3 comments/ 19645 views/ 1 favorites Cairo By: Jaymie_dee Lillian moved about the hotel suite with a quiet, relaxed grace, traversing the large room from the bed to the dresser several times, as she emptied her suitcase, which lay open on the bed. She went about her task methodically, with an accomplished ease and economy of movement that revealed her abundance of travel experience. She separated her clothing meticulously into separate drawers, lingerie in the top drawer, blouses and tops in the center with skirts and casual slacks in the bottom. When she finished, she closed her empty suitcase and stowed it away beneath the bed, and turned to the closet, where she unzipped her two garment bags and separated the hangers from which hung her more formal dresses and business suits. She took each hanger in turn and examined her clothing carefully, smoothing away any unsightly wrinkles. She stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, and surveyed her surroundings with her disciplined eye for detail. She smiled with satisfaction to see that everything appeared to be in perfect order, and glanced at her watch. Perfect, she thought, her smile broadening as the earliness of the hour afforded her the luxury of time enough to relax a while, and possibly even enjoy the wonderful looking Jacuzzi she had glimpsed earlier in the sumptuous bathroom facility. She sighed heavily and twirled several times with her arms extended, a sense of almost giddy euphoria suffusing her as she basked in the opulence of her penthouse suite, the finest, and most luxuriant suite in the entire five-star hotel. Lillian laughed softly and reflected upon how wonderful it was to finally be able to travel in such luxury and style. Such had not always been the case, far from it. As a young, fledgling entrepreneur, she had worked ever so many long and grueling hours, for more years than she cared to even recall, always flying economy coach and driving cheap rental cars, more often than not, grabbing quick, fast food meals on the run as she sped from one low-level business meeting to another and always seeking the more affordable accommodation of cheap motels or downtown flophouses. She had managed to make a success of herself, and her own stockbrokerage consulting business, the hard way...she had EARNED it through sheer dogged determination, hard work and perseverance. When her company had been purchased and incorporated into a much larger, multinational organization, she could have easily retired and lived quite comfortably for the rest of her life with her multi-million dollar settlement and stock options. But, retirement had never been much of an option for her, as she loved the thrill and excitement of the business world. She applied for, and accepted, a managerial position within the new company and, as a traveling consultant, had spent the better part of the past year jetting around the world, to various exotic locations, chairing subsidiary board meetings and making presentations to the boards of other prospective companies. More often than not, Lillian traveled alone. But, for her, alone did not constitute loneliness. While in social situations, she was openly affable and gregarious, making small talk and casual conversation easily, she was equally as comfortable with the solitude and council of her own thoughts. Although she very much enjoyed the company of men and had even found much pleasure in several semi-long termed relationships, Lillian had never married. She had discovered long ago that her ambition left little room for a husband and children, and, at the ripe old age of forty, and with STILL no great pangs of maternal instinct, accepted her unmarried and unattached status with philosophical aplomb. She crossed the room to the full-length glass wall that looked out over the city. The lights of Cairo were just beginning to come on as the sun made its way into the horizon, and her vantage point high atop the Conrad Cairo Hotel afforded her a breathtaking view of the city below her and the nearby Nile River. She smiled again, hugging herself in the sheer pleasure of her circumstances, looking forward to her business dinner that evening as well as a long, well earned shopping extravaganza the next day. With a sigh of anticipation, she turned from the window and made her way to the bathroom, where she turned on the water in the large circular Jacuzzi. She returned to the living room and stepped from her dress shoes. The thick luxurious carpeting felt absolutely wonderful, and she smiled down at her tired feet as she scrunched her toes soothingly into the thick pile. She turned to the closet, unbuttoning her silk blouse as she walked, and hung it carefully on one of the hotel's, thoughtfully provided, padded hangers, then stepped from her skirt, hanging in also. She unhooked her bra, sighing appreciatively as her heavy breasts were suddenly freed from the restrictive confines. She tossed her bra onto the bed and cupped each of her breasts; her fingertips gently kneading the flesh where the heavily underwired cups had gripped her almost uncomfortably. She closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile, as the familiar sensuality of her touch begin to evoke sensations within her that were distinctly more erotic than comforting, and she thought, momentarily, how wonderful it was going to be when she eventually surrendered to the simmering desire she had been feeling for most of the day. The sound of running bathwater suddenly brought her attention back into focus and, with a wistful smile, she lowered her hands, thinking how the small amount of time afforded her would not allow her to get too carried away. She hooked her thumbs into her thong-style panties and pushed them down over her hips and then stepped from them, tossing her panties onto the bed with her brassiere. She sat on the edge of the bed and unclipped each of the garters that supported her stockings, slipping the sheer, sleek hosiery from each leg, and then laying them carefully beside her on the bed before reaching behind her back to undo the clasps of her garterbelt. Lillian reflected momentarily on her fondness for this particular style of hosiery. While she recognized the universal appeal of pantyhose and the relative ease and simplicity that pantyhose afforded the great majority of women, she wore them on only the rarest of occasions. She much preferred the retro look, and feel, of stockings. The sensual pull of her hosiery on the elastic garters, as she moved about, never failed to infuse her with an innate sense of femininity and sensuality, which appealed to her tremendously. She stood and gathered up her bra and panties, slipping them into a thoughtfully provided laundry bag. She examined her stockings carefully and smiled to see no sign of any snags or runs. Good, she thought, surmising she would likely get at least one more wearing out of them before relegating them to the laundry. From the closet, she removed one of the courtesy robes, made of very fine, sleek silk and embroidered with the hotel logo, and slipped into it as she made her way back to the bathroom to check on her water. She felt the water and adjusted the temperature to make it a little cooler and, with the tub still less than half full, returned to the living room, the sheer robe billowing behind her as she walked. The sensual feel of the sleek robe against her skin made her shiver pleasurably and she smiled as other, even more pleasurable, thoughts crept into her consciousness for the second time in as many minutes. Lillian sighed aloud and bit her lip as she felt the familiar warmth of arousal growing inside her. Thinking about it momentarily, she suddenly realized how it had actually been quite some time since her last orgasm. Little wonder, she thought, for the past three days, she had had almost no time to herself at all, what with rushing around at the last minute with reworked details of her Cairo presentation, as well as the excruciatingly long flight and interminable long lines and delays at the ticket counters and customs. With the water running in the bath, she knew she had precious little time to explore her feelings in the way she liked, but she had been so long without any sexual release that she realized her need of the moment took precedence over her usual, teasingly slower sensuality that she preferred. She crossed to the bed and sat down, smiled momentarily at her reflection from the dresser mirror and lay back on the bed. She closed her eyes and sighed as she sank into the pillow-top mattress, listening to the soothing sound of the running bathwater. She slowly moved her hands over her body, from her thighs to her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples and moaning softly at the exquisite sensations her fingertips evoked. Lillian shivered pleasurably, feeling the need rising inside her with surprising speed. She arched her back, moaning softly as she slid both of her hands down to her pubic mound and parted her legs. She pressed up with her hips, rocking her pelvis slowly as her hands moved with knowing experience and the pleasure of her contact sent shivers of ecstasy coursing through her. She slid the middle finger of her right hand between her lips and moaned softly as she discovered how copiously slick and wet she had already become. She slid her finger deep into her pussy as the fingertips of her left hand circled the acutely tender rise of her clitoris rapidly. She gasped in pleasurable surprise as her orgasm was suddenly upon her and swept her away. She surrendered to the pleasure, writhing on the bed in ecstasy as she let herself go. Lillian cried aloud in her pleasure, giving voice to each wave of sensual bliss as it coursed through her body. She had never been the kind of woman who could receive the pleasure of an orgasm stoically, and believed very strongly that crying out in pleasure actually accentuated and enhanced the pleasure of the experience for her. Moments later, she lay still and smiled broadly. Oh, wow, she thought, for something that had been so hurriedly undertaken, that had been EXCEPTIONALLY nice. She had certainly had many OTHER occasions where she had masturbated hurriedly in such a perfunctory manner, more as maintenance than pleasure, but, more often than not, those orgasms had also been somewhat less than stellar and more of a tension relief than pleasure. She sat up and smiled at her reflection once more, thinking to herself that it must be the opulence of the setting that enhanced her hurried maintenance. She stood and made her way back to the bathroom, laughing softly to herself as her legs wobbled shakily beneath her. She turned on the Jacuzzi jets and, as the water boiled to life, she slipped soothingly into the tub with a long pleasurable sigh. * * * * * Ahmed scanned the building across the street, focusing his high-powered binoculars on the window he had been instructed to watch for activity. He abhorred these