This is it,” Toby said, turning to face the woman at the end of the leash. “Are you ready?”

Yasmin dropped her arm from her chest and let out a defeated sigh, nodding her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

❖

Toby pushed the storefront door open, triggering a brass bell that chimed above their heads. Yasmin followed him through the entrance, her bare feet stepping off the path and onto a floor covered in overlapping woven rugs. The shop was a sprawling space featuring tall stacks of folded carpets that formed makeshift aisles for customers to navigate. Intricate tapestries hung from the ceiling all the way down to the floor, displaying geometric patterns in an array of muted colors. Yasmin let out a quiet breath of relief, thankful to escape the constant groping of the men in the street.

Toby led her down the central aisle toward a counter at the back of the store, the leash rattling softly between them as they walked. A Middle Eastern man stood behind the cash register, his eyes watching them approach his station. He wore a traditional white tunic and stroked a long, dark beard that rested against his chest.

“Ahlan bikum fi matjari,” the man greeted them in Arabic, offering a polite nod to the photographer.

“Hello, sir,” Toby said, stopping in front of the counter with a friendly smile. “I am Toby Miller, and I work for The American Times. I believe my editors called ahead, and you were expecting us today.”

The shopkeeper broke into a wide grin and reached his hand over the counter. “Of course. Is honor to meet such important American. My name Mahmud.”

Toby grasped the merchant’s hand and shook it, trying to act as though he had done this before despite his ragged cargo pants and oversized t-shirt. “It is great to meet you, Mahmud. This is Yasmin, a journalist for The American Times.”

Yasmin stepped forward, dropping her arms from her chest as she extended her right hand toward the merchant. Mahmud paused, his smile dropping slightly as he looked down at her outstretched hand. He ignored her gesture, his eyes dragging across her pushed-out chest to stare openly at her bare tits. He admired the gold coins resting against her stomach, his gaze slowly traveling down to the sheer purple cloth wrapped around her waist. A dirty grin formed on his face as he took in the sight of her naked pussy visible through the parted fabric. He looked back up at Toby.

“Come, come,” Mahmud said in his broken English, gesturing for the photographer to follow him. “We talk in back.”

He stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward a beaded curtain at the rear of the shop. Toby gave the leash a gentle tug, guiding Yasmin forward as they followed the merchant into the backroom. Yasmin gritted her teeth. She was starting to despise every tug of that fucking leash.

The room was small and cramped, containing a cluttered wooden desk and a few stacked boxes of inventory. Mahmud walked around the desk and took a seat in a leather chair. There was only one other chair in the room, a simple seat positioned across from the merchant.

Yasmin walked over and sat down, keeping her posture straight as she prepared to conduct the interview. Toby stood beside her, his hands resting on his hips as he waited for the conversation to begin. Mahmud frowned, his eyebrow raising as he looked back and forth between the two Americans. He looked visibly confused by the arrangement, failing to understand why the male foreigner remained standing while the properly displayed woman took the only available seat. He opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped himself and remained silent.

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview,” Yasmin said, offering the merchant a polite smile as she crossed her bare legs, acting as if having her tits out didn’t bother her. “We wanted to get a feel for the city, and we can’t think of a better way to start this story than with a shopkeeper in the largest bazaar in the capital city.”

Mahmud stared at her, his face devoid of any expression. He sat in silence, his eyes locked onto her lips as though he couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. He slowly turned his head to look up at Toby, seeking some sort of explanation, but the photographer just offered a supportive nod to his colleague. Mahmud turned his attention back to Yasmin, maintaining his baffling silence as the seconds ticked by.

Yasmin adjusted her posture on the seat, feeling a prickle of unease at the man’s refusal to answer her simple greeting. She felt ridiculous sitting there in a purple undercup bikini, but she needed to act professional if they were going to get anywhere with this assignment.

“Can you tell us a little bit about yourself, Mahmud?” she prompted, hoping a broader question would get him talking.

The awkward pause stretched on. The merchant continued to stare at her bare breasts, his eyes filled with a mixture of lust and bewilderment. Yasmin clenched her jaw, determined to push through the cultural barrier and get the information she needed for her story. She refused to let a stubborn shopkeeper derail her career-defining assignment, especially after she endured the humiliation of the public market just to reach his store.

