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I grew up in the Kingdom of Kahara. My father was the head of the Kahara-America Export Co., an international energy conglomerate.
I have always loved walking the seductive streets of Amsada, Kahara’s capital city. I loved the dangerous looking dark men, in their robes, capes and hoods. You could always see those coal black eyes staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you. And the women. Those magnificent women with their fascinating almond eyes, also staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you.
And you had to imagine the beauty of the woman underneath all those covering, draping garments. Because all you saw were their fascinating almond eyes. Their robes covered them from the top of their head down to their delicate feet. And somewhere, face level, was a small peek-through opening, which displayed two magnificent oblong black eyes.
Those women were each and every one of them incredibly beautiful. They were beautiful in the way that actual flesh cannot be beautiful, but only the soaring vistas of the imagination can be beautiful. So was every woman I saw flawless and beyond compare.
Those incredible covered women. What mysteries lay under all that flowing fabric? I wanted to expose them. I wanted to hold them, I wanted to kiss them, I wanted to let my hands and lips explore the secret body, the secret mouth, the secret lovetunnel.
I wanted to have those women. To make love to them, to possess them, to conquer them. I wanted the triumph of making them give up everything for me. Because for a woman in Kahara, if you were deflowered before marriage, your life was over. No man would ever marry you. You were spoiled goods. A whore. Consigned to life-long solitude and shame.
Unfortunately, in Kahara, due to the sexual taboos, I was unfortunately still a virgin. My fantasies were beyond incredible. My experiences were nil.
One day, walking through a local bazaar, I saw a breathtaking young girl accompanied by her three women-servants. I could see only her coverings, but I just knew she was breathtaking. She had to be. I immediately had to conceal an enormous erection in my western style trousers. Often when I was walking the streets, I would spy a forbidden female, and become erect. I was always embarrassed. How envious I was of the dark Kaharan men, who were able to conceal their lust under caftans.
I did not have that luxury. I would have to dangle my hands in front of my body, and hurry home as soon as possible, in order to whip out my peter and whack it, until a torrent of hot white cream shot out from the large smooth head. Only then was I able to take a good deep breath. Only then did I feel relief.
But this day I did not hurry home. I could not bring myself to break away from this fantastic feminine creature. I had to meet her. I had to get to know her. I had to get to fuck her. I was driven.
I followed her, along with her three women-servants through the bazaar, as she examined and smelled luscious fruits and heady spices. Once she approved an item, she pointed, and the women-servants purchased it, and carried it.
At a pomegranate stall, she turned slightly and her almond-eyes caught mine, and seared themselves into my retina. I saw emotion in those eyes. She had noticed me. She had found me attractive. What joy.
At each stall, she turned slightly. Her eyes told me that they again saw me. I think her eyes were telling me that they liked what they saw. At the persimmon stall, I bowed slightly. I could swear that she tilted her head. I was getting somewhere.
I followed them through the bazaar for more than a half hour. At that time, they got into a large Rolls Royce. The maiden looked back at me, as if begging me to find some way to follow her. I did. I saw a taxi and jumped in. I had him follow the Rolls Royce until it pulled into the driveway of what could only be described as a small palace. This lady was royalty. A princess, probably. How much sweeter it would be to seduce a royal princess into becoming my whore. My disgraced slut.
More than sex, I wanted power. I wanted mastery.
Armed with her address, over the next few days I was able to do some detective work. I learned that she was indeed a princess. The Princess Salima Al Habbar. Daughter of the wealthy Prince Sulim Al Habbar. I learned that she had two older brothers, Turku and Mugar. It was said that they loved their sister dearly and were very protective of her. How would I get to meet her?
As luck would have it, one day when I was prowling the streets of Amsada, ogling all the covered cuties, I saw the family limousine pulling up before a coffee house. Two richly robed young men got out and entered the coffee house. Those had to be her brothers, Turku and Mugar.
I entered the coffee house. They were lounging on pillows in one corner of the room, drinking from little cups on a low table. There were empty pillows on the floor very near them, before another low table. I sat on the pillows and ordered my coffee.
I was trying to think how to get into a conversation with them, when I noticed an extremely large ruby ring on the hand of one of them.
“I say, that’s a lovely ring,” I observed.