tediously boring aspects of surveillance assignments, and would have much preferred be a part of the assassination team, which, even now, was assembling in a sub-basement of the hotel across the street, and waiting for his signal. However, Ahmed understood that Al-Jahiri had not chosen him for this assignment flippantly, or without due consideration. Indeed, Al-Jahiri did NOTHING without a great deal of thought and reasoning, so Ahmed knew his dependability and skill were being tested. It pleased him tremendously to know that Al-Jahiri had singled him out for this particular assignment and recognized how a successful outcome would, most assuredly, enhance his esteem in Al-Jahiri's eyes and likely even promote him within the ranks of the organization. With a sigh of duty and resignation, he continued to inspect the darkened room, looking for any movement behind the sheer draperies that would signal that the target had returned. He lowered his high-powered binoculars and rubbed his eyes, the strain of his lengthy and intense scrutiny beginning to tell on him. He raised his glasses once more and, seeing sudden movement in his range of view, was suddenly jolted with anxious anticipation as he reached for the speakerphone. A moment later he shook his head and cursed under his breath as he realized that the activity he had just witnessed was behind the wrong window. He quickly relocated the correct window and, just as quickly, ascertained that all was dark and quiet, just as it had been for the past several hours. Thinking to momentarily relieve the monotony and boredom, he began shifting the focus of his attention to various other windows. His fading level of attention annoyed him, he sincerely wanted to maintain a high level diligence, but the prolonged, mind-numbing surveillance of the target window was actually working against his ability to remain constantly alert. He rationalized that, briefly shifting his attention elsewhere would, in effect, keep his mind sharper. Most of the hotel rooms across the street were vacant; he would look into one and then back to the specific one in his assignment before looking elsewhere. He watched a chambermaid straightening up a room for several moments and, at another window observed the room's occupant watching a soccer match on television. Ahmed laughed softly to himself, discovering that his binoculars were so powerful that he could actually follow the action of the soccer teams. With a start he realized he had been distracted far too long and quickly re-focused on the target window. He sighed heavily, discerning that all was just as it had been for the hours he had already spent watching fruitlessly. He raised his glasses to the penthouse suite, happy to see at least SOME activity there with which to relieve his interminable boredom. Ahmed watched with growing interest as the woman inside walked from the bed to the dresser, apparently unpacking her suitcase and putting away her clothes. He adjusted the focus of his binoculars to bring the woman into sharper focus and smiled to discover the woman was rather exceptionally attractive. Imagining the exercise would sharpen his surveillance skills, he examined the woman carefully. From the clothing she wore and the style of her hair, Ahmed could easily discern her to be American, or at the very least, North American. Certainly not Muslim, he surmised, no self-respecting Muslim woman would DARE to wear such form fitting clothing so as to display the contours of her body so shamelessly. He watched with a somewhat schizophrenic fusion of admiration and repugnance as the woman moved about her suite. His extremist Muslim beliefs deplored such a shameless display of sexuality, but, as a man, it was difficult NOT to appreciate the very appealing, sensual sway of her wide, shapely hips. Despite the woman's so obvious lack of morals, Ahmed had to admit that she was indeed a very pleasant diversion to behold. Not a young woman, he speculated, judging her age to be mid-to-late thirties. Her pale blond hair was shoulder length and attractively styled, moving and flowing with her as she walked, framing her face in a rather appealing manner. He allowed his gaze to move over her body and smiled, helplessly admiring the woman's delightful figure even while her shamelessness triggered his deep-seated moral disgust. Her legs were, he judged, absolutely stunning, almost beyond compare, her calves so sensually formed and shaped by her high-heeled shoes. As the woman moved, her indecently short skirt fluttered about her knees and accentuated her very appealing, wide and fleshy, child bearing hips. Her breasts, he noted, seemed overly large, much like many of the disgusting magazine models he had seen on occasion, with their big, fake siliconed chests bursting from their offensive, and inappropriately tiny, bikini tops. Indeed, as Ahmed studied her bosom with greater care and interest, he could distinctly discern a heaviness in the sway and bounce of her bosom that gave more than ample evidence to his assumption. She appeared rather tall for a woman, but, as she stepped out of her high-heeled shoes, he determined that she was, in reality, only of medium height, perhaps 165 to 170 centimeters...or five foot six to five foot eight, as the Americans would say. Nor was she unattractively slender, as so many North American women strive so slavishly to be. Her body actually tended toward heaviness, but not unappealingly so, she carried her fleshiness rather attractively, what is often referred to as "full-figured" by clothing designer standards. He watched the woman disappear into a small room, most likely a bathroom he surmised, and then jolted violently when he suddenly realized he had allowed his attention to wander far too long. He cursed the woman under his breath for luring his attentiveness with her feminine wiles. Moments later, he let out a sigh of relief to discover that nothing untoward had changed behind the curtains of his target window, and went through the repentant motions of watching intently for several minutes. As he did his best to focus his attention once more on the assigned window, he could not quite seem to keep visions of the woman from his mind. He wondered absently what her business was about, and why she might be visiting Cairo. He speculated momentarily on what her marital status might be, having not taken the time to notice any jewelry she might or might not have been wearing on her wedding finger. Ahmed smiled in spite of himself, thinking how lucky a man would be to have such a voluptuous woman in his bed every night. Rationalizing that he would only be allaying his curiosity about her marital status by trying to discern whether or not the woman wore any kind of wedding band, Ahmed raised his binoculars once more to the penthouse suite. He gasped aloud in startled fascination to see the woman removing her blouse. He stared openly at the cups of her brassiere, and unconsciously licked his lips. The woman's breasts were very large indeed, and seemingly, almost even too large for the confines of the brassiere cups, which, he startlingly discerned, were so sheer that the dark areolas of her nipples were clearly visible. He let his breath out slowly as the woman began to remove her skirt. His eyes bulged to see such delicately sensual undergarments, the likes of which he had never seen other than in the pages of the decadent and disgusting American lingerie catalogues, and he licked his lips a second time. "Oh, yessss." He sighed softly, seeing how the woman's panties were every bit as sheer as her brassiere cups and the dark sensuality of her pubic mound to be rather sensually defined and highlighted. Moreover, as she turned, her entire derriere was completely exposed with only a dainty string between her cheeks. Despite his strict religious fervor and his hatred and abhorrence of ALL things American, Ahmed could not tear his eyes away from the sensual, American woman. She reached behind her back and, with a quick movement of her hands, removed her brassiere and tossed it onto the bed. Ahmed gasped aloud as the woman's breasts were suddenly exposed. Never in his life had he ever seen such magnificent breasts. He gaped in stunned silence as the woman cupped her huge breasts and caressed herself with shameless sensuality. Moments later, the woman removed her panties and sat on the edge of the bed and began removing her hosiery. When she finally stood, she was completely nude. Her body was so stunningly feminine and sensual that Ahmed was unable to stem the stirring of arousal between his legs. He stared in open-mouthed appreciation as she slipped into a delicate robe and, without even wrapping it about her body, turned to begin crossing the room, the robe billowing out behind her. Her large breasts bounced and swayed enticingly as she moved and, for the briefest of moments, Ahmed fantasized what it might be like to actually take such magnificent breasts into his hands and know the warmth of such heavy flesh as he lifted each of her nipples to his lips. He watched in rapt fascination as she, so shamelessly, crossed the room to disappear into the bath, her unbound breasts swaying provocatively as she moved, and the smooth, pale flesh of her buttocks jiggling so enticingly with each sway of her wide, fleshy hips. Cairo Captive He had his dick inside me a half hour after we'd met. Jorgen was that good, he was. It also was like I was fucking myself. Almost a mirror image, which was no less surprising because he was Scandinavian and I'm an American—never knowing before then that my ancestry might have been Scandinavian too. Granted I'd entered the beach bar in Brindisi, Italy, to get pretty much what I got. But I had no idea it would happen so fast—or that it would lead to what it did. I had come to Rome as international financier Theo Gamboni's boy toy, having picked him up in New York City when he was slumming in a gay bar. Gave him such a good ride in his hotel room, making all of those noises and responses that made him feel like he was first and had the world's most potent tool, that he asked me to stick around. That surprised me. I'd gone with him because I'd seen the wad of bills he was flashing and I figured I'd lift it off of him sometime during the night. That was what I usually did. I primarily was a pick pocket; and I was really good at it. And I'd found a good angle on it. Most marks were too embarrassed to contact the police after I'd fucked them and fleeced them; most didn't want to explain the circumstances to the police or their families. Theo couldn't get enough of me. He'd attend all of those nerve-wracking meetings on Wall Street and come back to his hotel room all keyed up—and there I'd be. On the edge of the bed, or in a chair, or leaning against the frame of the sliding glass door out to the balcony, naked and posed for him. He'd drop what he was carrying and start stripping as he moved to me. And I'd get all "Daddy, yes, yes" and