0 comments/ 12148 views/ 5 favorites Mandy in Dubai By: cowboy109 The dragon's reptilian claws dug into the stone to wind its green scaled body tightly around the pillar. Its head with the ghastly big, baby-like eyes were raised into the blackness of the night sensing, keenly paying attention -- a hunger for the hunt filled the air. Only a faint, coal-black plume of smoke rose from its big, open nostrils -- like a human suppressing its breath to listen intently. The barbed tail was softly caressing the ground with a nervous twitch -- like a cat winding itself up before the lethal, lethal to the mouth, pounce. Her bare foot silently touched the big castle rocks on the floor. The impending doom crept through her bones. Ever so carefully, she shifted her wait to move forward with scared eyes watching the dragon that was merely a foot away from her face. Like invisible, he twisted and turned his neck to push its nostrils into different directions, unable to sense her. She carefully moved another step. There were more of them. Every pillar along the castle wall had one of those, heavy, muscular creatures bending their fluidly flexible bodies around the pillars. In the distance was the black hole, the door, of a tower, her safety. She had to move as slowly and silently as possible, while they were so close. Sulfur was stinging and burning her eyes. The monsters were poised to attack and tear her to pieces. A tear drop formed, rolled over her eye lid, and free fell toward the ground. She swiftly reached with her hand for it, missed, and tried to catch it a second time barely above the ground. The tear shattered on the ground. A green scaled dragon shot its long, slender head around to point its big black nostrils directly at her face. It let out a screech that made the century-old castle rocks that hadn't moved ever tremble, threatening to collapse. The other dragons rose their tiny little flutter wings to raise three foot into the ground to have a little bit of height ready to leap down on her. In blind panic, she started running. Her clothes vanished. She was naked. She ran as hard as she needed to. Oddly, she did not need to breathe. The monsters were darting around her, trying to snap at her. Her feet pounded forward faster than she had ever run. The darting teeth snapped closer and closer. She was sure that they were going to chop down on her shoulder. To her surprise, she managed to run even faster. And suddenly, she was flying. She never thought that humans were able to fly. And she as flying faster and faster. She rose high into the sky into the clouds of blackness. The dragons could not keep up falling back as she climbed above all. She felt free. Waves of joy were rolling over her like finding the place where she really belonged. Her body moved through the air as easily as her thoughts imagined her moves. She raised her arms to dance around. And out of impulse, she turned around and launched toward the first dragon that she saw, a little guy with reddish scaling. She bit him. To her utter surprise, her teeth sank deeply into the flesh. The dragon screeched helplessly and fell mortally wounded toward the ground. Her face was smothered in red dragon blood, a spray of red sprinkles over her bare breast. This was fun! She never realized such powers in her before. Why had she been so afraid of the dragons before? Another dragon was trying to jump her from behind. She flipped around and flung her hand with claw like fingers wide across like a cat pouncing. The fingers carved through the dragon's body like a hot knife through butter. Deep red blood trails were left on his body that opened up with blood gushing and severed muscles drooping. With sadness the eyes of the dragon begged her for only a moment before he too fell toward the ground. Feeling her strength and the joy of destruction, she leapt onto the next dragon only to be assaulted by three dragons from all sides at the same time. Lustily, she bit into dragons and tore their scales and flesh off their bodies. She used her fingers like fangs only to fend one of long enough to spit out the heart of a dragon to savagely bite that dragon as well. No matter how they darted at her, she was always faster. And her kicks and punches were always faster than theirs. Drenched in dragon blood, the hunting lust viscerally overwhelmed her to make her shout with her whole being for the whole kingdom to hear. Then a weak croaking out of her throat startled her. She opened her eyes and saw the daylight drifting in through the open window. The solid sunlight was perforated by the shade of the big oak tree in front of her room. She felt the warm blanket around her. She couldn't move at all for a moment as dreams sometimes paralyzed her. The reality of having to find a job crashed into her mind. She was Mandy. A community college had graduated her three weeks ago. There were no more classes to go to. It made her feel naked to no longer have the rhythm of going to a class. She felt that she needed to move out and into the world. Only with sadness, she let go of the powerful feeling in the dream. The pillow smelled of her, kind of like straw. The scent was heavy and made her feel warm -- a bad habit of indulging in her sloppiness to skip laundry for weeks. While she inhaled her own scent, her senses came back to feel the heavy down comforter on top of her. Her boobs felt pressed from sleeping the night on top of them. She slipped her hands down her body to get under the pink and blue panties that were hugging her hips tightly. They were shaped to carve in a narrow triangle around the front of her body. The front was a soft fabric that narrow to a tight thick fabric at the bottom of her perineum. She pushed them over her knees making yoga like moves with her legs to get them over her toes. Without opening her eyes, she put her own panties over her eyes. She deeply inhaled -- a seductively smooth smell titillated her. The smell was thick from gathering overnight. The point that had been over her opening was moist -- a mixture of hours old dry stains and some fresh dots. The nastiness of being overnight dirty turned her on. Her fingers had already found their way to her favorite spot -- between the clitoris and the entrance. She rubbed pressing on the down stroke, swiftly and light on the up stroke. Good feelings spread through her body. Her closed eyes' gaze became dreamy again entering the feeling of soaring with dragons. The erotic charge was growing as she pushed her pubic bone harder into her hand. Getting close to the cliff, she made the upstrokes higher to flick her bean. And then it erupted. The breath stopped. She put two fingers inside of her pussy. The paralysis set in -- only able to push her pubic bone harder into her hand. The spasm set in to tense all the muscles in her body. Warm and wonderful red and orange colors flooded the inside of her eye lids. Everything was alright. "Fuck, I'm late again for breakfast. Mom is waiting," hissed without self-control over her lips. ----- "Oh sweet child, you look amazing in a suit," exclaimed Mandy's mother. She stood in the warm-yellow sun flooded kitchen behind the counter island. Her feet were bare with a golden Hindu toe ring and ankle bracelet with many tiny symbols hanging off of it. Her long, stalky legs were in a black yoga pant. The wife beater top showed ample loose skin and son spots from her age. Yet her eyes still had the blue sparkle and enthusiasm of a hippie. "I feel so awkward in a suit. The material is so stiff. No, it's not stiff. It simply molds me into something else with the padded shoulders and all. I dreamed again about losing my clothes." "Honey, losing your clothes in a dream means that you feel unprepared. It's only natural that you feel that way. You are stepping out into the grown up world." "I don't know how my friends do it. They all have signed contracts already and talk about their new bosses. I keep going to the employment office every day and nothing." "It hurts me to see you struggle. Why don't you get a husband? That's what I did it. Imagine, I wouldn't have stayed home to play in the park with you every day, when you were a little girl. Oh, you always liked weaving head dresses out of wild flowers. I wouldn't have wanted to miss that for anything. What about that boy? Sam was his name. He was a very nice young man." "Mom," sniffed Many and dug her spoon deep into the cereal bowl with the red wheat circle swimming in the white milk among red dots of dried fruit pieces. The toes of her bare feet were uneasily following the grooves in the bar stool that she was sitting on, while leaning her elbows onto the kitchen center aisle. "Don't huff me, Misses!" "Mom, the world has changed. Kristie is going to design malls all over the country. Lynn is going to counsel inner city kids. She is going to keep hundreds of juveniles from going to prison. That means something. And Sam is a mouth breather and buzz kill, who goes to church on Sundays." "Church is about love and helping people. You could need a little more of that." "Church is about repression and hate against the LGBT community." "You know that's not true." "I'm just so nervous about the interview today. I don't know what is coming over me." They both looked at the TV humming in the background. A blond woman in super high red high heels was eagerly nodding, while a chubby, old man in a suit talked. She held an umbrella over both of them, because it was raining heavily in the financial district in Manhattan. The microphone had a clear plastic bag pulled over, which look funny almost like a condom. "The third bank has declared bankruptcy due to the spreading mortgage crisis. We have confirmed with our sources in several trading offices that liquidity has dried up completely. Panic is rampant. Anyone who can call in debt has called in debt. Projections are painting a terrifying picture for homeowners. Millions of home owners will lose their house within the next six months." Mandy's mother turned off the TV. "We have another month before daddy's money runs out. You go get a job and save this house." With a painfully sad face, Mandy put the spoon into the empty bowl. She pulled the brand new folder with her resume of the table. She slipped her freshly washed feed into the sparkling new high heels with the point toes. She pushed the fabric flat on her tight, knee length gray business skirt. The tight skirt made her put her feet more pronounced in front of each other. There was not enough gait to make full steps. The white blouse sparkled in between the gray, sharp jacket. "That ass looks so tight in that little skirt," gushed her mom with glee, "I just want to grab it. Go catch a good husband with that." "Mom, I know that you are all comfortable with your yoga and hippie friends