The robed man at the next table turned his eyes toward me. So did his brother. They both stared at the blonde-haired western man at the next table. Who was this foreigner who had dared to address them? Me.
“You like the ring,” he asked me, holding out his hand and admiring it himself.
“It’s magnificent,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Yes. It is an old family heirloom. It has been handed down for many generations.” Fortunately he spoke English. I had gone to the English school, and my Kaharan was not the best.
We started to chat. I learned that he was the older of the two brothers, Turku. He was tall and skinny, and he had a black moustache, and a short black beard. He had a mean and dangerous look, but there was something exciting about him. Something sexual. Now I was really mad to meet his sister.
He introduced me to his brother, Mugar. Mugar was a little shorter and a little heavier, but with the same facial hair. His eyes were searing. When he looked at me, I couldn’t hold the gaze. I had to turn away. My legs started to tremble a little. I was frightened of him. Why should that be? He was perfectly pleasant. They were both perfectly pleasant. They told me about their royal family and questioned me about mine.
I told them about my father and the Kahara-America Export Co. They knew who he was, though they had never met him. They told me where they lived, (though I already knew.) And that they lived there with their parents and their beautiful sister, Salima, and their many servants.
When they told me the address of their palace, I exclaimed, “Yes, I know that place. I’ve passed it. It’s really beautiful. I always wondered how the inside of that magnificent estate would look.”
“But you must see it,” said Mugar, impetuously.
“Yes,” agreed Turku. “You will come back with us. We shall show you our home.”
This was going better than I could have possibly imagined. When we left the coffee house, I climbed into the back of the Rolls Royce, between the two bearded brothers, and the driver drove us back to the family palace. Turku entered the house while Mugar and I waited outside. He had to tell his sister that they had a visitor, and she would therefore have to cover her face. After a few minutes, Turku came back to the door, and Mugar and I entered.
Every room was spacious, airy, sunlit. There was a central courtyard open to the sky and we crossed it to enter the family sitting room. There was the beautiful Salima, sitting on a satin, striped divan. They introduced me to her. She held out her hand, and I raised it to my lips. Her face was heavily veiled, but I gazed through the open space and stared into her liquid almond eyes. They recognized me. They smiled.
The women-servants brought in hot cups of coffee on a tray. We drank. We chatted. I could see that Salima was charmed with me. Her eyes were dancing. I was desperate to know what she looked like underneath her peach colored veils.
I had to become a regular visitor in this house. But how? But how?
I began to spin out an elaborate (but ridiculous) scheme to Turku, wherein he, in partnership with the Kahara-America Export Co. could become even more insanely wealthy than he already was. He tilted his head at an oblique angle, as he listened to me. He was interested. The words flew from my mouth as if I knew what I was talking about. Hans Christian Anderson couldn’t have spun a better tale. At the end of our chat, it was agreed that I would return in a week and bring charts. I kissed Salima’s hand and departed. I went home to invent charts, and looked forward to my next meeting with the beauteous princess.
Each week I would return with more charts, but I always found a way to forestall an actual contract. If my father ever found out what I was doing in the name of the home-office, he would have had me shot. With every meeting, Salima was becoming more entranced with me. With my blonde wavy hair, my blue eyes, my neat trim build etc. etc., how could she not?
After the sixth meeting in the Al Habbar palace, I made my move. I secretly slipped Salima a small folded note, as I was kissing her hand. Turku, Mugar, and I hashed out the business details of a non-existent deal, and at eight p.m., I left the house.
I did not, however, walk down the long path to the road. In the darkness, I circled the house and found my way into the back garden. At around 8:30, I heard the creak of a door opening, and I could see the delicate Salima slipping outside. I motioned to her from the far side of the garden. She came over to me, and stood facing me.
“My darling Salima,” I said, kissing her hand and holding it tenderly in my own. “How happy I am that you came.”
“But I shouldn’t be here. What if my father finds out? What if my brothers find out?”
“I don’t care. We love each other. We have to be together,” I said firmly.
“But, I’m afraid,” she said in her accented English.
All the time, I was holding her hand. Then I began to run my fingers lightly up her arm, tickling, tickling. I could see she was getting turned on. She tried to pull her hand back, but I held on to it. I swept my other arm around her waist and drew her close to me in an embrace.
