By TimidTimmy
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(I'll forward it to the author)Copyright 2020 by TimidTimmy, all rights reserved
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Ms Zahra’s Orphanage - Part 2
This
story carries on from the arrival inspection of the boys, and is set at
the same time but in the girls’ section of the orphanage. The girls are
met and processed by a very large Muslim man. Sally, 14, tells her
story.
Sally followed the group of other girls
through into the arrival room. Her nostrils were met with mustiness
coming from the grubby brown carpet on the floor. There was a large
table sitting in the corner; its wood scuffed and scratched. On top of
it, in dozens of cellophane packets, sat what looked like plain
underwear. She could see the colors were only pink or white. Why did
they have so many pairs of knickers?
There were no windows
in the room, but she knew there was a blizzard outside. The walk from
the bus to the arrival area had been freezing. She was glad of her
thick winter coat and woolly hat for sheltering underneath. The
temperature in the room was pleasant. Someone had placed a portable
heater in the corner and she could feel it’s comforting radiance. Wafts
of hot air caressed the rosy pink cheeks of her 14-year-old face.
A large man walked in, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in
one of those long Muslim type man dresses, which was brilliant white.
His giant belly was bloated and he had a bushy beard that must have
gone untrimmed for decades.
He smiled and said, “Hello
girls, welcome to Ms Zahra’s orphanage. I’m Ms Zahra’s husband. You can
call me Mr Salam. Now, I don’t know anything about you, not even your
names and ages, so please line up and I’m going to ask you some
questions one by one.”
The girls did as they were told. It
turned out the age of the girls ranged from 13 to 17, with Sally being
one of the youngest. There were ten of them in total. All standing
scared, nervous, dwarfed by the tall, strong-looking man in front of
them.
He looked up and down the line and smiled, saying, “It’s not cold in here. Take your hats off.”
Sally slid her thumbs under the sides of her woolly hat and removed it.
Her bright blonde hair falling down to her shoulders in tousled, shiny
lengths. She looked to the side and saw everyone else’s hair was now
visible too. There was only one brunette and one redhead; the rest were
varying shades of blonde.
Looking pleased, he said, “That’s better, isn’t it? Now who can tell me how old an adult is in this country?”
One of the 17-year-old girls, looking down at the floor in shyness, raised her hand.
“Yes, Matilda, can you tell me?”
“Is it”—she paused, clearing her throat— “Is it 18, sir?”
“Good guess, but I’m afraid it’s older than that. Can anyone else have a try?”
Sally knew, but didn’t want to speak. She wasn’t a confident girl.
“Well, if nobody knows, I’ll tell you. An adult is 21 years old. So, what does that make all of you?”
Matilda raised her hand again, waiting for permission to speak.
“Yes, Matilda, you may speak.”
She stammered, speaking into the neck of her thick duffel coat, “We’re children, sir.”
“Good girl. You are all children. Even you Matilda, and you Mary. I
know you’re both 17 but it doesn’t matter. Just because you have the
bodies of women, doesn’t change anything. Legally you’re children and
under my care.”
He walked over to the table and picked up a
packet of pink underwear. The cellophane crinkled in his hands as he
lifted it. “After your HHD inspection you’ll be issued with a packet of
7 clean pairs of underpants. A fresh pair should be put on every day,
and I’ll expect you to write your names on them, so there’s no mix up
in the laundry. Is that clear?”
The girls chorused, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, hands up if you wear a bra.”
Sally blushed, and she wasn’t the only one. She only wore a chest-slip.
Her flat chest meant a bra wasn’t necessary. A few hands went up
though.
“Ok, well bras aren’t actually allowed. They’re
expensive to replace, and take up extra laundry time. I sometimes make
an exception if a girl is extremely developed, and going braless would
cause her pain. I’ll judge that in a minute, but otherwise, it’s bare
chests under your blouses from now on. Is that clear?”
Everyone answered in unison, with a muted, “Yes, sir.”
“Ok good, now HHD stands for Health, Hygiene and Development Check.
It’s something I do to measure how you’re doing. There’s nothing to be
ashamed of, as I’ve seen hundreds of girls before.”
Sally felt scared. ‘Seen’? What did he mean? She was about to find out.
“Ok girls, please undress. To your bare bottoms. I’m going to inspect your health.”
The girls looked at each other. Cheeks bright red and alarm in their eyes.
He walked up to Matilda and said, “I don’t want to sound mean, but If
you don’t undress, I’ll have to strip you naked. So please do as I
say.” She began fumbling at her coat buttons with shaking fingers.
“Follow Matilda’s example everyone, please. Come on, undress”—he clapped his hands hard— “Everything off!”
The whole line of girls started to take off their clothes. Unzipping,
unbuttoning, bending to untie laces and unclip dainty buckles on shoes
and boots. Frilly laced-ruffle socks were slipped off to reveal pale,
pink-soled feet. Skirts and stockings fell to the ground, followed by
blouses, bralettes and vests.