spread my legs for him and cry out like it was the first time—each time—as he thrust inside me. It worked a charm. If I'd known being taken care of was this easy, maybe I wouldn't have become a pickpocket in the first place. Maybe not—but, again, maybe I still would have. It was like a compulsion with me. Theo Gamboni so much couldn't get enough of me that he invited—no, begged—me to go back to Rome with him. Which, I did, not having anything to speak of holding me to New York. For a couple of weeks that worked out all right. Until two things happened. Theo started sharing me with his friends and I started picking their pockets. The first time was rather a surprise. Theo and I were having dinner in a swank Rome restaurant and one of his business associates, older, bulkier, and uglier than Theo, joined us. I gathered from what they were talking about that Theo was trying to get the other guy, name of Aldo, I think, to come in on a business deal. Ugly Aldo kept eying me and saying maybe, and Theo got the message long before I did. Aldo said he wanted to see Theo's new apartment. And when we got there, I didn't have a chance. Aldo knew how to control and to undress and to fuck. He might have been ugly, but his cock was long and thick, and he knew what to do with it. Theo watched. And after Aldo had left, Theo fucked me too—and the ardor with which he did it told me he had found a whole new game he liked to play. There were other "chance" encounters after that with other men who also wanted to see Theo's apartment. And Theo always watched while they fucked me and then took me with added lust himself afterward. After the second one, I decided I needed to be recompensed over and above what I was getting from Theo. So, I put my pick pocketing talents to work and relieved these men who just had to see Theo's new apartment of some of their wallet cash—not all of it, but enough to make me feel this was worth my while. This, of course, could not go on forever, so I left Rome before Theo and the Italian police could catch on to what I was doing. And not really knowing all that much about Europe, I headed south, down the boot of Italy, rather than north up into Europe proper, and wound up on the Adriatic Sea at the port city of Brindisi. I nosed around when I got there and found out where the best place was to pick up middle-aged men, the ones likely to have enough money to make it worth my while, and that's how I ended up at the beach bar overlooking the Adriatic at the edge of the city. There was a fairly good crowd in the bar when I got there. A lot of good possibilities for getting my fingers into their wallets. I was a fool, I guess, for letting Jorgen take me. He stood out in the crowd. A tall, well-muscled blond with blue eyes and a smile that drew me right in. I guess I first latched on to him because of the striking resemblance between us, but the more I looked, the more I decided that he had more than I did. The facial expressions he used were manipulative in the most arousing of ways. He drew me in just with that smile of his—a knowing smile, knowing that within a half hour he'd be fucking me. And somehow this message was conveyed to me and I didn't fight it. I didn't care. The middle-aged men would wait, I was sure. If he motioned to me, I knew I'd follow him. He did motion, and as I passed him, he turned and placed the palm of his hand on my butt and guided me out onto the deck of the bar, facing the sea. We weren't alone. A couple of men were in a deck chair in the shadows, one lapped by the other, slowly and silently fucking. They might not have actually been silent, but whatever they were voicing was lost in the screaming of the surf reaching out for high tide not far from the railed edge of the deck. It was windy too, which also would snatch words out of one's mouth and scatter them to the elements. Jorgen guided me over to the railing, facing me out to the sea, and covered me closely from behind, his hands gripping the railing hard on either side of me, imprisoning me there at the rail. He kissed me in the hollow of my neck and then on the cheek, and then he took an ear lobe into his mouth and put pressure on it with his teeth. I sighed and turned my face to his, and we kissed. He unbuttoned my shirt and let his hands glide all over my chest and belly. He whispered in my ear how nice I was. And I believed him. He murmured what he wanted to do with me as he was unbuckling my belt, lowering my zipper, and pushing my jeans and briefs down off my hips. I believed him and turned my face to his again, giving him a kiss of acquiescence. I felt an engorged cock rubbing up and down inside my crease, across my hole. He whispered then that he was going to do it, that he was going to fuck me there and then. And I moaned and said nothing to disagree with him. He flashed a condom packet in front of my face, still covering me close from behind, against the railing, and said I would have to tear it open if I wanted him. No problem—other than the trembling of my hands. And he fucked me there, from close behind me, taking me in long, deep strokes, nibbling on my ear, whispering what a good fuck I was, me gripping the railing for dear life, him stroking my cock with a fist until I spouted off in long arcs toward the pounding surf—all within the first half hour of walking into the bar. I didn't even know his name until afterward. After, when I asked if I'd see him again, him still holding me prisoner against the railing, his cock still buried deep inside me, he said I could see him every day if I wished. "See that sailboat out there?" he asked. "The one anchored off the pier over there?" "Yes." "That's mine. I sail for Alexandria tonight. I live in Egypt. You can come with me if you want." * * * * The journey across the Mediterranean to north Africa, across the Adriatic Sea to the Dalmatian coast and down the coast of Greece, along the southern stretch of Crete, and then the dash across the Mediterranean to the Nile delta, was a progression of five things: trim the sails, fuck, eat, fuck, and sleep, with little time available for eat and sleep. I learned little about Jorgen other than his first name and that he owned a dive of a gay bar in Giza, outside of Cairo and near the pyramids, which he had to keep on a very low profile because of the supposed Egyptian taboos about homosexuality, a taboo many of them paid no heed to in their private lives. The bar was named Amr's, and Jorgen said he thought I'd like it there. I didn't tell him much about myself, either—certainly not about my pick pocketing proclivities. I wondered if the middle-aged men of Cairo had wallets as thick as those of Rome. Off of Alexandria, within sight of land, Jorgen hove to and anchored. It was twilight. He said that I should go ahead and sleep, that he'd take the dingy into the harbor and smooth our entry into Egypt—that after his trip into harbor, we wouldn't have to worry about Customs, that he'd be back by sunrise. He floated off into the night toward the lights of Alexandria, and I went to our berth below, nagged suddenly by the question of whether we were transporting—or had just finished transporting—something Jorgen didn't want to declare to Customs the normal way. I hadn't asked what Jorgen was doing in Italy; perhaps that was a mistake. Not that he would have told me the truth if he was smuggling something one way or the other—or both. I woke with a jolt—the slamming of the side of one boat against another. And my first thought was that it was the authorities, having caught onto whatever Jorgen was up to—and me being left here holding the bag. And it occurred to me as well that I looked enough like Jorgen that they might think I was him if they were looking for him in particular. I only made it to the hatch leading onto the deck before hands grabbed me and a cloth bag was pulled down over my head. I was bound and gagged, and I realized that I was being transferred from one boat to another and that we were casting off and moving under the power of a muffled motor. Was I Jorgen now? What had Jorgen done for this to be happening? I started to squirm and then I felt a tight grip on my arm and the prick of a needle, and I was dead to the world. * * * * When I came to, I thought I'd been dropped into an Arabian nights film set, if a rather seedy one. The room was stone-walled with a vaulted ceiling and high-off-the-floor, heavily barred arched windows. Although the furnishings, such as they were, were composed entirely of oriental carpets and a scattering of large, damask-covered pillows, the Arabian nights theme hit me because I had been bathed and powdered and perfumed and was only wearing diaphanous, billowy harem pants and lace-up sandals. I also had gold serpent bracelets banded around above each of my biceps and around my ankles. I wasn't alone. There were three other guys, all of Middle Eastern extraction lying around on the pillows too, each with the same wary, scared expression I knew I had, and each dressed, or, should I say, undressed, in the same manner as I was. And at the four corners of the room stood four guys looking like thugs and wearing Egyptian caftans. All were muscle men. Three were obviously Mideasterners; the fourth looked European. The European stepped forward and addressed me. "Good. You're back with us. Good timing. They will send for you soon." "They?" I asked. "Where am I and what am I doing here?" "You're here for the auction," he said, and then he gave me a sardonic little smile. "What? What the hell," I asked. "I'm not interested in any auction . . . what's being auctioned?" "You're not a buyer," he answered, and I thought he'd break out into a laugh. "You're what's being auctioned." "Good joke," I responded. "Now, really, what's going on. People can't be auctioned in this day and age. Slavery's dead, haven't you heard?" "It isn't dead here in Egypt. You're in Cairo. And, Caucasian to Caucasian, let me strongly suggest that you convince the auctioneer he wants to keep you. I can guarantee you won't want to go with any of the other men who are at today's auction." The European briefly explained while we were being herded down the narrow, stone-walled passageway what was going to happen now. We would be sent in, one by one, into an entertainment room where we would see five men spread in a semicircle around a small platform stage, reclining on pillows. There would be music and we were to dance for them. If we danced well, one of the men might bid on us. If we didn't, we possibly were living our last day. The men could take their purchases away and do whatever they wished with them. A small, lithe, but well-built Lebanese young man was sent in first. We all stood out in the corridor, waiting our turn, as we heard the music begin. Shortly, we heard the raised voices of men, bidding enthusiastically. Then a period of silence. I was the second one to be sent in. Four men were sitting in a semicircle around the spotlighted platform