“No. No. We can’t,” she protested.
“Let me see your face,” I insisted. “Let me see your beautiful face.” As she was shaking her head ‘no’, I started lifting her facial veils. She struggled against me, but nothing would stop me now. I was so excited with the seduction that I was becoming erect in my western suit again. But now I didn’t care. I wanted to be erect. I wanted her to see my erection. I wanted her to take my erection inside her lovely mouth, inside her lovely body. OOOOOFFF, I was getting too damned excited. I was about to shoot a hot load into my tight western underpants. I stood back a second and drew a few deep breaths. “Calm down. Calm down. Nice and easy,” I told myself.
I continued to lift the gauzy mask. There was her beautiful, sculptured chin. There were her perfect heart-shaped lips, her delicate small nose, and now the eyes, those almond eyes, but not peeking through an opening. The eyes were part of a lovely face. Oh, those perfect heart-shaped lips. I wanted to kiss them. I had to kiss them. I tightened my embrace and I kissed them. Her lips opened to mine, and she was lost in a wave of heady passion. Her arms circled my head and drew me close to her. I felt the rigid, horizontal palm tree, in my crotch, pressing my western trousers out obscenely, as it poked against her feminine thighs. I lifted a hand to her breast and began to tickle and pat, tickle and pat.
In between kisses, her breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. “No. No. You mustn’t. You mustn’t. This is forbidden. You must stop.”
I didn’t answer. I just kept kissing her as I worked my hand inside her costume and felt her naked breast. I ping-ed her nipple back and forth. She gave a little cry and moved her waist so that her most intimate spot rubbed against my palm tree. It was a coconut palm, and my two large coconuts were bursting with milk. I longed to give her my coconut milk.
I eased the cloth off her shoulders, and moved my lips down to the hard little points of her breasts. I licked. I sucked. I lapped. She was lost. Her waist was hammering against me, totally out of control.
“No. This is for a husband only,” she said.
“This is for me,” I said. “And this,” I unzipped my fly and reaching in, I pushed my jockeys down. I pulled my hard dick out through the unzipped opening. “And this,” I repeated, grabbing her hand, and placing it on my naked hard flesh, “This is for you.”
Centuries of propriety and custom are no match for the feel of a hard cock. A big, pulsing hard cock. Like steel, but warm and alive. She moved her hand around it, and held it in a firm grip. She began to stroke it, as I forced my tongue into her mouth once again.
I began to unwrap all the layers that surrounded her. I lay them on the ground and made a bed for us. Finally I stripped off my own clothing. The two of us were as naked as Adam and Eve before they ate the forbidden apple. I was ready to taste that apple. I pulled Salima down onto our bed. I climbed over her. I positioned my palm tree in the center of her oasis, and pressed forward. My tree was thirsty. It needed to drink.
I felt her labia opening around my cock. I was sliding into her. Until….Until… That pesky virginal membrane stopped me. Well sooner or later it had to go. So now, I slammed in. She screamed. I pressed myself against her and waited for the wave of pain to pass. All the while, I was stroking her clitoris. Rub, Rub. Stroke. Stroke. That was really getting to her. She started moving her lower body against me in need. Now I knew it was time. I began to plunge in and out. In and out. I was fucking. I was fucking the beautiful forbidden princess Salima.
“Salima,” I said. “I’m fucking you with my big cock. Do you like my big cock fucking your hot virgin pussy, Salima? Tell me how much you like my big cock sliding in and out of your hot juicy cunt, cunt.”
“AAAAGGGHHHH,” she moaned. “She was too far gone to hold a conversation in English, or even in Kaharan. She just wanted to get fucked now. She knew now that this was what she had been born for. She had been born to be a hot wet cunt that would pleasure a big, stiff, hard, plunging, male member. This was what she was. A princess, but a whore. A princess, but a cunt.
“AAAGGGGHHHH. AAAAGGGHHHH. AAAAAGGGGHHHH.” She was a passionate girl, all right. I felt the milk boiling in my coconuts. But first, the impossible happened. She orgasmed. Her first fuck and she orgasmed. Was I that good? No woman orgasms the first time she gets fucked. It was like a miracle. Her pussy was twitching and quivering all around my cock, as she shuddered against me. This was such a turn-on that I couldn’t hold back any longer. Vesuvius erupted. My hot lava just shot out into her wet love channel, and scorched her internal flesh.