Mr Salam walked up and down
the line, observing the young women as they shed their layers of
covering. “Good, fold your clothes in a pile behind you. Put your socks
and stockings inside your shoes, place your panties and chest underwear
on top of the pile.”
Sally was down to her light green
floral pattern knickers. The other girls were already taking theirs
off. Some slipping them down in awkward jerky movements, other just
removing in one go. She turned away from the man and placed her last
piece of clothing on top of her chest slip. Putting one arm across her
chest and the other over her hairy slit, she returned to facing Mr
Salam.
She looked down the line. All the girls were naked as
nature. Shivering, not from cold but nerves; their young feet pressed
bare against the musty brown carpet.
Only one girl wasn’t
completely disrobed. Matilda. She stood in just her bra, looking down
at the floor with a scarlet face, shaking, both hands over her girl’s
area. Sally was shocked at the size of Matilda’s chest. The beige,
thick-strapped covering was for grown women with heavy development. It
looked like it was holding back two small footballs.
Mr
Salam walked over to her and gave an empathetic smile. He said, “Don’t
worry, Matilda, we have over one hundred girls in this orphanage, and
three or four of them have what you have. I call them melon girls.
Because you have melons, would you prefer to wear a bra?”
“Yes”—she stammered— “yes, please Mr Salam.”
“Ok then. I can tell if you went bare-chested it would cause you health
problems. So that’s fine. Because you’re a melon girl, I can allow a
bra. But for your HHD, it has to come off. I have to check your melons
are not just big but also healthy, ok? So, place it on your clothes
pile. You can put it back on after.”
She did as she was bid, placing her forearm across, in an attempt to hide the bulging flesh underneath. It didn’t work.
Mr Salam went to the table and took out a folded black plastic bag,
which he shook open and sat on the floor in front of the girls. He
walked round the back of them and began picking up all the underwear,
for top and bottom, from each pile of clothes. It was all thrown in the
rubbish bag. Except Matilda’s bra, which he picked up, looked at the
size tag, and smirked, saying, “Very big for a 17-year-old.”
“Ok girls, hands by your sides, open your mouths as wide as you can,
and stick out your tongues. Just imagine someone is going to put a
delicious lollypop in there.”
They did what he said. He
moved his eyes down the line. They lingered on Matilda’s sagging boobs,
which hung unsupported like giant milky grapes, almost to the button in
the center of her plumpish white belly. Sally saw the faintest smile
appear on his heavily bearded face.
Then he said, “Ok,
tongues look ok. Everyone seems small-breasted enough to go braless.
Matilda will be the exception. You all have quite a lot of fuzz down
there. It’ll be shaved off, for hygiene. Bald is best when it comes to
girls’ twinkles. Any hair round the back will be waxed.”
He
walked up close to Alice, who was the ginger haired girl. Her skin was
pale as a ghost, and contrasted so strongly with the bright orange
patch of thick pubic hair that covered the area between her legs. She
was skinny round the waist, with her ribs visible, but the limbs looked
athletic and strong. Two small perky breasts with light puffy peaks
pointed straight out from her chest. Looking down at her privates, he
said, “You have a lot of hair there, Alice. I think you’ll feel a lot
cleaner when your twinkle is shaved bald. Won’t you?”
What other answer was there to give? “Yes, sir,” she said with eyes pointing to her toes and cheeks crimson.
“Ok, everyone, turn around, put your hands on the wall and raise your left foot. I have to check your soles.”
They all obeyed. Sally was the first in line when Mr Salam came behind
her and took her foot in his hand, so he could examine the bottom of
it. His hand was rough, calloused, and the strong grip around her
delicate toes caused her discomfort. He smelled of sandalwood cologne,
which was earthy and powerful. She wanted to hold her breathe. “Ok
healthy. Give me your other foot.” He did the same again. “You have a
large wart on the ball of your foot, Sally. I’ll see to that later with
my chiropody kit. Apart from that, your feet and toes look fine.”
After every foot was checked, they were told to bend over for a bottom
inspection. Sally found this extremely embarrassing. They had to part
their cheeks, so this strange man could inspect their bum holes up
close. One or two girls started sobbing. He commented on everything
back there, including hair and pimples. He even told one girl, Danika,
the only 13-year-old of the group, “Next time you do your business,
remember to wipe properly. Young ladies need to have clean bottoms.”
They were then asked their panty size and handed a pack of the
underpants each. Packs were given in alternate white and pink, down the
line. Sally got white. She’d have preferred pink, but didn’t dare to
comment. They had to put on a pair of their new underwear and get
dressed, minus their chest underwear, except for Matilda.
Mr
Salam told them to hold hands in pairs and follow him in a line, with
no talking allowed. Sally was paired with Alice. She gripped Alice’s
hand and they shared a reassuring look. Everything would be ok as long
as they followed the rules.