I was led to and made to stand on. I had been told that there would be five, but as my eyes adjusted to the contrast of the spotlight in which I stood and shadowy, smoke-filled edges around the platform, I saw that buyer number five was already trying out his purchase over on a pillow-strewn divan at the side of the room. The young Lebanese man who had preceded me was on his belly on the divan, half on and half off it. A large-bellied, middle-aged Egyptian, caftan lifted up around his armpits was crouched between the young man's legs, already ready to mount him. I tore my eyes away from that scene and looked back at the four remaining men. Three of them were pretty gross, fat and middle-aged and ugly. The fourth one was younger and more comely and well-muscled. He showed that he was in charge by gesturing for the music to start. This was where I was supposed to dance and, the European captor's warning ringing in my ears, convince the auctioneer, obviously the younger, more presentable of the men, that he wanted to keep me. I started to undulate with the music, never having been a dancer before, but being a dancer now for dear life. I was egged on by the cries from the side of the room, where the older man was slapping the young Lebanese man hard now, on face, arms, legs, and buttocks, while he drove his cock inside a barely ready hole. The older man had the younger man by the hair with one fist now, and he reached for a riding crop with the other. The cries from the younger man rose and the expressions of the three older men watching me dance—whose eyes were flicking at the fucking at the side and then back at me—left no doubt of how this combination aroused them. They all had hands inside their caftans. I could see interest in the eyes of the younger man, but not yet a "sold" sign. In panic, I pulled out all of the stops. I danced, but I danced only for this younger man, the man holding all of the power. While I danced, I traced my cock through the diaphanous fabric, leaving little to the imagination of what I had in there and that it was getting hard, hard for the younger man among the bidders. I had had much practice in getting hard for men I didn't desire, and I brought all of that art to play here. By the time I had pushed the front of the harem pants below my ball sack and shown what I had and was stroking it, I could tell I had sold the younger man. He had his caftan open and his hand was in his lap and he was stroking himself too. I heard him cry out one word in Arabic. He had raised a hand—the one not teasing his cock—in the air, and the music stopped immediately. The other three had been no less impressed and aroused with my dance as he was. The fifth bidder was much too busy ravishing his purchase off to the side to care what was happening in the center of the room. And the young Lebanese man's cries and screams had decreased to whimpers and groans as his new master continued to beat and to fuck him roughly. There was a cacophony of sound as the three older bidders went into overdrive, trying to assert their bid for me over all others. But the younger man cut them all off, and I discerned, to my temporary, partial relief, that he had withdrawn me from the bidding. I was led over to the side of the chamber and chained with metal cuffs to a ring in the stone wall. I watched then as the two remaining captives were auctioned off. The one loser of all bids stood in a semi huff, a sour expression on his face, and left through a doorway behind a tapestry hanging. One of the other bidders led off his new slave through that door as well. But the last one started enjoying his purchase on the pillows on which he had been sitting. And I could see that he was going to be as cruel as the first master, who was still enjoying himself at that other side of the room. The younger man, the auctioneer, walked over to me, undid the chains that had attached me to the wall, and, with me still handcuffed, led me through yet a different doorway behind a tapestry that led directly into an opulently furnished Oriental-style chamber with stone walls, high clerestory windows that let in filtered sunlight, and a gurgling pool in the center, complete with central fountain of a young boy pissing water into the pool. The man released me from handcuffs, then disrobed, showing a magnificent body and good-sized cock, and sank down into the pool. He waved to me, and I stripped down my harem pants and unlaced my sandals, which apparently was what he wanted me to do, and also slipped into the pool. The man had lifted himself to a sitting position on the side of the pool and I swam to him and took his cock in my mouth and started working all of the wiles I could think of on him. I was fully in his control now. I knew it and he knew it, and I wanted him to want me—for him to always want for there to be a next time. No matter how long it took. No matter how much time it took me to escape from here. I could tell that my willingness and the mastery of my attentions were very arousing to him. He came almost immediately after becoming rock hard. He lifted me out of the pool with the strength of his arms then and guided me over to a nearby pillow-strewn divan and laid me down on my back. Then he showed me that he was a master of lovemaking too. He handcuffed me again to rings at the side of the head of the divan on each side. Putting his knees between my spread thighs, he lowered his face onto my torso and tongued and kissed all over my body. And I sighed and moaned for him, not all of it being an act, but all of it focused on pleasing him. I was laying there, on my back, my legs spread and him sitting on the edge of the divan between my legs. The touching had stopped, and I looked up to see that he had a huge ivory phallus in his hand. He was rubbing oil all over it. And then there were oiled fingers at my hole too, opening me up. I whimpered as I saw that phallus descend, and the bulbous cap of it was at my hole. I cried out and arched my back as the bulb invaded my canal, stretching me wide. He put a palm on my belly and pressed down as he pushed the oiled phallus in another couple of inches. I widened my stance as much as I could and lifted one of my legs to hook on his shoulder at the ankle. He turned his face to the muscle of my calf and kissed and licked me there . . . as the phallus sank in a couple of more inches. I was panting and moaning and the phallus kept creeping up into me. When it had bottomed, perhaps nearly a foot inside me, the man lowered his mouth onto my cock and started to suck me, pushing his tongue as far as he could into my piss slit. He also slowly pumped me with the ivory phallus, keeping up the same rhythm he was using with his lips on my cock. It didn't take me long to come. Then he removed the phallus, uncuffed me, turned me, forced a couple of pillows under my belly to raise my buttocks to me, and fucked me long and slowly until he had ejaculated. Leaving me and rising off the divan, he clapped his hands and two of the thug guards entered and bundled me back to the room I had started in, which was now deserted. There was a dinner tray waiting for me, and then the guards left and I was alone, counting myself lucky. I decided I must thank the European for the advice he had given me if he ever showed up again—and perhaps if I could weave my thanks around him, I could find some means of escape through him. Cairo Nights *****This story is not meant to offend any race or ethnicity. It is simply an erotic coupling story. If you will be offended by my mentioning my Egyptian husband having dark skin, then don't read it. I know the difference between interracial, races, ethnicity, and all that stuff...so please don't remind me. It's just a story about my husband...who happens to be from Egypt...and happens to have dark skin.***** Cairo Nights You were always up for any kind of randomness that I could throw in your direction. Like the time we went to the north coast for a weekend of relaxation and we did nothing but have sex when you were expecting to lie back with a drink in your hand and laze around in the sun. I sure did surprise you then. I've always loved teasing you...especially when you can't have it. Like when we're at a formal event with your bosses, and I walk by you and you can see that I have on no panties or bra underneath my skimpy little dress. It always drives you wild. I always know exactly when you start to get hard because you excuse yourself from the party to step into the men's room to readjust your enlarging cock. I have a way of doing that to you...getting you turned on without even touching you. It's something I pride myself in being able to do. I love being in control of these situations. You don't seem to mind; you never say no. Today had to be the best time, though. You certainly weren't expecting me to walk into your office this afternoon. All your friends and co-workers are jealous. You're married to an American...and they're not. I'm your kinky little American...and you're my Egyptian god. So when I strolled in wearing tight jeans and a very see-through shirt, every man in your office turned to stare. I walked right up to you and kissed you while everybody else just stared. I love to remind them of what you have...and what they don't. You don't mind. You just can't stand up for a while when I finally leave. I stopped by to innocently have you sign some papers, and to give you a bit of a show so you'd know what was waiting for you when you got home. It worked...you're turned on. I kiss you as I'm leaving and slowly move towards the door, so that you and your coworkers have a nice view. You finally make it home and I'm waiting for you upstairs in our bedroom. You walk in and start taking off you clothes. I know that you like a shower when you get home from work, so I took the liberty of starting it before you even walked in the door. You kiss me on your way to the shower and close the door. I hear you get in the shower...but I just bide my time. I pull on a skimpy little negligee and crawl onto our bed. Finally, the shower is turned off. You walk out of the bathroom, toweling off your gorgeous body. I love to look at you. Your dark skin...your sexy stomach and chest, with just enough hair...your beautiful, huge cock...just waiting to be sucked. You come over to the bed and start kissing me. You murmur erotic wishes into my ear...speaking in Arabic because you know it makes me hot. "That negligee is gorgeous, but it has to go," you say. You lower the straps, kissing my shoulders in the process. I lightly moan, loving the feel of your lips on my body. You pull the negligee over my head. I knew it wouldn't last long. You start teasing my hard nipples, taking one in your mouth, and pinching the other one. This makes my pussy wet. You know it does...so you keep doing it. I don't tell you to stop. I never do. "Lay down, baby," you say, "I've wanted to do this all day." And with that, you push me down onto my