and all. It's not right that you stare at my ass that way." Mom laughed friendly at the stern, tense face of her daughter and waved her to "kill it" at the interview. ----- "Your student ID is expired. That'll be 75 cents fare," said the bus driver in the blue pants with black stripes, light blue collar shirt, and dark blue vest. He tipped his black hat friendly. A line of five people eager to get to work pushed closer to Mandy. Unable to get into the bus, they were shifting from foot to foot. Mandy held out a dollar bill. Her bright red painted lips were gaping open in confusion. Her brown eyes looked dramatic with the sharp black mascara outlines. The brunette hair was neatly combed back held in place by gel with not a single stray or fuzzy strand of hair. "The machine won't give you change if you put a whole dollar in," said the bus driver sternly, scanning the traffic ahead and moving his leather gloves hands across the large steering wheel. "What the fuck! You have a quarter right there." "Ma'am, it's city policy." "I ain't overpaying you." "Pay or step off." "What the fuck! You are rude. I want to talk to your supervisor!" "Step off woman," the bus driver grew tense worrying about his schedule. All eyes in the bus were on her. The woman with the five bags around her feet leaned around the vertical handle bar to see better. Mandy crossed her arms. "You gotta be kidding me!" A neatly dressed business man with a suit case stepped forward, while folding a leather wallet open that had leather so smooth that it must have cost a fortune. "A pretty lady like you shouldn't have to pay for bus far," he said with a smile and fed the machine with the dollar bill. "Thank you," said Many with her nose raised high and walked past the men to the middle of the bus. A retired man with a worn shirt, suspenders, and black hat got off his seat and pointed at it for Mandy to sit down. She ignored the man and held onto the handle bar in the center swiveling part of the bus. A middle aged woman with a big belly and faded track suit leaned to Mandy, "take the seat. He got up for you." She smiled friendly, as if she was making Mandy a gift by pointing out something that Mandy had overseen. "Ugh, I won't sit where that creep has been sitting." Everyone had boarded. The bus moved on with a little jerk as the second gear loaded in. She had to hold tight to the handle bar. With her hand holding on, her whole body pivoted a bit around the hand, because she stood unsure in the interview high heels, which she had traded in for her Havaianas flip flops -- those snake skin patterned things with bright pink straps to show off her blue and black toe nail paint. "You look very pretty," said the woman in the race track suit trying to charm her. The gold necklace looked tacky around her throat. "Yeah," hollered one of the three Latino boys in the back of the bus, "you are really pretty." He mocked her in his Latin accent. "Shorty, what's your number? I wanna take you on a date with flowers'n'shit. You know real nice." She ignored them. Once she had flipped a group like those off. That had only encouraged them even more. A guy in his early thirties with a Hilfiger jacket and Dr Dre headphones was watching her boobs continuously. His face looked relaxed and somewhat in a trance. His music blew the bass of club tunes softly in her direction. A woman with braces hit her boyfriend on the arm with a slap, presumably to make him stop staring at Mandy. Welcome to the zoo of the bus. ----- With her head held high, shoulders back, ass clenched, knees long, Mandy strutted out of the elevator in a beeline toward the worn sign-in desk of her community colleges career center. There were palm trees trying to stay alive in a room without windows among the simple metal chairs with the thin, brown upholstery. There were ample of seats. Big framed white sheets with signatures of successful alumni decorated the wall. All the other students, tension immediately infected her. Their faces were estranged staring ahead. A few fingers turned uncomfortable circles around the screws in a chair. Other fingers were pressed flat by a pair of thighs to keep them from fingering around. Everyone was pale and breathing short, little breaths. People sat artificially upright. Ankles were either hidden under the chair out of fear or crossed for self-comforting. Mandy's hand was shaking, when she held out her driver license on the desk. She put the wrist on the table to make it less obvious. She had big wide open eyes on her driver license. It always gave her a pang in her stomach to see that image. The license read in small, clear type: 5'5", 110 lbs., brown eyes, brown hair, 21 years old, lives in Portland Oregon. The career counselor was dressed in a sharp business suit. The glasses alone spoke of authority. Mandy could not believe how the neat, skinny, elegant frame could instill so much authority. The glasses band that went behind her head had seemed so silly on everyone else. On the career counselor, it marked her as from another class, a class of people that works with papers that accepts glass bands, and has no clue about what music or nail polish is cool. Basically, Mandy knew nothing about that world, yet had to get accepted into it. "I have two interviews for you today. The first one is an assistant teacher job for an elementary school. The second one is an office assistant for Logistics International. You are up in 10. Please, have a seat." Mandy's heart was beating hard. She felt like she had to take a little sip of air with each beat, because it was so intense. Her ears were pounding with each pulse beat. Sweat was forming around her ears. The mind blanked. Whatever she looked at seemed to be swimming. A sole thought appeared in her head: "You have been standing here for a while. They expect you to move." She took a few steps. Her ankle bent over, because her foot had missed the center of the high heel. It hurt like hell. She had to hide the pain on her face. She had to move. Nobody was really looking at her. They were all in their own world of terror. "Cock, I need a cock. A fucking cock to fill my pussy. A young man's smooth penis 's base pressing against my clitoris as it slips in all the way." Mandy staggered to the college restroom. There was a row of four stalls. The sinks were bare. Paper towel dispensers were ransacked with a few scraps of paper having getting stuck at the outlet of the dispenser. The blue baby blue tiles looked sterile. She opened the first stall. The door felt flimsy in her hand. The whole row of stalls rattled with the door swinging open. The joints among the stall panels were flimsy and had big gaps. She rode the gray pencil skirt high to reveal the classy white panty. She slipped the small white crotch rocket vibrator out of her black purse. She placed the purse on the floor. She sat down, slouching forward as far as she could in the round seat with profanity scratched into it. The white vibrator was poised at the tip of her entrance. She pushed it in. It was a little rough, because her skin was dry. With the last bit sticking out, she turned it on. The unmistaken vibrator sound echoed audible through the restroom. She quickly pushed it all the way into her womb. She crossed the legs tightly. The muffled vibration was still audible and even more indicting. A girl outside stopped moving to listen. Mandy clenched her thighs as hard together as she could. The sound completely disappeared, a trick that she had learned. However, with all the hard tension, the vibrations travelled far. The vibrations rattled her skeleton up to the collar bone. Her entire belly was vibrating on the inside. She closed her eyes knowing that she could not move her legs or the sound would pour out again, knowing that she could not touch herself with her hands, because the thighs covered all, knowing all that she had to surrender to let the crotch rocket take her. So, she thought about a young man in a shower in a little beach hut on a tropical island with pure blue water and warm sand outside. They were inside with a primitive, tropical shower. He had pinned her against the shower wall. His pelvis was pounding her against the wall. Her feet were wrapped around his hips and crossed at the ankle. She'd feel the water running down her face and over her open mouth. His muscular chest would press against her boobs. The fullness of his cock was stretching her out all the way, throbbing against her cervix. He nailed her harder and harder. In the real world, she clenched her thighs harder and harder. The pressure was getting her to the spot, where the orgasm took over. All the feelings of relaxation and feeling good were overriding her anxiety. She was relieved. She felt good. She felt happy. She was self-medicating the most potent anti-anxiety drug. She imagined the young man's semen shooting into the depth of her belly in spurts, filling her up, filling her up with a glow. She felt so good about making him hard, about feeling the intensity in him. He'd softly kiss her lips. Then, she lost herself in the feeling of warm water running over her, while she came down from her quickie orgasm. Mandy in Dubai She had to do the same quickie routine to open her legs, let the vibrator sound feel the room, swiftly fish the thing out of her pussy with long fingers, and turn it off as fast as possible. It was too fast to tell the difference between a vibrating iPhone and a vibrator, or so she hoped. She got out of the stall, washed her hands, and faced the mirror for a pensive moment. That was the only moment that she had to think. The day before and after all went in a blur. In that moment, she noticed that she had to buy more foundation makeup. She was nearly out of it. With a loud snap, she clipped her purse shut and strutted out of the restroom. The sex hormones were still pumping her and calming her down. She felt excited as if she went on a vacation, yet no longer nervous. The career counselor pointed her to go to door 101b. She opened the door. She smiled like the headlights of a beetle Volkswagen in a dark forest. A tall, slender man with neatly groomed three millimeter thick beard and equally short trimmed head hair looked down at her through trendy Gucci glasses. "Hi, I'm Bernd from the city elementary school. Please, have a seat. We are interviewing for an assistant biology teacher position. Because we have a lot of applicants, we are starting with a speed round of three questions and ten minutes. Are you ready?" "Absolutely," she said crossing her legs and leaning eagerly forward. "Why did you decide to become a teacher?" Mandy starred at the ceiling with a surprised face. "Ugh, I guess, I didn't really think about it. The career counselor told me to get in here. I need to get a job to help my