“Perhaps you can explain the political situation in Khavaristan right now?” Yasmin asked, keeping her tone even despite her growing frustration. “Why do you think the country is shying away from its neighbors in the region, and how has that isolation affected your business here in the bazaar?”

Mahmud’s face flushed with sudden fury. He slammed his fists down on the wooden desk, causing a few pens to jump from the impact.

“Ma hadha!” Mahmud shouted, spit flying from his lips as he glared at the two Americans. “Kayfa tasmah li-hadihi al-kalbah an tatakallam ma’i bi-hadihi al-tariqah!”

Yasmin flinched and pressed her back against the chair. She had no idea what the man was saying, but the venom in his voice made her freeze in place. He pointed a finger at her face as he continued to yell in his native tongue.

Mahmud stood up from his leather chair and turned his furious gaze on Toby, the veins in his neck bulging against his skin. “How you allow property to speak to other man!”

“I apologize, Mahmud,” Toby said. He held his hands up in a placating gesture and stepped in front of Yasmin to act as a buffer. “There is a misunderstanding here. She is the American journalist, and I am just the photographer.”

“I no tolerate disrespect in my shop!” Mahmud roared, his face turning red as he marched around the desk to confront them. “You bring naked whore into business and let her insult me!”

“Please, sir, we just want to ask a few questions,” Toby pleaded, backing toward the beaded curtain as the merchant advanced.

“Out, out, out!” the merchant screamed, pointing a rigid finger toward the exit. “Get out of shop before I call police and have you arrested for insolence!”

Toby did not wait for a second warning. He grabbed the leash and pulled it hard, forcing Yasmin to stand up from the chair in a panic. She stumbled forward, her bare feet tangling in the purple cloth as Toby dragged her through the curtain. The sudden movement caused her breasts to bounce freely. Mahmud continued to shout Arabic curses behind them, chasing them down the central aisle of the store. Toby rushed past the stacks of carpets, pulling his humiliated colleague out the front door and back into the sweltering heat of the bazaar.

❖

Yasmin paced back and forth inside a tight alley at the side of the carpet shop. The metal chain connected to her collar dangled loosely as she marched from one end of the narrow passage to the other. She wrapped her arms tight over her chest to contain her frustration, but the gesture did nothing to soothe the anger boiling inside her. Since arriving in this disgraceful country, her ancestral home, she had been stripped of her dignity, her pride, and her clothes. She had been treated more like a pet than a human being with any thoughts of substance, and she had only been in the country for a little over twenty-four hours.

Toby stepped into the passage a few seconds later. He watched his colleague pace between the stone walls, keeping a safe distance as he let her burn off some of her rage.

“How the hell am I supposed to do my job if these morons don’t respect me?” Yasmin demanded, spinning around to face him. “Did you see the way he looked at me in there? It was like he was horrified that someone with XX chromosomes would have the audacity to speak to him.” She kicked a loose pebble across the dirt path. “It’s a joke. I’m a journalist, Toby. I’ve interviewed senators back home, but here I can’t even get a shopkeeper to answer a basic question without him throwing a temper tantrum. How do these people sleep at night?”

Toby stood near the entrance of the passage. He looked down at the floor in silence, letting her vent her frustrations. He knew arguing with her right now would only escalate the situation, but he also recognized the reality they faced. The rules of Western society meant nothing in Khavaristan, and they would need to change tactics if they were ever going to succeed here.

“He literally recoiled when I held out my hand,” Yasmin added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like I was carrying a disease. I’ve never been treated with such blatant disgust. It’s infuriating.”

“We knew they had strict traditions before we boarded the plane,” Toby reasoned. “We just didn’t realize how perverse they were until we landed. We knew what the risks were when we accepted the job, Yasmin.”

“But how can I interview anyone if men won’t even talk to me?” Yasmin asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation before crossing them over her chest again. “I have a fucking journalism degree. I can’t just nod and smile while some sexist prick treats me like a brainless sex doll. I don’t care what country we’re in.”

“Just calm down,” Toby said, taking a step toward her.