I pulled out of her and lay back. I felt completely satisfied. Self-satisfied. A tiny smile played around the corners of my lips. I had done it. I had seduced her. I had conquered her. I had made her do the most forbidden things. I had uncovered her. I had put my cock into her. I had made her my slave.
“Suck my cock, Salima,” I said, playing with it. My triumph wasn’t quite complete yet. I needed to totally debase her.
“No, please,” she protested.
“Suck my cock,” I ordered, and began pulling her head down to my waist. “You know you want it. You want to feel my big thick jeesh in your mouth. You want to lick it. You want to taste it. You want to suck on my two big heavy zombers. Go ahead. Do it. Do it.” I pressed her head forward, and fed my dick into her mouth. It was pliable at first, but little by little it rigidified.
“TTTCCCHHHAAA, TTTCCCHHHAAA, TTTTCCCHHHAAA,” went the wet sucking sounds, as her lips and tongue moved over my dick. She was totally my slave. What a power trip. I knew then that this was what I needed. It wasn’t the sex. It was the seduction of an unwilling. The domination of another human being. That was what got me off. The corruption of an innocent. The naked power. That’s what I would always need.
“Salima!” A nearby voice said, angrily. I turned my head, and saw Turku standing not ten feet from us. I felt my wet cock fall from Salima’s mouth.
She put the back of her hand before her lips and screamed.
“What have you done, Salima?”
She began to cry.
“It’s all right, Salima. He will marry you,” said Turku. “Won’t you?” he asked me.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I wasn’t going to tell him that she’d just had my cock in her mouth, and that she was a whore and a slut, and I wasn’t going to marry any whore. I kept my thoughts to myself. I had to get out of that garden, alive. Now. “Sure, we’ll get married. Then you and I will really be brothers,” I conned him.
The next morning I took a cab to the airport and got the hell out of Kahara fast. I knew if I stayed there I’d end up with a scimitar up my ass. But it had been such a grand diversion. It was almost worth it. I had totally dominated her. I had made her my slave. I had made her flout her family, her history, her religion. This was heady stuff. It had been a real power trip.
Back in New York, I stayed in a hotel for a few days, and then I rented an apartment. Now that I had tasted sex, now that I had tasted power, I needed more. Much much more. I needed to duplicate the experience, as quickly as possible. This would be my thing. To seduce an unwilling partner. To dominate. To enslave.
Thank god for nepotism. I got myself a cushy job in the North American division of the Kahara-America Export Company. I was all set for life in the big city.
There was this girl at work. A secretary. Her name was Annie, and she was very shy and easily intimidated. I thought she might be a good candidate for my next seduction. I could imagine her crying, and protesting and begging, and hitting her fists against my chest, trying to get out of my tight grip. Afraid of the large rod she felt prodding her from deep inside my underpants. I decided to ask her out to dinner. She lowered her eyelids and demurely accepted my invitation.
We had a marvelous but expensive meal at Le Beauregard. The latest great new restaurant. It was hard to get a reservation. But not for someone from the Kahara-America Export Co.
I did not order drinks or wine with the meal. I wanted Annie to be absolutely sober when I forced my will upon her. I wanted to feel her terror. I wanted to enjoy her shame. The check came and I charged it to my credit card.
We took a taxi to her apartment building. Yes. I was being a gentleman. I was escorting the lady home.
“Would you like to come up for another cup of coffee?” she asked. I smiled.
“Yes. That would be very nice,” I said.
I paid the taxi driver and we got out and went into the building. We took the elevator up to her apartment. She got out her key and opened the door, closing it behind us. I grabbed her and kissed her harshly, and began mauling her breasts. “Fuck the coffee,” I thought. This was as good a time as any to overpower her.
Suddenly her arms flew around my neck. Her lips pressed against mine. She began moaning and grinding her crotch against my stiff dick. I was so surprised my dick started to destiffen. No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. I was supposed to take her against her will. This was just disgusting. These western girls were nothing but tramps. She was even more aggressive than I had planned on being.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go into the bedroom,” she said. She took my hand and began to drag me into the bedroom. I should have just left, but I couldn’t. I was in shock.