mom pay the mortgage. Ugh, let me think. I like kids. I'm really good at biology. Camels have a fake toe. I remember that." "Fair enough," said the man leaning back in the chair. Without his body hiding the window, the sun fully glared into Mandy's eyes. The interview rooms were set up to make sure that the candidate faced the outside light. Mandy's seat was a crappy wood thing that was pretty low. Bernd's chair had reach leather, deep cushions, and a setting to let it recline comfortably far back. Mandy eyes the nuclear bright, super artificial candy in the corner that the school had put there for interviewers to hand out. "What would you do if the students refused to read the text book?" "Why would they do that? They should know that they have to do what I say. I'm the teacher. I would tell them really firmly. See I'll do my authority voice: 'Read the book now.'" Bernd hid a smirk and turned to face out of the window. Desperation was growing over Mandy. Why was he asking all of these weird questions? She knew things about biology. He should be asking her about the organs of a toad or something. "Okay, final question: If a student came to you and said 'None of the other students like me.' What would you do?" "Oh, I got that one," Mandy gleamed bright and confident. She sat up a little higher. Her breasts pushed out a little more. Bernd turned around curious, surprised, and with sudden admiration. "That one is totally up my alley." Bernd leaned forward curious and with a bright face. "I would say, 'you so need a makeover!' I had a friend of mine that had that problem was well. She had these ugly ass clothes. She was fat. Her taste in music was horrible. She'd always say these stupid things. So, we took her shopping. We took her to yoga class. We took away her breakfast sandwiches. After three hard months, she was one of the cool kids. She even got banged by the quarterback. Oops, I guess I shouldn't have said the last thing. But yeah, I'm a total pro in makeovers." Bernd sat there with his mouth gaping open staring. He was probably trying to figure out what to say without risking a harassment lawsuit. "Impressive. Real impressive. We'll let you know in about a week. Could you let the next candidate in." -------------- An hour later, Mandy entered another one of those interview rooms. Another door handle to push down only to reveal a cramped little room. It wasn't even the furniture that crowded the room. It was the intense dead air in between sentences, every word of hers measured on a gold scale, and every verdict bestowed on her being final. The big high heels always made her take pronounced steps. Her body uneasy about the room cautiously followed her big high heels stepping ahead. A tall mean leaned way back in the leather chair. His face was lightly brown, Middle Eastern. The mustache between his mouth and nose was finely combed to make Hitler proud. A thousand tiny beard hairs were perfectly island and glossed in the light. The hair was equally carefully groomed to stand up like a puff of fine flour powder in the air. The brown eyes of the man proudly enjoyed her eyes wandering over her, inspecting him. A little smirk played around his thin lips. She did follow his lead and look at his body, a black, high end suit jacket with the red store label still left on: With one expensive looking single thread, the label was sewed on to the pocket of the suit: Armani. The chest was revealed by the suit: a t-shirt with bright green and yellow prints. The fabric was smooth and almost liquid, some kind of specialty fabric. A thick gold necklace rested on top of the t-shirt. Evidently, the gold smith had tried to solve the problem of adding the maximum of gold to the chain without making it a gold bar. His fingers tapped the desk to signal that it was time to admire his hands, where he was holding a gold pen. There was a still life composed of Gucci sun glasses with black, reflective glass, a Porsche car key, and a business card on a velvet handkerchief: Ahmad from Logistics International, United Arab Emirates. Mandy too in the whole scene and inhaled. She almost coughed, because her pharynx instinctively constricted to protect the lungs from the copious amount of alcohol that had evaporated into the air from his overdose of perfume. "Have a seat, lady!" he said waving his hand palm up into her direction. She followed and carefully tugged her knees together because of the pencil business skirt. "My name is Mandy." "Ahmad, I love America! You have all the good stuff here. Have you ever heard of the United Arab Emirates?" "Yes. My mother loved travelling. She taught me a lot about geography." "Very well. We are a small country in the Middle East. In contrast to our oil rich neighbors, we are trying to build an economy based on services. We hire talent, like yourself, from countries all over the world. Logistics International is in need of an office assistant. The position is in Dubai." "Hold on, I know what you are going to say. Yes, there are some cultural adjustments. That's why we are paying you triple what you could earn here. We'll give you $30,000 as a starting bonus." "What kind of cultural adjustments are you talking about?" "Well, you'd have to dress a little more conservatively. It's a good thing. We are not talking a full face mask. Arab men are much more respectful of women than here. They won't harass you and rape you with their eyes. They don't want to see your boobs hanging out like a slut. They want to see you with respect. You don't need to wear traditional Arab clothing. Simply leave the slutty clothes at home. Wear what your mother would like you to wear." "Okay." "Would you have a need for $30,000, by chance?" "Well, now that you are asking, my mother is facing foreclosure. That money would let her stay in her house." "Perfect," said Ahmad with a big smile. While still leaning back in the arm chair, he swung his left hand down to the komodo dragon leather briefcase handle, while making sure that his Rolex gold watch would slip out from under his business suit sleeve. The briefcase accidently slipped open. A Playboy magazine slipped out with its glossy paper making it slide across the floor, pages flipping open, exposing the centerfold: A long legged, bronze tanned beauty reclining on top of a black Harley Davidson. Her naked body was covered with black mechanic grease. One hand played with her breasts. The other inserted a wrench into her orifice. Full, glossy, red lips languishingly gazed into Mandy's eyes. The image only lingered for a second before Italian leather slippers dragged the pages under the table, yet not until flipping open another page with a young woman in school girl uniform licking a lollypop and a speech bubbling saying: "I'll be your afterschool special." A loud smack shook Mandy out of the moment. A stack of $30,000 in $20 bills was slammed onto the table. Her eyes focused on the band holding the bills together. It was green and carefully printed with serial numbers. She had never seen an actual stack of money before in her life. "The plane leaves tomorrow morning. Here is the ticket. Don't worry about a visa. Simply take my business card. Show it to the customs official. They will walk you past immigration. I have connections. Here, take another of my business cards. They are essentially get-out-of-jail-free cards in Dubai." A minute later, Mandy was standing outside the closed door, clutching the bundle of money in her hand that was barely large enough. The plane ticket stuck out of her suits breast pocket, where he had stuffed it. Her stomach was shaking and felt empty like after a punch. She had been so used to the rhythm of getting up and languishing at the career center every day. And now, out of nowhere, everything was going to change: her clothes, her country, and her job. Her knees felt wobbly. She was afraid to make a step, the fear of the unknown made her freeze outside of that door. -------------------------------------- Time of day was a blurry concept. The Emirates Airline's plane inside was constantly at the same dim, yellowish lighting. Outside, the light and clouds changed as they passed through time zone after time zone. Should Mandy count time as eight hours since leaving the American airport or the eight hours left to reach Dubai? The Emirates ultra long-haul flights are legendary marvels of aviation prowess. They are also legendary doldrums of boredom. The red highlights on the pillows, peanut bags, stewardess dress, and everywhere was etched into her mind. Red, that particular kind of dark, luxurious, innocent red, was the logo color of the Emirates airline and diligently embedded into every little thing. Even the wooden tooth picks had a little red mark of the perfectly accurate hue of red. Even a screaming child would have been a welcome diversion from her eyes following from one seat to the next until she reached the end of rows and started over back at the front. The seats were completely empty in this massive four jet engine and 10 seats per row aircraft. When she boarded the flight, there were five other passengers that were somewhere spread out in the giant inside cavern of the plane. She hadn't seen them ever since. "Why is the plane so empty?" Mandy waved at the stewardess passing. The stewardess was tall with thick raven black hair. Her face was blemish free and perfect. A thick red lip stick was smeared across her lips. There was nothing sexy about her, yet her flawlessness made her attractive. She was wearing long gray pants that looked expertly tailored yet looked very bland as well. They weren't curved around her hips. They looked like straight tubes. She also wore plain flats, expensive ones, instead of high heels. The stewardess sat down on the empty seat far on the other side from Mandy's window seat, the center seat in between. The stewardess had a lot of poise. Her hands were carefully placed inside of each other on top of her knees, which were perfectly pressed together. Her only flair piece was a scarf that covered her entire neck and had a flamboyant not that made the scarf ends stand stiffly up into the air. The stewardess herself had evidently been bored. She sat down with a look on her face that she was ready for a little, polite conversation for five minutes. "You should see the flights in the other direction. They are packed to the brim with not a single empty seat. It is such a chaos. People are trying to take as many belongings with them as possible. There are backpacks and plastic bags stuffed everywhere, under seats and on laps. Some people even sit on their carry on." "That seems very strange." "You haven't followed the news, have you? With the housing crash and financial meltdown, the United Arab Emirates are on the fringe. They financed everything with