“I won’t calm down!” she snapped. “They took my passport, Toby. The government actually thinks I belong to them just because my grandparents lived here. If I just roll over and accept this, they’ll never let me leave.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Toby countered, stepping further into the alley to block her path. “You saw how quickly that merchant turned on us. If we don’t fall in line, we’re going to end up in legal trouble before we finish the first interview.”

“He had no right to act like that,” Yasmin argued, stopping just short of him. She glared up at the photographer, refusing to back down. “I’m a human being, and I deserve basic respect.”

“Calm down,” the chubby man repeated.

“I don’t care,” the journalist hissed, stepping around him to resume her pacing. “I’m not going to let this retarded country ruin my life. I am an American, and they better start treating me like—”

Toby stepped forward and grabbed her bare shoulders, shoving her backward until her spine hit the brick wall. He pinned her in place with a firm grip.

“I said calm down and shut up,” Toby ordered, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding tone.

Yasmin’s eyes widened in shock as her back scraped against the masonry. It was the first time she had ever seen her beta colleague raise his voice in anger. He usually hovered around the newsroom like a timid puppy, eager to agree with her opinions and stay out of her way. The sudden display of dominance caught her off guard, leaving her tongue-tied as his large hands pressed into her naked skin. She stared up at his face, too stunned to formulate a response.

“You need to listen to me,” the man said, maintaining his grip on her shoulders. “We have to work with what we have until we figure a better way forward. The culture here is different, Yasmin. Women aren’t journalists in this country, and this backward way of life is all these people know. They don’t give a shit about your college degree or your job title back in New York.”

Yasmin opened her mouth to argue, but the stern look on his face stopped the words from forming. She felt exposed and vulnerable standing topless in the alley, realizing just how much power the photographer held over her in this foreign land.

“If we don’t go along with this disgusting culture, we won’t get the information we need to help us get out of here,” Toby continued, softening his grip a fraction. “You saw what happened in there. Mahmud was ready to call the authorities because you dared to ask him a question. If they show up, they’ll take you away. Who knows what they will do to you after that. Is that what you want?”

Yasmin swallowed hard. The terrifying prospect of becoming a permanent captive broke through her feminist outrage, forcing her to accept the danger they were in. She knew he was right. That asshole was outraged she had even attempted to interview him. They needed to change course if they were going to succeed here.

“What the hell do you suggest then?” she asked, still attempting to sound defiant.

Toby released her shoulders and took a step back, giving her room to breathe. “If they won’t speak to a woman, then I’ll need to pretend to be the journalist and ask the questions.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yasmin interjected, pushing herself away from the wall. “I’m the reporter on this assignment. You’re just here to take photos.”

“I know you’re the actual journalist, Yasmin,” her colleague replied, holding his hands up to placate her. “Your name will be there in ink when we publish the story, but if we’re going to actually get some information, we need to play along. I’ll do the talking, and you can memorize the answers for the article. It’s the only way we’re going to get anyone to cooperate with us.”

Yasmin crossed her arms over her chest again, hating the idea of surrendering her professional duties to a man, much less a man who had never interviewed anyone in his life. She had fought her whole life to be taken seriously in a male-dominated industry, and now she was being asked to step aside and let a mediocre photographer take the role. It felt like a betrayal of her feminist principles, but the truth of the matter was that she couldn’t think of an alternative.

“If you’re going to pretend to be the journalist, then what the hell am I going to do?” Yasmin asked, her fingers digging into her own skin.

Toby stared at her, taking in the sight of her beautiful face and her naked body. He watched the way the gold coins rested against her stomach, admiring the submissive picture she painted standing barefoot in the dirt. He tried hard to stop himself from smiling, burying the thrill that coursed through his veins at the thought of putting her in her place.

“You’re going to act like the slave they think you are,” the man replied.

❖

Toby sat across from the store owner in the small office of the carpet shop, resting his hands on his lap as he offered a polite and apologetic smile. He had walked back into the store and requested another attempt at talking with the furious merchant to clear the air. Mahmud sat in his soft chair behind the desk, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he waited for the American man to explain what the hell had happened earlier.

“I have to apologize for the interruption earlier, Mahmud,” Toby began, keeping his tone calm and respectful to soothe the merchant’s bruised ego. “There was a terrible misunderstanding. I purchased this woman outside the airport after I arrived in your great country. The man selling her had warned me she wasn’t well trained yet. Being a foreigner, I allowed her to convince me that you would prefer a local talking to you rather than an American.”