back. You know I like you to be forceful at times. You start kissing my stomach...teasing me because you know it makes me whimper. I know you're about to go down on me. I raise my hips, pressing them to you, but you push them down and keep your own pace. As you press kisses to my stomach, you talk to me. "This is payback, honey...for coming into my office today and turning me on the way you did. Then you just left. I couldn't stand up for 30 minutes because you had me so hard. Do you know that I could see your nipples through your shirt?" I slowly start to smile. "Are you complaining?" I ask. "No," you say. You finally give me what I want. You start by just barely licking my clit, but I start begging for more, whimpering with desire. You give in...finally...and start sucking my clit. This drives me wild...as usual. Nothing gets me off better than you sucking my clit. I writhe on the bed, thrusting my hips into your face, but you hold on and just keep sucking and nibbling at my clit. I start to cum, and you suck my juices out of me. You think I'm exhausted but you should know better. I lean forward and pull you down on the bed. You watch with pure lust as I slowly lick on your cock and balls. I slip your cock into my warm, wet mouth and run my silky tongue all over it. You moan in ecstasy. I know what gets you going...but I go slowly. Teasing goes both ways. You reach down and grab my hair and give it a gentle tug. I love it when you do this. I start moving my mouth up and down on your cock, practically swallowing it, it's so big. I start caressing your balls with my other hand...lightly running my nails over the sensitive skin. You shiver and I taste a little bit of pre-cum. At this, I stop. I'm not ready for you to cum. "What...?" you start to say...but I silence you with a look. You should know I'm not done. I slowly crawl on top of you and lower my pussy onto your throbbing cock. "Mmm..." I moan. "You feel so good inside of me..." I slowly start moving on top of you. You grab my hips and shove yourself deeper inside of me and I cry out at the feeling. But I take your hands and put them on my breasts. "Let me do the work," I say. I keep moving on top of you, slowly grinding my hips while you pinch my nipples and caress my full breasts. I close my eyes and lean back, taking it all in. As I do this, you reach down and pinch my clit. "Oh!" I cry out in surprise. You keep doing this and I start to cum. But once isn't enough for me. I move off of you and lie on my back, then pull you down on top of me. You thrust your huge cock into me and pull my legs onto your shoulders. You start pumping into me...hard and fast. I start screaming with pleasure, which causes you to smile. You love it when I scream. "More...oh please....don't stop, baby! OH! Yes, please baby! Harder!" I say. I start you cum, hard and fast. You feel it, and it feels so good to you...you just can't hold back any longer. You start to cum, pouring your cum deep into me. You pull out of me and move your cock to my mouth. I start sucking you again, licking you clean of both our juices. This makes you moan and you start to get hard again. "Are you ready for more?" I ask. I know the answer. You grab my hips and turn me over onto my stomach. You thrust your hard cock into my soaking wet pussy. You know I love to be taken from behind. This time, you're unrelenting. You pound into me...harder...harder. I scream and moan, begging for more. I cum once...then twice...but you just keep going. I want more. I can never have enough. You finally cum, and when you do, you slam yourself into me as hard as you can...as deep as you can. You pull out and lay on your back...pulling my soaking wet pussy to your face. I sit on your face, letting you lick our juices, and I lick your now limp cock totally clean. We lay there when we're done...just cuddling and kissing. "So...does this mean I turned you on today?" I ask. I bat my eyelashes at you...trying my best to act innocent. "Yes, you did. You American girls are wild, huh?" "I have no idea what you're talking about..." And I run my fingers down to your cock, only to find it hard and ready to go...again. I crawl on top of you...ready for another wild Cairo night. Cairo Ahmed's face reddened with acute mortification as he was suddenly, and somewhat painfully, aware of his growing erection. He cursed aloud in disgust and anger, quickly shifting his focus to the target window once again, disgusted with himself for falling prey to such wanton and alluring temptation, and cursing the nameless, American, whore of a cow in the penthouse suite for AGAIN being the focus of his disobedient distraction. He glowered at the target window and fumed in anger, it was utterly unconscionable how such a depraved, lascivious woman could seemingly distract him so easily from his assigned task. That the inherent purity of his lust could have been so easily soiled and besmirched, by a filthy, American infidel, made his blood boil and he seethed in the heat of anger and embarrassment. He forced himself to study the target room assiduously, forcing the image of the blond woman from his mind, and putting all his attention to the important task at hand. Moments later he gasped and physically slapped his face hard in retribution for picturing in his mind how the woman's pubic hair had been as blond as the hair on her head. What in the name of Allah was the matter with him? He swore vehemently and struggled to keep his focus on the target window. With all his mind and soul he tried to will his erection away, but the intensity of his desire made the task beyond his ability. He wondered what the woman was doing in the hotel suite...pictured her bathing, caressing herself with soap... "Ahhh!" He cried aloud, stinging his cheek a second time with an even more forceful slap. He focused intently on the window and bit his lip, feeling his resolve ebbing away as the urgency of his erection became more and more acute. With a sense that he was beginning to lose control, he allowed his gaze rise once more to the penthouse windows. Ahmed gasped aloud, gaping in stupefied amazement, as he refocused his binoculars to discover the object of his distraction writhing in complete abandonment upon her bed. A low sobbing moan escaped his lips to see both of her hands moving rapidly between her splayed legs, her pelvis tilted provocatively skyward as her hips seemed to tremble against the mattress. Never in his life had Ahmed seen anything even REMOTELY as physically sensual as the American woman masturbating so shamelessly right before his eyes. The waning shafts of sunlight, through the penthouse wall of windows, fell across her contorted face and clearly delineated her features. Her brows arched, as if experiencing great pain, and, with her eyelids squeezed tightly closed, her mouth gaped in unsuppressed surrender to her lust. Her body jolted almost convulsively and, although Ahmed had never seen the wonder of it before, he knew instinctively, without a doubt in his mind, that the woman was reaching the peak of her pleasure. All reason and conscious thought was suddenly driven from his mind. He gaped in complete absorption as he unconsciously reached down to slide his hand against the hard rise of his member and began to stroke himself rapidly. As the woman writhed upon the bed before him, Ahmed cried aloud in his lust. His seed erupted with a strong pulse and he whined softly deep in his throat. With his eyes riveted intently on her as she stretched languorously and then rose from the bed, Ahmed lay back in his chair and surrendered to the shuddering pleasure of his orgasm. Then, as the woman disappeared once more into the bath, he lowered his binoculars and closed his eyes. Moments later, he opened his eyes and shook his head, surprised, and even slightly chagrinned, by his seemingly uncontrollable emotion and overwhelming arousal. As pleasurable as the interlude had been, he was more than a little disturbed that his lust could have been so easily provoked by such a shameless and morally baseless woman. He rose from his chair and made his way to the bathroom, washing his hands and then attempting to blot as much of his seed as possible, from the inside of his caftan, with a handful of tissues. Looking at his reflection, he cursed vehemently to see how the telltale stain of his distraction darkened the front of his tunic obscenely, and was thankful that he was alone in his mission of surveillance. Ahmed's entire body shuddered with a jolt of sudden fear and anxiety as the memory of his forgotten mission struck him like a hammer blow. With a cry of anguish, he dashed from the bathroom to the chair at the window, grasping his binoculars with trembling fingers. "NO!" He cried aloud, bolting upright in the chair. His eyes bulged in horror to see that the sheer curtain in the target window had been opened and movement beyond. Instantly he raised his radio-phone and spoke the code words that would send his compatriots into action and watched intently, feeling a trickle of perspiration slide along his cheek, his heartbeat pounding with excitement. Nothing moved beyond the window and Ahmed bit his lip with anxiety. Had he possibly been distracted for too long? He felt his face glow with renewed embarrassment at the thought and hoped he had not been too late. Moments later, he clearly detected movement in the room once more and sat up, his entire body tense with apprehension. A figure appeared in the window and Ahmed gasped in fright to see the unmistakable, bearded countenance of his superior. Al-Jahiri's dark eyes seemed to penetrate directly through the binoculars and into his eyes as he glowered with obvious disdain and shook his head to indicate that the mission had not succeeded. With a groan of disappointment, Ahmed lowered his binoculars and looked away. He had failed. He had done the unconscionable and, by his lustful distraction, had failed in his mission and had let the quarry slip away. He was ashamed of himself and pounded his fists into his head painfully. How could he have been so stupid, so completely and totally stupid? * * * * * Kahlim Al-Jahiri entered the hotel room, looking around the room with a dark, foreboding intensity that Ahmed knew so very well. He glowered at Ahmed momentarily and then, surprisingly, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. "Perhaps you might enlighten me..." He asked, his smile broadening benignly as he held out his arms with his palms raised, "How is it that that scum-dog of a Mossad agent has managed to slip through my fingers one more time?" Ahmed swallowed and bit his lip nervously. "Excellency...it was my fault." He stammered, his mind racing to think of something he might say so as not to incur the wrath of Al-Jahiri, "I looked away...for only for a moment or two. I...I needed to...to use the toilet. I had been sitting...and watching for so long, I...I was only away from the window for just the BRIEFEST of moments and..." Al-Jahiri