loans from the oil rich countries. Those loans are being called in. Their economy is cratering. If I may ask, why are you travelling there? Do you have a husband calling you home?" "No, I'm starting my first job there. I'll be an office assistant." "That makes sense. They hired a lot of foreigners, because they don't have locally skilled workers. Most of the foreigners have left. That must mean that they are desperate to fill the positions. You probably got a nice sign-on bonus." "Yes, I did. All of this is so foreign. Is it dangerous?" "Oh, no honey. Arab men are very respectful. You have probably been brain washed about Islam as well. In the Western media, they portray us as repressive people with suicide bomb vests and retards that stone TV sets. You will learn that is very far from the truth. Did you know that Islam is translated as 'peace?'" "I did not know that." "The noble Qur'an is a collection of wisdom on how to leave peaceful lives. There are guiding principles that we can all live together in peace. In Western action movies, people will say 'let's do Allah's will' and they blow up a market. When someone in Dubai says, 'let's do Alah's will,' he is seriously pondering what the best outcome for everyone would be. The teachings of Allah tell us how to live in peace. It's hard to explain in words. However, once you lived in a Muslim household, there is a sense of peace and harmony that you experienced that will change you profoundly? I was born a Christian." The stewardess leaned forward to pat Mandy on the knee with a big smile that said, "You'll have a wonderful time. I'm really glad to share how beautiful our world is with you." Then, the stewardess walked off, every preserving a polite distance of not getting too close and chatting too long. And the doldrums of boredom tormented Mandy again. She couldn't stand watching the TV display in the backrest of the seat in front of her. It showed a dreamy, tropical beach over and over with the Emirates logo titillating the viewer to buy a flight to reach it. Her whole body was filled with itchy pins and needles. She had been sitting too long. Her legs had become puffy. Her face felt dry. Her fingers had pooled with water and become thicker. Uneasy, she shifted in the seat. The water bottle was in the way. She stuffed it in between her thighs, so that she could pull her feet onto the chair. And there it happened. The water bottle between her thighs made her clench her thighs. And somehow that stimulated her erogenous zones. She squeezed the bottle again. The air was pressed hard against the top of the bottle and made all the dents pop out. There was an erotic tingle in her thighs, whenever she pressed her thighs together. In her stealthy way, she stimulated herself thinking herself save. Yet, the stimulation sent her down the slippery path, where she needed more. She lifted the bottle and pressed it back down between her thighs hoping that the bottom would touch her pussy. Putting a bottle seemed innocent. However, she was sitting to up straight. Her pussy was underneath her. She could not reach it from the front. She slouched her butt forward, pretended to move the airplane magazine around in the pouch to give her an excuse to raise the bottle again and push it down. Damn, the bottle bottom was so titillating close to where she needed to feel something right now. She threw caution to the wind and covered her lap with a blanket with that red Emirates logo. Her eyes looked a little wicked as they were thrown into conflict between being intensely focused and trying to pretend boredom and naptime. Her right hand reached under the blanket and down her skirt. The fingertips followed her delicate belly skin under the taught skin fabric and down beneath the upper band of her panties. There she found it, the heaven of slippery wet pussy, delicate mucous membrane skin, and the world of delicate vaginal folds. It was her private peace of heaven in the middle of this super public place. The stewardess would be another half hour before she came back. There was nobody around .The fingers felt like delicious heaven. Her sight became hazy and out of focus. She could not close her eyes. She had to keep watch, while her focus turned inward, deeply inside of her own body. Her fingers were flicking over her mound and clit swift as the wind, swiping back and force like an earthquake. Just the right pressure on each stroke sent pleasure dragon flies swirling through her mind. Every stroke was another pleasure dragon fly dancing in her head. Until there was so many of them dancing in her head that her mouth dropped open with a soft inhale. And she had to bite her lip hard to keep her mouth shut and from moaning out loud. The pussy liquid was covering her fingers. She smeared the pussy liquid all over her mound and inside thighs. She relished the wetness on her fingers, not thinking about how to clean her hands later or how indicting the reach smell was. Single mindedly, she was chasing the perfect way to get the strokes right to set yet another pleasure dragon fly free and buzzing through her body. All the boredom of hours on an empty plane unleashed into intense engagement with her pussy. Being past the point of no return, she furious rubbed her pussy. The blanket wasn't hiding anything anymore. If the stewardess would have showed up now, she would have been unable to stop. Control was completely lost to the reptilian, primitive part of her brain. And then it popped. All she could do was push her hand down onto her mound with all the power that she had, her little biceps bulging. She was holding on, while pleasure tremors chased through her body. Forgetting her soaked hand buried in her pussy lips, she fell into an instant post-coital slumber. Her young lips softly opened and closed, while she chewed the air. Complete, peaceful, and deep sleep had her comforting herself and snuggling into the seat. The warm fuzzy feelings quickly gave rise to a dream. She found herself at a beach with her friends during a nighttime bonfire. She tried to figure out what they were doing. They were raising bottles and cheering. She cheered as well. There was some kind of game going on. She had to walk closer to the fire to see what game they were playing. Suddenly out of nowhere, her bikini bottoms were gone. They had been there just a minute ago. Her hands over her crotch, everyone kept partying on, like they didn't notice it. Her backpack was somewhere behind the cooler. She remembered a pair of jeans in it. She found the pair of jeans and pulled them on. As she slipped in, her t-shirt and bikini top disappeared. Everyone around her parties on without paying attention. She started panicking. Her t-shirt had to be somewhere. She searched through the sand and friends jumping and dancing around her. Her jeans were now gone as well. She found some boots. She took those on. There was the bonfire around her. There were beer bottles. Guys were showing their chiseled chests. Girls were wearing their sexy bikinis. The bonfire reflected in their eyes. Her clothes kept disappear as she frantically replaced one piece at a time. And then a camel disappeared out of nowhere, walking on in a straight line. She realized that she was not at the beach at home. She was on the beach in the United Arab Emirates. That's why there was a camel at the beach. Mandy in Dubai The camel with its big rump, oversized lip, and floppy hump walked closer and closer to her. She started panicking. The camel touched her shoulder with its lips. She remembered that camels kill by grinding people to death. They camel will sit on the person and grind with its weight on the person until it is dead. In self-defense, Mandy screamed with all her might at the camel. The camel fell over onto its side stiff. She remembered that cow tipping can give cows a lethal heart attack. The party around her stopped. The music stopped. The bonfire was gone. All of her friends stared at her, the eyes accusing her of murdering the camel. In terror about the ostracizing, she walked closer to the camel to bend over. When she could almost see if the camel was still breathing or not, she was an arm's length away. The camel head raised. It jumped onto its feet. Its teeth, the dirty, yellow grinding teeth, bared themselves to threaten her with deadly anger. She knew that the camel would not stop until she was dead. In mortal fear, she ran as fast as she could. The soft, deep sand was slowing her down. Ah, there up front was the black entrance into an Egyptian tomb. She ran into it. The camel was close behind her. She took hard turns into hallways left and right in the tomb. She shook off the camel. She could hear the camel walking nearby. However, there were a few turns between them. She barely moved, pressing herself against the wall, stifling her breathing to be almost soundless. She begged, "I hope that camels cannot smell like dogs, or it will be able to smell me out." With a jerk, she awoke from her dream. She was still on the airplane. Black nightfall was outside. Her hand was still buried under her skirt on her crotch. Her juices had dried on her skin and hand. The dried juices had become a thin, dry layer that pulled on the skin. She could smell her own pussy. The musky aroma was wafted through the air to form a bubble around her. She needed to clean up. It had only been a dream. She had dreams of losing her clothes all her life. Her mother had explained that losing clothes in the dream meant feeling unprepared. She certainly felt unprepared for Dubai, not even knowing what it was she was not prepared for. -------------------------------- The next day, she made her first step into the new office in Dubai. The sun was headache inducing blind even inside limited to the two windows. Her Portland eyes were not used to it. A white window air conditioner with black grills rattled in the far window. Blue plastic bands fluttered in the airstream. The ceiling had cheap office tiles that were suspended from the ceiling. They looked dusty and old. The sole furniture on the room was foldout tables and foldout chairs. There were seven desks. Five of them had computers. Three of them had people. In the far end was an old man with salt-and-pepper beard and traditional white Arab dress. His chair was all the way in the corner, so that he leaned against the wall. He was too far from the desk to work. That was Aban. In the middle of the room was a muscular Indian man in modern slacks and a collar shirt. His hair was curly with a beautiful shine from the product he used. He had an air of sexy, the way that he put a pencil behind his ear. He confidently typed away on the keyboard with the sleeves rolled up. That was Raam. At the front of the room was a round ball of a woman. Not only was she chubby, she