Mahmud raised an eyebrow, his anger slowly giving way to curiosity as he processed the explanation. “You buy her?”

“I did,” Toby confirmed, holding up the metal leash connected to her collar to prove his ownership. “I thought allowing her to speak would show respect to your customs, but I see now that it was a foolish mistake on my part. From now on, I’ll keep the bitch in line.”

Toby clicked his fingers to get Yasmin’s attention. He pointed a finger at the floorboards beside his seat, keeping his gaze locked on the merchant.

Yasmin stood by the entrance to the office, internally disbelieving she was actually about to go through with this charade. She wanted to rip her colleague’s throat out for the way he spoke about her. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, but she knew backing out now would leave her alone in a country where she had almost no rights. The olive-skinned woman swallowed her pride as she walked slowly across the room until she reached the photographer’s side. She lowered herself to her knees beside his chair and folded her legs underneath her hips, resting her hands flat on her thighs as she forced her gaze to remain fixed on the floor.

The submissive pose put her nakedness front and center for the two men to enjoy. She wanted to scream as her breasts stood out on display. The gold chains hanging from her bra clinked melodically, drawing constant attention to her exposed torso. Her purple skirt pooled around her calves, barely covering her bare sex now that her legs were tucked beneath her. Mahmud leaned over his desk to get a better look, a greedy smile stretching across his bearded face as he admired the unobstructed view of her body.

“I accept apology, Mr. Miller,” the shopkeeper said, a booming laugh escaping his lips as he settled back into his chair. “I admit, when you first walk in here, I think you just another weak foreigner. Let woman run his life. It bring me joy to see outsider embrace our tradition instead of fighting.”

“We just want to learn the truth about your nation,” Toby replied smoothly, keeping up the act with surprising ease. “That’s all my bosses have asked of me, and I’ll follow whatever traditions you have to put you at ease.”

“You smart man,” Mahmud praised, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “Now, what you want to ask for newspaper? We no get Western foreigners asking questions much.”

“I want to get a handle on the political climate of Khavaristan,” the photojournalist said, slipping right into the lead interviewer role. “Why did the government lock down the borders to the east recently, and how does that actually impact a local business owner like you?”

Mahmud stroked his beard, considering the question with a serious nod. “King know what happen when you let outsider make rules. Countries around us let Western politics poison culture. Try to take over with sinful ways, and men turn soft. King shut borders after US get close with Saudi Arabia. We rely on ourselves now. Traditions stay strong.”

Yasmin grit her teeth, boiling with rage as she knelt on the hardwood. She committed Mahmud’s ridiculous answers to memory as her colleague had suggested. The merchant’s blatant misogyny made her skin crawl, but she had to stay silent while her naked body served as a centerpiece for their conversation.

“Does keeping everything domestic hurt your income?” Toby asked.

Mahmud shifted his gaze down to the woman kneeling on the floorboards. He watched her exposed nipples with interest, a lustful gleam returning to his face. “Is hard to find good silk sometimes,” the merchant answered, his eyes fixed on Yasmin’s breasts. “But our farmers grow more now. Take time, but better for us. We need nobody.”

“Has the lack of foreign imports changed what people make?” the photographer asked.

“It make us go back to roots,” Mahmud explained proudly. “Before, bad merchants bring cheap junk from Asia. Say it is traditional. Now, every rug in this market is made here in Khavaristan. Money stay inside borders. Support our people.”

Yasmin cataloged the information, her fingers clenching as she knelt. She hated Toby for how easily he navigated the conversation, treating her like the locals did while performing her job like a phony. Her knees ached, and she felt a deep sense of degradation. She hoped Toby would wrap the interview up soon so she could get the hell out of here and hide in the comfort of their hotel suite.

“So the locals are buying into it?” Toby pressed, ignoring the way the shopkeeper stared at his colleague.

“Only stupid men complain,” the shopkeeper replied with a dismissive scoff. “Most men happy with changes. We got our pride back. Streets are safe from mess you see in America. You see the good thing yourself, since you buy a girl instead of marrying nagging wife.”

“It definitely makes my life easier,” Toby agreed, laughing nervously with the bearded man.