crossed the distance between them in one quick step and backhanded Ahmed across the face. The force of the blow sent Ahmed reeling backwards over the chair and onto the floor. "You IMBECILE!" Roared Al-Jahiri, "All of our months of careful preparation...GONE in an instant because of your weak bowels and supreme lack of discipline." Ahmed cowered as Al-Jahiri towered over him threateningly. To his complete horror he watched transfixed as Al-Jahiri slowly drew a long, slender dagger from the sash of his tunic. A sudden commotion at the doorway suddenly caught Al-Jahiri's attention and he grimaced, turning toward the noise, his dagger poised directly above Ahmed's chest. Mahmoud, Al-Jahiri's lieutenant, hurried into the room. "Excellency," He gasped, sounding as if he had run for quite some distance, "We HAVE him...he's trapped in the hotel's parking garage...and we have him surrounded." With a cry of delight, Al-Jahiri turned away from Ahmed and lowered the dagger. "Excellent." He cried exultantly, smiling broadly and clapping Mahmoud on the shoulder, "Let us see to it that we do not let the pig slip through our fingers a second time." "Of course, Excellency." Said Mahmoud with a firm nod of his head, "He is completely cornered, and unable to move...my men have him at their mercy and we wait only for you to arrive before sending him into hell." Al-Jahiri smiled and clapped Mahmoud on the shoulder once more. "You see, Ahmed," He said, turning to glower down and the cringing figure on the floor once more, "Mark this well, my friend...THIS is the kind of competence and efficiency I expect from ALL my followers. I will have my eye on you from this day forward, so you would do well to follow Mahmoud's example. It is well that our target has been found," He said, his brows lowered, "And...I think you had better give special thanks to Allah that, for your incompetence, I am not leaving the room with your incompetent head in my hand." With that parting thought, Al-Jahiri turned toward the door and, with his robes flowing behind him, left the room in a flourish. Ahmed lay back on the carpet and put his trembling fingers to his bruised lips. He had indeed been lucky, Al-Jahiri was not one who doled out forgiveness in large quantities and he realized full well how very fortunate he was at that moment. He cursed his moments of weakness and channeled some of his relief into anger toward the American woman for being the instrument of his distraction. How DARE she, he thought sulkily, how dare that American slut-whore, that non-believer, that infidel...that cow of a woman...that lowly piece of camel dung...how DARE she display herself so lasciviously so as to weaken his resolve with her flagrant debauchery. He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and grimaced, she should be made to pay for her indiscretions, he thought, she should NOT be allowed to carry on in such a manner without paying a heavy price for her indiscretions. If he had a way to have the woman before him at that moment, he would have cheerfully smiled into her face as he choked the life from her, an image which appealed to him very much at that particular moment. He rose from the floor tentatively and made his way to the bathroom where he placed a cool wet washcloth over his split lip. He thought of joining his compatriots in the culmination of the day's mission, but thought better of it, thinking it would still be wise to stay out of Al-Jahiri's eyesight for the time being. * * * * * Lillian chose a conservative wardrobe for her dinner meeting. She had purchased an exceptionally restricting sports bra just for the occasion and smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she slipped into it. It did, indeed, rein in her heavy bosom, and made her look at least two cup sizes smaller. She selected a long, loose-fitting, black dress, which hung shapelessly from the bodice to her ankles and, very successfully, shrouded her figure. To de-emphasize her bust even more, she slipped into a short-waisted jacket of lovely burgundy velvet. She turned several times and examined her reflection in the mirror, and sighed with a bit of a frown. While she would never be caught dead in such a frumpishly modest outfit at home in New York, she was, however, reasonably satisfied that her attire would likely be very acceptable to the three Arab gentlemen that she was to entertain at dinner. She recognized and understood the necessity to downplay her femininity, as was customary for women in the Middle East, and had even taken great care to tone down her makeup as well, leaving her lips completely bare of color, and applying only the barest touch of mascara to her lashes. She stepped back to the mirror once again, examining her reflection with approval as she slipped a shawl over her head, to conceal her blonde tresses, and flipped the ends over her shoulders. She sighed heavily and shrugged her shoulders, thinking she looked acceptable. She raised the hem of her dress and adjusted her stockings, smiling to herself as she did so. The dainty, feminine lingerie she wore beneath her conservative clothing was the one guilty pleasure she allowed herself that evening, it gave her an internal sense of feminine sensuality despite the frumpishness of her outer wardrobe. She lowered her dress and laughed softly, "If they only knew." She said aloud, winking playfully at her reflection in the mirror. * * * * * Ahmed stood outside, relaxing with his back against the wall of a building, pulling hard on his cigarette and watching as the denizens of Cairo crowded the sidewalks in their seemingly aimless pursuits. He shrugged to himself, wishing he could leave this hell-hole of a city and return to his family in the Kingdom. As a moderate form of punishment, Al-Jahiri, had instructed him to remain in the cheap hotel room he had used for surveillance, ostensibly to keep an eye on the dead Mossad agent's room for further activity. Ahmed recognized the assignment for what it really was though, a fruitless activity designed primarily to keep him occupied away from important matters elsewhere. So be it, he thought, after incurring Al-Jahiri's wrath that evening, it was best to stay out of his sight anyway. Aimlessly, he crossed the street, dodging all manner of vehicles, to the front of the Conrad Cairo hotel, where bellmen and porters where fawning over the elite of foreign society, helping with their baggage and hailing taxicabs. Despite the fact that the hotel was a haven for foreigners, Ahmed liked it very much. It seemed, literally, to radiate opulence and class, and he liked to wander aimlessly about and soak up the rich ambiance of the elegant lobby and the front entranceway, imagining himself one of the elite hotel guests. The smiling door attendant opened the heavy front door with a flourish and bowed graciously as a woman exited the building. He snapped his fingers to alert a bellman at the curb, and the bellman immediately raised his hand and blew on a silver whistle that hung from his neck. With equal immediacy, a taxi careened to the curb and came to a stop with a screech of brakes. The bellman rushed to open the rear door of the taxi and smiled fawningly at the woman. "Your taxi is here, Ms Roberts." He said, bowing almost subserviently. "Thank you, Taki." Said the woman, slipping what looked to Ahmed very much like a ten pound note into his waiting hand. At the sound of her soft, accented voice, Ahmed's interest was suddenly piqued and he turned to more closely examine the woman that he had barely noticed in passing. By all accounts, there was nothing especially noteworthy about the woman, she wore a traditional scarf about her head and a long dress in the manner of most European women who visit Egypt, and who do not want to offend the locals with a less conservative manner of dress. She appeared rather tall, almost his own height, and Ahmed dropped his gaze to her feet to see a pair of rather un-conservative high-heeled shoes. From her accent as she spoke, Ahmed was reasonably sure the woman was also an American. The woman stepped into the taxi, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to accommodate the maneuver, and Ahmed was treated to a revealing glimpse of the woman's calf that glistened sleekly in her hosiery. As the woman seated herself in the back seat of the taxicab, she turned her face toward him and their eyes met. Cool blue eyes appraised him brazenly and Ahmed almost gasped aloud as he noticed the woman's pale blonde hair that framed her face beneath the scarf. It was HER! There could be no mistake; it was the same high cheekbones, the same wide mouth with the same sensually full lips...the very SAME countenance that, a mere two hours previous, had been so erotically contorted with pleasure. The bellman closed the door and the taxicab sped off, the woman's face completely invisible behind the window that only reflected the lights of the hotel entrance. Ahmed's heart raced, by all that was holy, he thought, surely it was entirely TOO great a coincidence that, of all the many hundreds of hotel guests, their paths would cross again so soon. Perhaps it was a sign from Allah himself, to put the woman in his path, to intertwine their fates. It had stunned him to the core of his existence to see her so closely, in the flesh, and, as the taxicab disappeared into the red sea of taillights, Ahmed shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had almost forgotten the whore of a woman whose distracting immoral display had almost precipitated the end of his life. He had, in fact, done his level best to put the entire unsavory episode completely out of his thoughts, not wanting to dwell upon how tenuous his existence had been with Al-Jahiri poised above him with his knife. With his curiosity piqued anew, he stepped up to the bellman, whose broad smile waned noticeably as he neared. "Excuse me." Said Ahmed, smiling warmly. "But, who WAS that charming woman who left, just now, in the taxicab?" The bellman's smile returned, "Ah, yes..." He said, looking almost winsomely down the street in the direction of the departed vehicle, "Ms. Roberts is, indeed a very charming woman...she is one of our most special guests." "Her accent almost sounded American to me." Probed Ahmed. The bellman nodded effusively, "Oh, yes," He said, still smiling inanely, "Very good...Indeed she is American. From New York City, I believe. Very wealthy too, I understand." He turned toward Ahmed and leaned his head closer speaking in a softer tone of voice, "She is, presently, the resident in our MOST expensive penthouse suite." He offered with a knowing nod. "Ah..." Said Ahmed, nodding respectfully, "Then indeed...she must be VERY wealthy." The bellman nodded again effusively. "Or..." Continued Ahmed with a shrug, "At least her husband surely is." "Oh, no." Said the bellman with a shake of his head, "The lady has no husband that I know of. She is traveling alone...and wears no wedding