was also dressed into multiple layers of sari wrapped around her to make her look like a Band-Aid ball. She had a red Hindu dot in between her eye brows. Her eye brows were so bushy that a beat would have slowly slunk away in shame. She smiled a warm smile and waved at Mandy. That was Lalana. "Just because I don't know what an iPhone is doesn't make you the boss. I'm still the boss. And I will be long before you are gone, Raam. Never forget that you are the hired help!" said Aban, the old man bitterly in the corner. "Aban, I don't mean to argue. I need your signature to send the cell phones to the sales team," Raam pleaded with a big friendly smile. "You and your procedures. I don't need a Harvard degree. In the old times, we spit on the hand and that sealed it." Aban spit in his hand and circled his flat hands against each other. His hands were skinny, old, dry, and hard. "Hi, I'm Mandy. I'm the new office assistant. The taxi dropped me off here," she said weakly waving her hand next to her head. Lalana smiled warmly and reached her arms out wide like a mom would welcome a daughter: "I'm Lalana. Don't mind those guys arguing. They do that all day. Pick any desk you want." Mandy carefully eyed around, observing the coffee spill on one desk, the leftover papers on another. Facing the window might be bad. Having Abam see her screen might also be bad. She stood in the doorway pondering. She was wearing a colorful full length dress. Her hair was stuffed under a baseball cap. She figured that a baseball cap was a compromise between bearing her hair and wearing a traditional head covering. "Wow, when are the other people arriving?" "What?" "There is space for five more people. When are they arriving?" "Oh, no, sweetie. The people behind those desks have left. The UAE has a debtor prison. If you don't pay your loan back, you go to prison. With the financial collapse, banks called in all their outstanding loans. Most foreigners left the country before the bank could serve them a notice. Me, I don't have any debt. I live responsibly. I have nothing to worry about." Mandy felt a little pang in her stomach. The omens of this place were not good. She wanted the money. Uncertainty was crawling through her bones. Her face turned a little paler. The bright sun had painted her face paler than it usually appeared. And among these dark skinned people, she was the whitest person regardless of her only average white complexion. She sat down on the desk next to Lalama. She pushed the button on her black Dell desktop. The familiar, finally something familiar, BIOS and windows screen came on. They were still on Windows Vista despite the rest of the world having moved on to Windows 8. She snickered a little bit, feeling superior. There wasn't even a password to log in. She clicked through the file explorer to examine the network. Everything was unprotected and open to her. She found the file with everyone's salary. She could have given herself a raise on the spot. She pinched her lips together and quickly closed the Excel spreadsheet. "Raam, you have to buy Mandy a hijab," said Abam from the back of the room. "With the foreigners leaving, women have to dress properly again. The morale police are again enforcing morality in the streets. Take her to my tailor. He makes a good hijab." "Of course, Abam." The Indian man stood up. Standing tall, his muscular strength was evident. He must have worked out in the gym a lot. The white collar shirt was exquisitely pressed flat. The folds and draping appeared very luxuriously. He grabbed the BWM car keys with the thick black plastic eight ball on the chain and tossed it to Mandy. Startled for a moment, she quickly reached her hands to catch it midair. "Have you ever driven a 7 series?" "Raam, women should not drive cars." "Of course not, Abam." Raam took the car keys back and walked out of the door. Mandy bent a little forward like a helpless girl, when she had to hurry to catch up with Raam down the bare concrete stair well without windows and only a metal railing. The white 7 series BMW was a convertible. The seat was humongous. Mandy felt lost siting in it. The leather burned against her skin, because the sun had super-heated it. Raam's face was covered with large fully mirrored glasses. The streets were a mad mix of ulta-poor farmers in old beater Kia's and Ferraris fresh out of the show room pushing into traffic. There was a contrast of pedestrians in conservative, traditional pants and collar shirts and a small number pedestrians in Western style fashion. Mandy leaned her head back to look at the wide open lightly blue sky, the ever bright sun was completely unlike Portland. She let the air flow over her face and play with the tussles of her hair that had fallen out of her baseball cap. She looked at Raam. There was a kind of cool confidence and masculine sexiness about him that made her feel happy and comfortable in his presence. "So, what's your story, Mandy?" "Well, I finished community college. They offered me this job. And I took it." "I got an MBA at Harvard, $200K in student debt. This is the fastest way to pay it off." "Aren't you afraid about debt like the other people?" "As long as you keep paying the interest, you are fine. However, if I can tell you the truth. If I needn't be here, I'd leave. There is nothing left here. When I started Abam was afraid of foreigners. He feared them being smarter than him. Now with the religious taking more control each day, he feels emboldened. He's nothing but a grumpy old man." "Oh, I know this area. This is where the airport is!" "Yeah, the tailor is close by the airport." Abam drove the car into a seven level high parking structure. He spiraled the car higher and higher. The upper structures had more desert sand collected. The sand would pool in the dead spots of the wind behind pillars and walls. Finally, at the top most level, Abam drove the clean, polished BMW out into the sun. The desert and ocean were visible from the vantage point. The place had a foreign mystique that made Mandy excited. The walk in the heat and gleaming sun was heavy. Mandy looked forward to the darkness and air conditioning of the elevator, when a black Jaguar cut them off. The Jaguar blocked their path like in an action movie. Abam instinctively pushed Mandy behind his big body. She instinctively hugged him from behind like a little girl, pressing her body tightly against his butt and big back. The driver door opened. Abam stepped out and starred Raam in the face with anger: "I knew it. I knew that you were going to run away to the airport. I could feel it how you waited for me to send you on an errand to sneak away." "Look, Abam. I'm nothing to you. I'm only a stupid foreigner that comes and goes. Here, take my BMW." He tossed the BMW keys over the Jaguar. "Here are $10,000 cash." He pulled a bundle of American bills out of his back pocket and tossed it over the Jaguar. "Here are my house keys. Take anything. There is a big screen TV." He tossed his house keys across the Jaguar. "I have a wife and daughter back in India. Please, let me go back to them." "Raam, you know that you have debt. You can't leave the country without paying it back. I only need to make one call and you are in prison." Abam held up an old flip phone. "What else do you have?" "That's it. Please, Raam." "You need to give me the value of your loan. Period." "Here take Mandy as a slave. She owes $30K. She has to earn her sign-on bonus back first. According to Arab law, you can take slaves." "Interesting, I need someone to cook. Mandy, is it true that you were given $30K in exchange for the promise of working." "Yes." "Well, it seems that if you can't pay that money back now, you are his to give to me as a slave. Can you pay the money back now?" "No, my mom used it to pay the mortgage." "Go, Raam, before I change my mind." The Indian man ran with the speed of a cricket player. He disappeared into the staircase. And with him, the Western world left Mandy in the clutches of the old Arab man. The old Arab man bent over with effort to collect the keys and dollar bundle. His black traditional robe was fluttering in the breeze the came from the ocean and was blowing above the buildings. "Get in the car." Mandy grabbed the passenger door handle. The metal felt smooth and freshly cleaned. "No, women sit in the back." So, she had to sit in the back. She could only see his hands with the age freckles turning the steering wheel through the tight corners of the parking structure. He said nothing. She saw the other luxury cars sprinkled in the parking structure on the way down. Some had left their doors even open in the haste of leaving the country. The tailor was indeed near the airport. The entrance door had a mechanical bell above the door. The sales room had photos of men in suits on the wall with signatures. There was a little platform in the center of the room. There were no racks of clothing. Apparently, everything was custom tailored. A man with a white dress and red headdress entered the show room. Abam and the man hugged each other warmly. "She needs to be dressed properly." "Of course my friend." With a finger snap, two women with black dresses and hijab entered the room. They took Mandy's hand silently and guided her through a curtain into a side room. She heard someone requesting tea to be brought to Abam. "Take your clothes off. We have the finest dresses here." There was no changing room. The room was barren. There was a simply, short carpet. They waved for her, because she was pausing. She pulled the dress overhead. Being in her underwear in the big room with the fully dressed women made her uncomfortable. With eager nods, they raised their hands to motivate her to keep going. She undid her bra. Her amble breasts fell out freely. She pulled her panties down. They even took her shoes. Being completely naked, she could hear the old man talking in the room that was merely separated by a curtain slightly swinging from the air stream. The women returned with plain grand ma panties and a big, white bra. The fabric felt foreign on her body. There was so much coverage. She felt like it made her another person. It was like the pep was stolen from her personality. They showed her how to wrap a dress around her body. They put a hijab on her head. All Mandy could do was giggle nervously. They threw her clothing in the trash the transformation was complete. Mandy felt helpless to submit to the process. After going along, it became hard to fight against it as well. So, when the women took her purse and studied it, she did not resist. With passive eyes, she watched them take her password and walk out to Abam with it. Then, her white pocket rocket vibrator was discovered with much horror. The tailor placed his hands on Abam's shoulders