Yasmin grimaced. She wanted to smack that smirk off the chubby photographer’s face. She knew how he had obsessed over her like a sick puppy for all these years, and she never imagined the bastard would have this much control over her life.

Toby spent the next twenty minutes asking Mahmud about local Khavari life and the general mood of the population. The merchant answered every question with enthusiasm. He bragged about the booming domestic economy and the peace that came from strict religious laws, or at least their perverted interpretation, pausing occasionally to admire Yasmin’s slutty frame.

“This has been great, Mahmud,” Toby said. He stood up from his seat and reached across the desk to shake the merchant’s hand. “Thanks for taking the time to do this. I appreciate it.”

Mahmud stood up and shook his hand, a wide grin stretching across his bearded face. “Anytime, Western Man. Is nice talking to someone who understand how world work.”

“Do you happen to know anyone in the government who might go on the record?” Toby asked, seizing the opportunity to push for their next lead. “I heard you might have a relative working for the government. Any help would be appreciated.”

Mahmud frowned, releasing Toby’s hand as he thought about the request. “Politicians here no talk to foreign media. They think you twist words. Make us look like bad men.”

“I swear I’ll be fair,” Toby assured him, offering a reassuring smile.

“My cousin is city minister,” the shopkeeper offered, walking around the desk to stand near a stack of cardboard boxes. “I get you his office number.”

The merchant left the office, pushing through the curtain to head into the main shop area.

Toby stood in silence, looking down at Yasmin on the floor. He felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest, thrilled by the success of his impromptu performance and the obedience of the woman kneeling at his feet. How the tides have changed, he thought to himself. Yasmin kept her head down, furious and humiliated, refusing to acknowledge him while the shopkeeper was away.

Mahmud returned a minute later, holding a small white business card in his hand. He walked back into the room and handed the card to the photographer.

“His name is Zayn Rostami,” Mahmud said. “Call number on that card. Tell assistant that Mahmud send you. I no guarantee he grant interview, but my name get them to pick up phone.”

Toby took the card and read the name printed on the front before slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks again, Mahmud. You’ve been a huge help today.”

“It was fun,” the merchant replied, giving Toby a friendly pat on the shoulder. He looked down at Yasmin, his eyes tracing the curves of her naked body one last time. “Come back to shop whenever you want. Make sure you bring your slave when you do.”

Toby smiled, turning his attention to the journalist on the floor. He gave the metal chain a sharp tug, forcing Yasmin to scramble to her bare feet to avoid choking on the collar. She stood up, brushing her hands against her thighs as she regained her balance. Toby offered the merchant a final wave of goodbye before turning around, leading his obedient slave out of the office and back into the sprawling bazaar.

❖

The hotel door slammed shut. Yasmin unclipped the leash attached to her neck and dropped the metal chain on the floor, heading straight toward the kitchen. She needed a drink to get the memory of the previous hour out of her head before she lost her mind. She moved past the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the counter, sloshing a generous amount of clear liquor into a glass before topping it off with a splash of cola. She took a large gulp, wincing as the alcohol burned down her throat.

Toby followed her inside a few seconds later. He closed the door and stopped near the kitchen island, watching his colleague take another sip of her drink to calm her nerves.

“Are you going to talk to me now?” Toby asked. “You haven’t said a word since that alleyway.”

“How could you let that happen in there?” Yasmin demanded, spinning around to face him as she let her anger boil over. “You just sat there and played along with that misogynistic fucker like you actually owned me. You realize I am a proud American citizen, right? I’m not from here, I don’t speak fucking Arabic, and I sure as hell don’t belong to you or anyone else.”

Toby placed his hands flat on the island and let out a tired sigh. “We got the information we needed, Yasmin. We found out what the people think about living here, and we earned our next lead for the story. You have to admit the strategy worked.”

“The strategy was humiliating,” she spat back, taking another swig of her drink.

Yasmin pulled the glass away from her lips and narrowed her gaze as she noticed the photographer staring at her chest. The cupless bikini pushed her breasts upward to present her bare tits to the man, and she felt a fresh wave of anger wash over her as his eyes lingered on her nipples. She slammed her glass down on the counter.

“My eyes are fucking up here, Toby,” she snapped, pointing a finger at her own face. “Never look at my breasts again.”