band." "I see..." Said Ahmed, beginning to turn away lest the bellman become suspicious of his questioning, "Well...she is indeed a lovely woman, nonetheless." "Just so." Said the bellman, who turned away quickly and blew his whistle for an elderly couple who approached, from the hotel entrance, in need of a taxi. Ahmed sauntered casually into the hotel lobby, nodding with a brief smile to the doorman who held the door for him. He smiled, always pleased to find himself in such luxury and strolled about the immense lobby slowly, glancing in the shop windows and smiling at the hotel guests who passed. Thinking perhaps to hone his skills of surveillance, he stopped at the hotel desk and was immediately attended to by a smiling clerk. "Yes sir..." Said the clerk, "How may I be of assistance?" "I'd like to inquire about the suites this hotel has available," Said Ahmed, hoping that by scowling at the lowly clerk disdainfully, he might more readily pass himself off as a wealthy Arab businessman. "I'm expecting SEVERAL guests from America, and am curious as to what you have available to suit their expensive tastes, and what the expenditure might be for such accommodation." "Oh, yes sir..." Said the clerk enthusiastically as he brought up a brochure from beneath the counter. He opened the brochure and pointed to several photos of the luxuriant splendor of the hotel rooms and suites, quoting prices that seemed completely astronomical to Ahmed. "I see..." Said Ahmed, nodding thoughtfully, "These are, of course, very nice indeed...but, might you have anything as might befit an EXTREMELY wealthy American? I'm told you have a penthouse suite that is exceptional, and it is THAT which I am most curious about." "Oh, of course...yes sir." Said the clerk, "Sadly though, we have no pictures...but I can assure you that the penthouse suite, you speak of, is beyond compare." "I'm sure it is." Nodded Ahmed, "And...I'm sure the price is beyond compare as well?" The clerk laughed and nodded. He quoted a price that literally took Ahmed's breath away. By ALL that is holy, he thought to himself with a shake of his head, how can such a cow of a woman afford such luxury? Cairo "Well..." Said Ahmed, with a shrug, "For such a princely sum, I would surely wish to examine the suite before recommending it to my friends. Is it available for viewing?" The clerk glanced away briefly, "Sadly no." He said, "It is presently occupied by a Ms. Roberts, a wealthy American woman." "Oh...that IS a shame." Said Ahmed, thinking the hotel's security was in desperate need of repair. "Will this...Ms. Roberts be staying long then? Perhaps I might return when the suite is unoccupied." Again the clerk glanced away toward his computer screen and typed a flurry of keystrokes into his keyboard. "The suite will be available for viewing...on Thursday...two days from now. Perhaps you might return then, and we will be happy to show you the suite." "Thursday..." Said Ahmed slowly as if weighing it carefully, "That might actually be perfect...perhaps I WILL return then to have a look." The clerk smiled broadly and nodded, "Yes sir...we look forward to the opportunity." Ahmed turned away and took two steps before pausing. "Oh...just one more thing..." He said, turning around. "A thought just occurred to me and I'm curious...this American woman...this Ms. Roberts..." "Yes?" Said the clerk, tilting his head inquisitively. "She would not be, by any chance, a Mrs. KAREN Roberts, would she?" He asked, "From California?" The clerk glanced at the computer screen and shook his head, "No sir...I'm sorry. This is a Ms. Lillian Roberts...from New York City." "Ah..." Said Ahmed, turning away, "I thought perhaps...Well...thank you very much." He seated himself in one of the opulent sofas and absently watched the hotel guests parading their decadent elegance. So...he thought, so pleased with himself for securing so much intimate information about the woman so easily, the filthy slut has a name, Lillian Roberts. He smiled thinly, thinking the name Lillian seemed to suit her. His reverie was interrupted a moment later as two burly men in the uniform of security guards stepped in front of him. "Excuse me, sir." Said one of the men, bending low and speaking very discreetly in a soft voice, "But these sofas and chairs are provided explicitly for the comfort of our hotel guests. Ahmed stood quickly, his face darkening with rage and embarrassment. "As you wish," He said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his inner turmoil, "I was merely sitting for a brief moment to collect my thoughts." The guards nodded to one another knowingly, as if they had heard that particular excuse many times before. Ahmed exited the building, nodding gruffly to the doorman, and stood on the sidewalk, lighting up a cigarette. He breathed deeply, shaking his head in anger and humiliation. "That fucking...American...cow." He muttered, somehow managing to shift the blame for his embarrassment to her. After all...if it hadn't been for HER, he would have completed his mission in an exemplary manner, and NOT been treated with so much disrespect buy lowly hotel employees. He glanced toward the bellman, what was that stupid name she had called him?...Tiki...Taki...Toki? Some such Anglicized nickname nonsense. He watched the bellman as he strode about performing his subservient duties, bowing and scraping to all of the rich infidels as if his menial tedium was the most important thing in his lowly existence. The more he watched, the more he began to detest the bellman, Tiki...Taki...whatever the fuck his name was. Ahmed watched as a taxi pulled to the curb and the bellman opened the door, holding his hand out to the elderly woman inside, who literally dripped jewelry and displayed a disgusting amount of wrinkled décolletage as she bent over to exit the taxi. What a meaningless existence, he thought to himself, shaking his head in disgust; this excrement of a man, simpering and fawning over such infidels. The bellman appeared to be rather young, perhaps only in his teens, slight of build and clean shaven. A disgusting example of Arabic manhood, thought Ahmed, who should right NOW be a proud member of one of the Jihadist organizations instead of performing such lowly tasks that befitted only a mere woman. Yes, thought Ahmed as he watched the bellman, one might very easily describe him as womanly with such a clean shaven face and such a slender, effeminate physique. He spat onto the sidewalk in disgust, thinking he had never in his life been so completely repulsed by another man. He crossed the street and returned to his seedy hotel room in an ill humor. He flopped onto the bed and crossed his arms over his chest, fuming all over again at the day's unfortunate events. Despite his simmering anger, he drifted of into an uneasy sleep. He awoke several hours later, sitting up and shaking off his lethargy. He stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face. He returned to the room and switched on the television, rapidly flicking through the channels before switching the set off with a groan of disgust. He switched off the lamp, plunging his room into darkness and took up his chair in front of the window. Picking up the binoculars, he aimlessly scanned the crowds below and hoping to somehow find a way to assuage his boredom. He espied the bellman below and grimaced to see him fawning over yet ANOTHER couple who were stepping into a cab. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned his eyes and his thoughts away. Raising his glasses to the penthouse suite, he was startled to discover the lights on. The woman was nowhere to be seen, and he took the opportunity to scan the opulence of the suite, sighing appreciatively at the decadent splendor of the room and, once again wondering to himself how such a slut of a woman could afford, yet alone deserve, such luxury. He gasped in surprise to see the woman suddenly appear, entering the room from the back room that he assumed was the bath. "Well, well, well..." He muttered to himself, "There you ARE, you fucking cunt of a whore. What are you up to now?" He watched as she removed her jacket and hung it into the closet. She must have just arrived from wherever she had gone earlier, he surmised, turning the wheel to bring her into sharper focus. She walked to a dressing table and leaned forward, bringing her face close to the mirror. She smoothed her brows, seemingly examining her reflection for several moments before rising up, and reached behind her neck, to unfasten the top of her dress. She reached behind her back and lowered the long zipper, letting the dress fall away to the floor. Ahmed smiled and licked his lips to see her in her decadently sexy underthings once more, watching as she stepped out of her dress and then bent over to retrieve it from whence it lay. She walked to the closet, hanging her dress with care, and then removed her rather strange looking brassiere. Her heavy breasts fell away and Ahmed smiled, almost wolfishly. Only in America, he thought, would a woman have such decadently huge mammaries. * * * * * Lillian sighed pleasurably in self-satisfaction and slipped into her silk robe, enjoying the sensual feel of the material against her skin. She thought, fleetingly, to remove her garterbelt and hosiery, but rather liked the sensually provocative way it made her feel and decided against it for the time being. Recalling the intense orgasm she had experienced earlier, she smiled, wanting very much keep her senses stimulated as a teasing prelude to a long, sensual repeat performance that she knew would happen later on, at the right moment. She felt especially buoyant, her dinner meeting had gone exceptionally well, better than she, or her company executives, had ever expected, and she was elated, almost giddy with self-satisfaction. She smiled to imagine how her superiors in New York would be totally falling all over themselves when they heard the news, and her smile widened in anticipation of the rather large signing bonus that she knew would soon be forthcoming for her efforts. She crossed the room and picked up the phone, ordering a bottle of champagne to celebrate her success. She switched on the television and watched CNN for several minutes until the knock on her door. She opened the door and the porter strode inside wheeling a small cart that carried an ornate, sterling silver champagne bucket filled with crushed ice, a bottle of the hotel's finest champagne and an elegantly designed, crystal champagne flute. The porter skillfully opened the bottle for her and then graciously accepted her rather large tip with a surprised raise of his eyebrows and an effusive thank you, bowing at the waist. She poured herself a large glass of champagne and toasted her reflection in the mirror before settling once more on the sofa to catch the latest news. * * * * * Ahmed shook his head again and muttered in disgust to see how greedily his fellow Arab accepted the