lots of times, presumably to assure him that the pocket rocket would disappear and never be found again. They acted as if it were a hot gun. --------------------------------- The days grew a predictable pattern. Abam had given Sandy an empty room with a mattress in the corner. The house was an hour into the desert. It was white washed brick. There was a basic shower and rough, thin towels. They'd eat rice and lamb. During the day, she made photocopies in the office. It was evident that Abam was very clueless in the office. When his frustration reached a boiling point, he'd hit her face. There was a strange familiarity with the black and yellow spots on her face changing colors and slowly fading in the days after. The healing process for some reason made her feel better, as if there were hope for her situation to heal as well. Despite the non-sexually stimulating environment, Mandy had to masturbate every night. Some nights, she didn't even feel like it. Yet, she could not fall asleep without brushing her bean. She'd have to wait until Abam fell asleep, when she'd brush her bean and fall into immediate slumber right after. In the afternoon, they would go to the mosque for prayer. Her, as an infidel, had to wait outside. She'd stand around in the dust and extreme desert heat. The ocean of shoes left outside were her only company. They were dusty, mostly slippers. She'd stand there starring at the shoes, shifting from one leg to the other. When she spotted a shoe with a flair or a familiar Converse sneaker, she'd feel the kinship of another American even if it was only a shoe, not even a person. There was at least some anchor that connected her to home. One day, a blond young man of her age showed up. He had the purest blue eyes. His hair had a raggedy fashion cut. He was wearing jeans and a pop culture t-shirt. He had to stand outside with her. He stretched his arms over head and then leaned against the wall casually. "Are you a slave as well, because you have to stay outside?" Everyone had gone inside. They were alone in the dusty street. "No, I'm Muslim. They simply don't trust me." "Really? You were jeans." "It's not the jeans that make you a Muslim." He lifted his t-shirt to show his ripped abs and those pink nipples on his man chest. He shrugged like he didn't care. Having been depraved of boy for days, Mandy wanted to kiss and softly bite his abs. She wanted to run her hands through his ragged hair, taste his lips. He was a very sexy Swedish model. "You are 90% Muslim already." "I'm not Muslim." "Well, Islam includes the old testament. The whole creation and Abraham story are part of Muslim. Even Jesus is part of the faith. The only difference is that Islam simplified things. There is no weird three gods, but no there is a three leaved clover, and that's why three is one. Jesus wasn't god. He prayed to god. How could he be good? He was the messenger. However, his message of love is just as true in Islam as it is in Christianity." "Hm, I never thought about it like that." "You know nothing about Islam. You have been brainwashed by the Western media. Islam is a very loving, peaceful, and family-centric approach to life. There are one billion people on this planet that believe in it. It is the fastest growing religion, because it is easy and makes sense. It's been a gift that you came here to experience the truth about it. My name is Sven." "Why are you out here, when you are so convinced of it?" "Today, I'll convert to Islam. This will be the last day that I have to stay in the street like a dog. When they come out, I'll say my vows: 'There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.' That's all there is to converting to Islam. They will take me inside." "Where are you from, Sven?" "I'm from Sweden. Come let's pray together in the street. The morale police might come with their sticks and beat everyone not praying." Sven got on his knees to bow down. Mandy followed his example. She followed the rhythmic bowing of him. When she raised her head, she saw his taut butt that titillated her to grab. She saw his feet, such sweet feet. When she kissed the ground, she imagined herself in between his knees bowing to kiss his erect penis resting on his belly. With the skin dry from the desert air, the wetness on her vagina felt even more like a torrent. Everything was salacious about Sven, his ears, his elbows, his eyebrows. She desired to touch his body and ravish on him. The Imam yelled from the tower above them. The yelling came to an end. Sven and Mandy got up. People stirred inside and started coming out. They'd search for their abandoned shoes in the ocean of shoes. Sven stood tall in the stream of people leaving and yelled: "There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah." Three men came, patted him on the shoulder and pulled him inside of the mosque behind the closed doors. Feeling her heart breaking in loss, Mandy screamed out as well: "There is no good except Allah; Muhammad is the messenger of Allah." Women with a veil came and pulled her into the mosque. Only with a sad heart, she realized that the men and women were separated into different rooms. The veiled women chattered around her. There was a throng of people moving around her. She did not know what happened. Fifteen minutes later, she was back outside. Abam had a big smile on his face, when the Imam shook his hand and praised him. The imam was a tall man in a white flowing dress that stood a head above everyone else. Mandy in Dubai That night, she was lying on her mattress in the corner of the room with the moonlight lighting up her room. She felt restless. Her mind kept thinking about the day. She thought about her mother. She thought about how men were always trying to control her. She thought about how good her pussy would feel. And she was determined not masturbate anymore. She would be a good person from now on. She was aware of her breath going in and out. She hated that. She wanted to disappear into sleep. Instead, the sweat clung to her skin. Itches on her skin kept her scratching and moving around. She wanted the weight of a comforter on her to cuddle. It would have been too warm. All she wanted was to sleep. Yet, thoughts about her inability to get a real job in America and finding love in a Muslim family chased her. She remembered what hot boys smelled like in college. She must not masturbate. Eventually, she fell asleep. Relieved, she found herself walking through snow barefoot. The snow was deliciously cool. It wasn't freezing or painful. It felt wonderful on her bare legs. Her feet were sinking deeply into the snow. She looked up and saw that she was high up on a mountain in the Alps. The sun was warm and friendly. She felt such innocent joy running through the snow like a child. She looked up at the winter forest with the green pine trees up ahead. Adventure excitement filled her heart. And then a unicorn stepped out of the forest. It had gray fur and a long twisted horn. She could not believe that unicorns were real after she had believed all her life that unicorns did not exist. It was a lucid dream, where she thought the dream was reality. She ventured close to look where the horn was attached to the head. She looked at it in great detail to make sure that it wasn't a horse with a glued on horn. It was real. She touched the fur softly. It was real. Unicorns existed. She was ecstatic. The unicorn started running through the winter landscape up the moment. She ran with the unicorn stretching her arms out. She felt innocent and happy like she had been as a little girl. She knew that beyond the mountain forest was a restaurant near the peak of the mountain that would serve a hearty, nourishing meal. She ran excitedly looking at the trees and how the snow rested on every horizontal surface. Unicorns were real! There was a head on the ground! The brown faced head was eating the snow. There were more male heads eating snow. She was surrounded by man eating the snow. The joy of the dream vanished. "Stop it! Stop it!" She realized that it was Muhammad. Muhammad was eating away the innocence and purity of her dream. She struggled, tormented, and stricken like a caged animal. Yet, the Muhammads kept eating the pure, white snow. With shock, she woke up. Her body was still frozen from the dream. It was startling to be thrashing in the dream only to wake up realizing that her body didn't want to move. With the entire power of her intellect, she pulled her arms. They finally moved. She felt exhausted and terrified. Also, she deeply longed to re-discover that place of innocence in the mountains. --------------------------- For days, she tried not to masturbate. Trying to fall asleep was a torment. Every stick-like teased her to take it and put it in her pussy. Her desire for masculinity was so strong that she was even smelling Abam's sweaty shoes. It smelled like man. She constantly thought about man. She thought about the bus driver back home, that was chubby and barely moved. She fantasized about coming to the bus stop. Then, she'd unzip his pants. She'd straddle him. And she'd thrust her body on his dick, while he was turning that big ol' steering while driving through town. And she'd be fucking him, while they passed through all the familiar places. She'd stare into all the shocked and judgmental faces of middle aged women boarding the train. She was showing them how to have a good time, while the bus driver waved them absently to swipe their bus cards, because he was busy fucking her tight twat and driving a city bus. She had to pull herself back into the reality. She was back on that mattress in the corner. Abam had gone to sleep half hour ago. It was back the same time, when she used to masturbate. Maybe, she should flick her bean just one last time before an eternity of being a Muslim. She hadn't fully converted to being a Muslim, had she? Only one last time to say good bye. Her hand was quicker than her mind finding that slit of hers. The whole palm was flat over the mound. Her middle finger fingered for familiar places. Oh, the wonderful memory of how every inch on her outside felt so differently and unique. Her breathing quickened and deepened to a pressed hissing. Her lips pressed together as the pace of her finger pads quickened rubbing back and force. Then, she heard the panting outside of her room. Abam had been watching her. Apparently, he had been silently beating his meat. However, nearing the high point, his breathing had become out of control and audible. The silent strokes had turned into spanking loud beating. She could hear the flubbing hands beating against his pubic bone. The sound was unmistakable. High from her own arousal, she fearlessly got up and opened the door fully. Abam was on his knees with his pants pulled