“I’m sorry,” Toby said, snapping his gaze back up to meet hers. “I wasn’t trying to stare.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” Yasmin argued, crossing her arms over her chest to block his view. “This whole charade goes against everything I stand for. I came to this country to expose what women in the Middle East have to go through; I didn’t come here to join them in their degradation.”

“You need to get real,” Toby countered, dropping the timid act he usually hid behind when around his longtime crush. “I didn’t like doing it either, but it is what it is. The men in this country do the talking, and the women keep their mouths shut and stay out of business matters.”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that,” the journalist hissed. “I swear to God, when we get back to the States, I’m gonna have your ass fired!”

“If we are ever going to get back to the States, we need to follow the culture,” Toby said, ignoring her empty threat as he held his ground in the kitchen. “We can’t afford any more outbursts. From now on, you don’t speak a single word in public without my permission.”

“What did you jus—” Yasmin started, her jaw dropping at the audacity of his command.

“I mean it,” Toby interrupted, his voice firm and unwavering. “Your tongue is going to get us arrested or worse. You saw how that shopkeeper reacted just because you offered him a handshake and asked a question. Imagine how someone from the government is going to react to a naked woman talking out of turn. Are you trying to get us killed?”

Yasmin clamped her mouth shut. She hated the harsh truth in his words. She wanted to argue, to demand her right to do her job properly, but the terrifying memory of the carpet merchant screaming at her silenced her protests. She knew her colleague was right. Her stubborn personality was a liability in Khavaristan. Her refusal to adapt would end up costing her everything, leaving her at the mercy of a government that already didn’t trust Americans. She took another sip of her drink, letting the alcohol dull the sharp edge of her humiliation. She bit back her angry retorts and slowly nodded.

Toby turned away from the island, hiding his face so she couldn’t see the smile stretching across his lips. He felt a rush of ecstasy knowing he had successfully silenced the abrasive reporter. He looked down at his shorts, noticing his cock tenting the fabric as an erection formed against his zipper. The thrill of dominating a woman he was so infatuated with, who had spent years ignoring his existence, fueled his arousal. Back in New York, she treated him like her own errand boy. Now she was relying on him to get her back home safely, standing topless in a kitchen while he told her how things were going to be from now on. He loved the role reversal, wondering how far he could push this newfound authority.

“We have a meeting with the city minister tomorrow,” Toby said, keeping his back turned to hide his arousal. “You’ll need to kneel beside me while I conduct the interviews from now on, just like at the carpet shop.”

“Just wait a min—” Yasmin started, her feminist instincts flaring up again as she grabbed her glass.

“No, you wait,” Toby fired back. He turned around, a stone-faced expression masking his excitement as he stared her down. “This is the culture. I didn’t sign up for this either, but I am not going to let this backward society destroy my life just because you refuse to swallow your pride.”

Toby took a step closer, his physical presence forcing her to back up against the counter. “We are going to play the part through to the end. That means you stay on the floor where they expect you to be, and you keep your mouth shut while the men handle the business.”

A tense silence filled the suite. Yasmin glared at him, her chest heaving as she processed the loss of her professional standing. She had been reduced to a silent prop, forced to expose her body and kneel at the feet of a man she used to view as a harmless beta male. The shift in their dynamic unsettled her. She crossed her arms tighter over her breasts, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement.

Toby broke the silence a moment later, eager to end the conversation before she found the courage to fight back.

“You can take the bed again tonight, and I’ll take the couch,” the photographer said, gesturing toward the living room. “You need to shower and get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, and I need you ready to follow my lead.”

Yasmin stood in the kitchen without saying a word. Her hands pressed against the edge of the counter as Toby walked away to claim his spot on the sofa. She listened to his footsteps fade into the living room, leaving her alone with her half-empty glass of vodka. She stared down at the melting ice cubes, her mind racing with the reality of their new arrangement. She had fought tooth and nail to build a respected career in journalism, demanding equal treatment in every newsroom she entered. Now, a single trip to her ancestral homeland had undone all of her progress. She was trapped in a nation that viewed her as subhuman, reliant on a man who clearly enjoyed putting her in her place. She brought the glass to her lips and finished her drink in one long pull, dreading the moment she would have to get back on her knees.

End of Chapter Two