whore's money. The woman watched television for quite some time, reclined on the sofa with her legs curled beneath her. That the oafish whore soiled the expensive sofa with her decadently high-heeled shoes was something that Ahmed did not fail to notice. After a while he became bored watching her do nothing but wallow in expensive luxury and swill her champagne. He began to explore some of the other hotel rooms that were lit. Finding nothing exceptionally entertaining elsewhere, he returned his gaze to the penthouse once more, just in time to see the woman drain the last from her champagne bottle into her glass and settle once more onto the sofa. This time though, as she once again curled her legs beneath her, she carelessly allowed her robe to fall away and expose much of her legs. Ahmed smiled and licked his lips once more to see the woman's exceptional legs glistening in the lamplight. * * * * * Lillian drained the last of her champagne with a flourish, setting aside the empty glass and switching off the television. She burped loudly and smiled to herself with her fingertips over her lips, feeling the effects of the champagne softening the sharpness of her consciousness. Absently she stroked her leg, smiling at the wonderful sensation of her sleek stockings and felt the beginnings of an arousal in the pit of her stomach. She raised her hand and parted the belt tied about her waist, slipping her hand inside her robe to caress her breast. She lightly pinched her nipple, pulling gently until it became fully erect and then rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes and sighed as ripples of pleasure coursed through her body. * * * * * Ahmed cursed, feeling his traitorous member rising for the second time that day. He watched, in abject fascination, as the woman touched herself, moving her hands over her body with wanton sensuality that Ahmed knew would be a prelude to much more. At least, he thought, he now had the luxury of giving the woman's scandalous performance his entire attention without the responsibility of needing his full attention elsewhere. * * * * * Lillian laid her head back on the sofa cushions, enjoying the slow sensual tease of arousal and sighing appreciatively. She turned her head and smiled to see the empty champagne bottle protruding from the silver bucket. In her somewhat heightened state of arousal, it was not difficult at all to notice how sensually the neck of the bottle flared and how deliciously phallic the delicately curved, bulbous tip of the bottle appeared to be. She bit her lip and laughed softly as visions of yet unexplored fantasies played across her consciousness. * * * * * What in the name of Allah was THIS? Ahmed shook his head in confusion as he watched the woman reach out and take the empty champagne bottle from the bucket. She seemed to be laughing to herself, stroking the neck of the bottle with her fingers and rubbing it against her cheek almost lovingly. To his complete astonishment the woman opened her robe and began to rub the bottle over her breasts. What supreme madness, he thought. Is the woman so completely besotted with alcohol that she has lost her senses? He watched in complete fascination as she moved the tip of the bottle back and forth over each of her breasts for several minutes, her head back against the sofa cushion and her eyes closed. As realization finally struck him, he gasped aloud in complete astonishment. By all that was holy...this slut-whore, pig of a woman was actually arousing herself sexually with the champagne bottle. He wanted desperately to look away, to forget he ever witnesses such complete and utter debauchery, but he was completely helpless and could not take his eyes from the woman. And, try as he might, he could not still the rising tide of arousal within himself as his traitorous member rose to aching tumescence. * * * * * Lillian pulled open her robe and moaned softly as the cool bottle touched her engorged nipple. She sighed pleasurably and played the cool glass back and forth from one nipple to the other and felt her arousal rising dramatically. She rolled the cool, smooth glass over her stomach and allowed the tip of the bottle to probe between her legs, shivering at the exquisite sensation. She moaned softly and parted her legs, sliding the tip of the bottle down and over her vulva. "Ooooh," She sighed appreciatively, lifting her hips to the bottle and rocking her pelvis. My god, she thought, what an amazing sensuality. She slipped the tip of the bottle under the waistband of her panties, shivering delightedly to feel the cool class against her skin. She lifted her knees and rocked her pelvis up, stroking herself with the bottle, feeling the sleek, tapered neck split her lips and become slick with the lubrication from her pussy. She pressed her thighs together and held the bottle in place, rolling onto her side and rocking her pelvis slowly forward and back, moaning softly at the exquisite sensations created between her legs. With a laugh, she suddenly sat up and pulled the bottle away. She laughed again, tossing her head. "Jesus..." She said aloud, turning to catch her reflection in the mirror, "I am such a slut sometimes." Feeling an uncomfortable pressure in her bladder, she stood and made her way to the bathroom, her legs wobbling slightly from the effects of the champagne. She relieved herself and washed her hands, making her way back into the living room area with her robe untied and flowing behind her as she walked. She paused in front of the sofa and looked down at the bottle. God, she thought, it really DID look extremely phallic. She bit her lip and smiled as her fantasies began to take her away once more. * * * * * Whew, thought Ahmed, as the woman disappeared into the bathroom, he had narrowly escaped soiling his caftan for the second time that day while watching the woman writhing on the sofa with the bottle between her legs. By all that was holy, he had never seen anything so completely seductive and sensual in all his life. He licked his lips, trying desperately to will his erection away with a conscious effort. He sighed, feeling the tension begin to slowly ebb from his body and the urgency of his erection began to fade, just as the woman re-entered the room. He stared in fascination to see her body so exposed, her huge breasts bouncing so erotically, her wide fleshy hips swaying so alluringly. She paused in front of the sofa, just standing there motionless for several moments. Then, to his surprise, she suddenly shrugged off her robe and let if fall to the floor at her feet. She moved her hands over her body, from her thighs to her breasts, seemingly teasing herself with her touches. Ahmed cursed vehemently as he felt a renewed urgency between his legs and watched as the woman slowly slid her panties down, over her hips, and stepped from them as they fell to the floor. She seemed to lean forward, bracing herself with her knees on the front of the sofa as she slid her hands between her legs. Ahmed watched in incredulity as she tossed her head, looking up at the ceiling as her hips gyrated. All at once she lowered herself, kneeling onto the sofa and bending forward, her heavy breasts billowing over the cushions at the back. To his gasping astonishment he watched as she grasped the bottle and placed it between her legs. * * * * * Lillian gasped and cried aloud as the bulbous tip of the bottle parted her lips and slid into her pussy. She felt her facial muscles twitching uncontrollably and gasped at the exquisite sensations. With another cry of pleasure she lowered her hips onto the bottle. "Oh, GOD." She gasped, moving her hips slowly and feeling the cool glass moving deep inside her. She lowered her hips further, taking more of the bottle and feeling her lips spreading wider as the flare of the bottle parted her more and more. She moaned, feeling the beginnings of orgasm starting to swell, and began moving her hips rapidly in anticipation of her deliciously sweet release. * * * * * A long whine escaped Ahmed's lips. Never even in his wildest imaginings had he even come close to even IMAGINING such sexual decadence. His testicles throbbed painfully and he realized he had pushed himself beyond the point of no stopping. He grasped his member and began stroking rapidly, wanting to bring on his pleasurable release quickly to still the rising ache in his testicles. But suddenly he started with surprise to see the woman suddenly bolt from the sofa with startled, almost frantic, movements. The bottle fell from her and rolled to the back of the sofa as the woman bent to hurriedly retrieve her robe from the floor. Ahmed moaned softly, feeling the unrequited ache between his growing intensely. * * * * * Lillian's orgasm was almost upon her and she felt the rising ache in the pit of her stomach. She thrust her hips rapidly to send herself over the brink when suddenly she heard a loud knocking on her door. "No!" She gasped, holding herself completely still, wondering if she could have possibly been mistaken. The second knock on her door was louder and more insistent, startling her completely from her reverie. She leapt from the sofa, the bottle falling over onto its side, and hurriedly gathering up her robe. "Who on earth?" She thought to herself, looking hurriedly at her wristwatch as she made her way to the door, pulling the robe about her. She glanced quickly through the security peephole to see the smiling countenance of the bellboy Taki, his cheerful face roundly distorted by the fisheye effect of the lens. She leaned against the door and groaned silently, with a mental slap to her forehead. Of course, she thought, her dry-cleaning...she had completely forgotten that she had asked the service earlier to have her dry-cleaning sent to her room as soon as it arrived. "Taki!" She greeted warmly as she opened the door. "Ms. Roberts." He replied, grinning widely, "I have brought you your cleaned clothing myself, the porter was occupied elsewhere...and I know you wanted them right away." Lillian smiled, thinking to herself that it was very likely Taki had taken it upon himself to not even notify the porter...wanting her usual hefty tip for himself. "Why thank you, Taki," She said graciously, "That's very sweet of you...You didn't have to go to all this trouble...please, come in." Taki smiled and entered the room, closing the door behind him. "I assure you, it was no trouble at all. I have finished my work shift and was about to go home when your clothing arrived. It is no bother." "You can just hang them there in the closet." She said, turning to take her wallet out of her purse. She gasped aloud when she opened her wallet and discovered she had nothing to give Taki; she had given the last of her expense money to the waiters in the dining room and forgotten to cash another traveler's cheque. "Oh, god...honey...I'm so sorry." She said, turning back toward him and holding her empty wallet open, "But, I have no change at all."