down. He beat his meat furiously with one hand and steadying himself with the other against the wall. He was so far gone that he didn't even stop, when Mandy was fully standing in the doorway looking at him. "Fuck me," she whimpered. Then, she pulled the old man with the salt-and-pepper beard on top of her. His skin was brown. His mind was dumb and jealous. Like a servant, he let her pull his penis inside of her. They lay in the hallway with their night clothes only pulled down or to the side. He was furiously humping her not saying a single word. She begged him "fuck me good" over and over. Then, she stopped him for a moment to pull his penis into her ass. "Ah, it's nice and wet from my pussy." Then, she pulled away onto her knees and gave him a blow job. With her muffled voice from the dick in her mouth, she mumbled "fuck me in all three holes. And I love the taste of my ass." Finally, she couldn't take her cunt being abandoned and popped his penis back in there. She kept alternating between her ass -- the guilty, intense feeling of filling her ass with a dick -- and the pussy -- the amazingly, orgasmic feeling of rubbing inside of her, outside of her, and on her clit. He came after two intense minutes. There was silence. Senses returned. There was a terrifying tension that built, while his semen slowly ran out of her. He picked up the cell phone. He called the police. He reported her adultery. The police dragged her into the street in her panties. A judge was summoned in the middle of the night. Without a jury, with a pen stroke, Abam was sentenced to pray to Allah for forgiveness. Sandy was sentenced to five years in prison and daily lashing for committing adultery. ---------------------------------- "You are the American Satan that everyone is talking about," said the prison guard through the bars. He was wearing khaki pants and a khaki collar shirt. There was a belt around his hip that carried a big stick. He had a red beret hat to mark him as a soldier. He looked at her sternly, yet safely away from Mandy outside of her prison cell. He pushed the rice and water with his black boot into her cell. The cell around her was a dirty concrete bunker with no privacy. The entire front was covered with open prison bars. A bucket in the corner let eliminate. There was no bed, only the dirty and cold concrete floor. Her face was dirty. Her hair was tangled. She squatted eating the plain rice. Any food felt delicious to her growling stomach. After dinner, she'd recline on her back and masturbate as usual. She was already in prison. How much worse could it get. To her surprise, the prison guards would always look away in terror. That's why they called her the American Satan, the temptress. The guards considered it a punishment to guard her cell block. It was so silly that the soldiers with the big sticks would get terrified by her pussy. The guard tonight was different. He kept stealing glances at her body. She'd smile every time she caught his glimpse. He'd hit his head and look away again. Yet, it only took ten seconds and he'd be stealing another glimpse at Mandy lying on her back with her knees bent and feet pulled up to her butt. She made it a habit of full on flashing them with her pussy, while she folded her inner and outer lips back and force. Eventually, the guard was staring into her pussy full on. He rubbed his hard on against the prison bars. Apparently, his horniness had taken over his control. Soon enough, they were moaning together. Hearing his grunts reverberated deep inside of her. It drove her on even more. With every of her moans, his eyes twitched. They had this magical connection of guttural grunts driving each other on. That's when the cell block gate opened. A convoy of prison guard soldiers dragged an Arab woman in. She had freshly received her punishment. Her butt was exposed. The skin was broken in gnarly wounds from the whip lashes. When the guards saw the new guard masturbating, they dropped the broken woman to the ground. Her chin hit the ground hard with a dry sound echoing through the concrete halls. They guard group pulled the new guard away from her cell front. A wooden stick was raised and stroke down on his thigh. A loud crack signaled his femur breaking. He fell to the floor screaming in agony. Her cell door was opened. Two of them streamed in and hailed a rain of stick beatings onto her. At first she raised her arm. The agony of pain on her forearm was so horrible that she dropped her arm for a moment, only to find out that the blows on her body were even worse. She tried to get up once. A boot pushed her down. The pain overwhelmed her. She realized that death was coming. She gave up taking the beating. She hoped that a white light would soon appear to signal her afterlife. However, hearing the other woman outside squeal in agony send a shock up her spine. There was something very instinctive about hearing someone of your kin crying in pain. She felt a rage in her heart to kill whatever was hurting that woman that cried with all her being. It wasn't her own will anymore. With beyond human strength, she got up on her knees. She stood up. The next baton that stroke down on her was grabbed with her hand. The soldier was stunned. She ripped the baton out of his hand. The string that was around his wrist to hold onto it ripped the skin on his wrist. She reached back far with the stick. With all her might she struck in an explosive swing for the head of the soldier. The baton tip caught his chair. With a sound that made everyone cringe and pause for a moment, his jaw shattered. The jaw was ripped out of its joints and flung across the room. A light spray of blood covered her face. Easy drops of blood dripped out of his upper palate and fell down, because there was no longer an upper half to his mouth. Her eyes turned black. She could no longer see. Berserk mode broke loose inside of her. With all her might, she beat down on the other soldier in her cell. Dazed, he was never able to throw a blow himself or raise an arm to defend himself. Down, down, down, she whacked onto him, not even seeing where she was hitting, simply hitting harder in the direction where her blows felt an obstacle to strike. Only when the prison guard was a lifeless pile on the ground, did she stop. She could barely see, because she was in such an adrenaline rush. However, the outside prison guards quickly stormed to her. She returned to beating whatever was soft, like blindly beating a piñata at a birthday party. The groans and cries of the men drove her on only more to the point where she stopped to scream out the anger and rage she felt. With her mouth wide open and all the power of her lungs, she screamed for the whole prison to wake up. Even dead people would have been roused by her. The last alive prison guard, yelled out "the American Satan has risen." Then, he ran away as fast as he could hobble with his multiple compound fractures and massive external bleeding. Mandy could feel the sticky blood all over her face, hands, and body. Yet, she could not see anything. The adrenaline rush was so intense that not enough blood went to her eyes or head. She stood shaking, feeling the blood run down her body. The other beaten woman got up from the floor and walked to Mandy. She touched Mandy gently on the shoulder. "It is you. You have been promised to free us women in the legends. Didn't you have dreams all your life about a freedom struggle? This is your fight. You have to bring all of us women in this prison to safety." "I can't see!" "Just like the prophecies! Wait here." The woman got on her knees to search the dead prison guards for keys. She found the big round key chain. She left to unlock each prison cell. She handed out the keys. Excited shuffling of feet was heard. There was a lot of metal noise as the doors were opened. The whole prison woke up as the women went to other cell blocks. They were lucky that it was the middle of the night with only the night guards on duty. The light slowly returned to Mandy's eyes. At first, she could only dimly see. Then, it was clear black and white vision. The women all gathered around her looking up to her to lead them out. It took minutes of standing there. The adrenaline was still shaking her legs. The first woman returned and thrust a machine gun into Mandy's hand. Then they pushed Mandy ahead of them. She felt dazed. She followed the mob of women pushing her. The first station was empty. Only the shoes, baton, and gun of the guard were left. Apparently in his terror about the American Satan, he had discarded anything that would have slowed down his running. The big entrance gate was protected by six guards who felt safe behind a big bullet proof metal shield. The megaphone sounded across the prison yard: "Put your gun down, woman!" Mandy was so dazed that all she could do was scream her guttural scream with all her intensity. The sound rose high above the prison yard and dissipated out into the sleeping city. The women joined her call. Yet, the hundred women could not drown out her scream. Her scream was louder, stronger, and more beautiful than the other hundred women taken together. Driven on by the mob mind, she opened fire at the metal barrier. The recoil hit her shoulder heart. Her whole body was jerked around by each shot. The shots sprayed wildly all over the prison walls. A prison guard gleaned over the barrier and got a random pot shot in. The magazine quickly emptied pointlessly. Mandy was stunned for a moment. Then, she threw down the automatic rifle and blindly stormed head on. The intense adrenaline made her not feel any resistance of gravity. Like in the dream, her mind simply wished for her to move forward, and she moved forward. The hundred women stormed with her. She leapt over the five feet high metal barrier. She had never jumped that high before in her life. The first soldier she saw, she grabbed by the shoulder and head. Her mouth went onto his neck in the middle and bit down hard. The soldier screamed in agony as she ripped a junk of his neck out. The carotid artery next to his throat was severed and gushed blood into her face with every heartbeat. Drenched in blood, she let the lifeless body sink to the ground. The other women had overrun the other soldiers. They were banging loudly against the metal barrier and walls, like ancient warriors drumming up courage and intimidating the foe. They streamed out into the city. Every light in every house was turned on. None of the residents dared going into the street. Occasional military SUVs showed up and quickly sped away in panic. "To America," was the first thing Mandy yelled at her followers. "We will be safe in America. We have to fight our way to the harbor and sail out to the open ocean. There are many American warships in the