Ms Zahra's Orphanage 2

By TimidTimmy

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Copyright 2020 by TimidTimmy, all rights reserved

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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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.










 
(End of File)