Gulf Stream to keep Iran in check. We only have to fight our way to one of them. That's where we will find safety." ------------------------ Hours had passed. Day had turned into night and again into day. Their fishing boat was softly raising and lowering on the waves in the calm sea. The diesel had run out shortly after the shoreline had disappeared. The drinkable water had run out around sunrise. The headache and dizziness had set in. The women that were seasick had already been dehydrated from the vomiting. Mandy was holding a long pointy fish cleaning knife. Hastening the eventual death might have been a good idea. All the adrenaline had worn off. They were bopping around in the ocean with only water everywhere. Nobody had a clue about navigation. They were going to slowly die here. The ship would turn into a ghost ship drifting around the world with their corpses. The blood was disgusting and sticky on her body. She felt guilty about killing people. There was still a piece of human flesh stuck in between her teeth that she could not get out. All she had wanted was a job and help her mom pay the mortgage. Terrified, some of the women had started praying. Tension had risen between women wanting Western style freedoms and others fretting the doom of Allah. With every moment longer lost and rising headache, the individual asked herself "what is the reason that I am suffering right now?" A lot of them found answers in religion. She herself had to think about the joy that Sven had in his eyes when he talked about the peace that Islam brought to his family. Maybe, he was right. Maybe, she was a monster for not being able to control her sexual urges. A woman screamed "America!" In the distance was a boat. The boat grew into a big ship. It grew into a massive aircraft carrier with perhaps ten thousand people on board, a respectable small city. Then, the support ships around it, powerful warships became visible to the naked eye. It took an hour for the fleet to reach the fishing boat. The dingy fishing boat bobbed beneath the aircraft carrier in the water. The women looked up the man stories tall aircraft carrier. Rigid-inflatable boats (RIBs) sped around them in circles. The American soldiers had big helmets. They had bulky bullet proof vests and many pouches. Their assault rifles looked black and powerful. Once they were all in position, a cage was lowered from the platform of the carrier high above. Mandy opened the gate, entered it with a few women. The lift ride up was dramatic. The fishing boat grew so small beneath them. They were able to see over the railing of the support vessels. There were so many powerful guns, rockets, helicopters, antennas, and heavily packed soldiers in camouflage gear everywhere. Helicopters circled overhead with the side doors open. The gunner's feet were standing outside the helicopter. Powerful machine guns were aimed at them. The lift cage reached the carrier platform. Amazing just like in the movies, a wide expense of flat expanded. There were many short single pilot jets. A garrison of white gloved marines stood in their parade uniform with their hands at attention to welcome the women. The women stumbled onto the squeaky clean platform. Their clothes were ragged. Their mouths were parched dry. Their eyes were wide open taking in the amazing display. Mandy stepped to the side as soldiers directed the women inside of a doorway presumably where water, food, blankets, and showers awaited them. It was surreal to have become a freedom fighter for oppressed women. It felt like a dream. Yet, she knew that it wasn't. Three stories higher was a balcony with a highly decorated man, probably the captain. Next to him stood a man in a wide, white Arab dress with a white head covering and big black sun glasses. He looked like a fatty. The fatty was pointing at her. The captain pointed at her as well. Two soldiers grabbed the upper arms of Mandy strongly. Mandy in Dubai She looked at their faces, the emotionless expression, the big, black glasses that hid all of their thoughts. The guns that they were carrying was big. She could feel the thick bullet proof padding in their vests. The grip on her upper arms was firm. They effortlessly lifted her on her feet, whenever she stumbled. Their bodies must have been made off muscles of steel. One of them pinched his throat and said "affirmative." She was dragged up the squeaky clean stairs to the tower. They pushed her into a room. The strong American soldiers in their camouflage blocked all doors. There were three of them for each door, where they stood with their pants neatly tucked inside of their boots in a wide stance. They stared straight ahead ignoring her in the middle of the room as if she didn't exist. The captain and the Arab man were looking Mandy up and down. They were jovial with each other, smiling friendly at each other. The Arab man was smoking a cigar. The captain had a friendly good uncle face. "Mandy, this is Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the leader of Dubai. He has offered 1 billion dollar worth of oil for your capture. I have three daughters. As much as I am for women's rights, we can't afford the impact to our economy to refuse his oil. You'll be glad to hear that all the other women will receive an American passport. However, you, how shall I say, have to take one for the team and go back to Dubai. The prince is very offended by what you did." "This is America! You can't do that!" "Darling, this is the top of the power pyramid in America. We can do anything we god damn please!" "Here," he threw a plastic bottle of water at her, "get dressed!" He pointed at a neat stack of Navy fatigues and beige desert combat boots. The captain turned to pour the prince a whiskey from a carafe. The guarding soldiers stared straight ahead. The prince watched Mandy with eager interest, while she stripped naked and stripped into the sports bra and panties. It felt so good to have support. She slipped the fatigues on and pulled the long sleeve Navy t-shirt over. She sat down to tighten the boots around her feet. She looked like a prosperous army recruit in the clean and well fitted uniform. "Prince, she is all yours. May, I accompany you to your helicopter?" The two of them turned, when a door was thrown open. A blinding bang flashed a white light. Only gray visual static followed. The room had disappeared. The ears were filled with a ringing like after an intense hard rock concert. Blind and deaf, Mandy stood for a moment. A gentle, yet strong hand reached for her hand. "Mandy, we are the rebels. We have joined your cause, when we heard about it. We cannot let the oppression go on. Follow me into the bowels of the ship. Deep inside of its steel belly is a strong resistance network." With that, she squeezed the hand and followed. Her feet stumbled over the door steps. The doors were made to be sealed in case of a water breach. They went down stairs after stairs. There were long hallways. They had to lie quiet sometimes. Every once in a while, the man shot a gun. He'd leave her hand for a moment to hide the bodies. Her vision slowly returned. All she saw was narrow steal corridors with minimal lighting. She had completely lost track of their journey through the ship. Finally, she was softly pushed into a room. She had to raise her feet to get through the sealable door. Five young marines with their crew cut heads looked at her. Their faces were so fresh and boyish that she was taken aback. They were muscle packed. They had so much gear on their body. The cabin was some kind of assembly hall with a big group table. There were shelves of cereal boxes and MREs. "We are the resistance. We pledge our allegiance to you. We have heard your story. We can no longer support the American government, when it commits such travesty. We are at your command. What are your orders?" The community college girl stood in front of the strong determined men. She seized every single one of them up. One had beautiful blue eyes. Another had a pretty big jaw. They all had strong manly hands, except for one who was the geeky type with glasses. "I haven't had a good fuck in a long time!" The blue eyed, blond haired 6'2" lad stepped forward. He kneeled on one knee. Holding her hand in his. "It'll be my pleasure to ram my cock in your womb." She smiled coyly and blushed smitten. Driven by pent up horniness, she pulled her pants and panties down, leaving everything else, including the boots, in place. She gently pushed his chest to signal him to lie down on the gray metal table. She kneeled over him, lifted his erect cocky, and thrust her body on top of him. She devoured his mouth to her heart's delight. She squished her lips over his cheeks. She nibbled on his ears. So much amazing man, and all was hers to take. The other solders excused themselves: "We'll go back to our posts, so that nobody suspects anything." They slap-grabbed her ass to say good bye, every single one. She loved it. She thought about how she would ravage each one of them. She had found a steady supply of hunks. This seemed like her destiny. She was born to fuck her way through a war as a leader. And she loved his thick cock bouncing against her cervix. Her much smaller body was somewhat helpless on top of the strong male. Every time, he contorted in abandon pleasure, her whole body was lifted around. Neither he nor she could control his body going wild beneath her. This was the first time that she had truly ridden a man in the sense of actually riding. His shaft was so thick that she felt her vagina stretched with every thrust. She wasn't sure if she could take the big cock. And then on the full insertion, it felt so good. Each time, he entered her, she felt a terror of being torn. And each time the terror turned into a pleasure of being filled that she had never known before. And then the man grunted beneath her, spurting his semen into her. And his penis pumped and pumped inside of her. The door was thrown open. Three soldiers poured in with stern faces. Her man was helplessly dazed by his orgasm. She jumped off of him, grabbed his ceremonial sword. She slashed the three intruders with it before they knew what happened. Each slash sprayed a thin red line onto her face and torso. Dazed about her quick reaction, she stood facing the door with her beige desert boots in a wide stance, no pants or panties. The semen was running down the inside of her thighs to the knee. Her face had lines painted across it the fresh, bright, red blood. The sword was held in the air far out to her side, where it had stopped at the end of the last strike. Dazed and frozen, she stood trying to get her senses. The blue eyed, blond navy soldier behind her was slowly recovering from the orgasm and crawling to his feet. To be continued...