0 comments/ 72628 views/ 5 favorites Harem Days By: Wellwisher100 The job advertisement left little to the imagination. Sensuous, genuinely bisexual, woman wanted to provide personal services to wealthy Egyptian family. He is rich older businessman (64), with voyeuristic tendencies. Wife is a well-preserved 50, with large 42DD breasts and long black hair. She has strong bisexual tendencies and loves to make love to younger men and women while her impotent husband watches. Woman will also be expected to serve as companion to beautiful pregnant daughter. Rewards will great for right woman. I had sent in my application, describing my sexual relationships with women as well as men. I sent photographs too, revealing pictures of my very curvaceous oriental body with ample breasts and full arse. And now, after touching down at Cairo airport and finding myself being met and driven to Mr Aziz`s house by a big black chaffeur, I was tingling with excitement and some trepidation at what was certain to be an epoch in her life. I considered myself to be a sensuous woman, to be sure. Indeed, I have come to believe myself to be almost a nymphomaniac with my recurring lustful thoughts. But to become a virtual harem girl to an eastern family, to give myself over purely to the pleasures of the flesh, was intoxicating yes, but also disturbingly decadent. Could I follow through with it? Could I become a slut, open for the attentions of others on demand? I was about to find out. The car passed through large iron gates, opened by the gatekeeper as we approached, and then drove up a substantial tree-lined drive - so lush and peaceful after the dusty crowded streets of the city. Pulling up outsider the steps of the palatial house I was met by a black woman who introduced herself as Marcella, the housekeeper. She was attractive and voluptuous and warm and immediately put me at my ease. She told me that the mistress of the house was out and had given instructions that I should be shown up to my rooms, where I was to relax before dinner. Soon I found myself in a sumptuous set of rooms, with bedroom, drawing room with large sofa and television, and an en suite bathroom. I ran myself a bath and lay back in the warm water. Gently I ran my razor over my legs and pussy. I wanted to be completely smooth and soft. After my bath I massaged moisturiser into my skin, added a good supply of eau de cologne, and then selected my tight figure hugging black dress, which reached somewhat above my knee, revealing my nicely toned legs. As I sat in the armchair flicking through the cable TV channels a knock was heard at my door. I opened it to see a mature woman with long black hair and wearing a loose flowing gown. I knew at once that this was Mrs Aziz, the mistress of the house and, I well knew, my soon to be lover. ‘Dearest Tiffany, I am so glad that you arrived here safely. And I'm so sorry not to have met you personally when you arrived. I'm afraid I was called away to a committee meeting. I hope Marcella has been looking after you.’ ‘Oh yes, Mrs Aziz, perfectly. I love these rooms and have been freshening up somewhat in the bath. ‘Excellent, my dear, excellent. I hope Tiffany that you and I are going to be very good friends - very good friends indeed. You are certainly beautiful, my dear. Quite exquisite…’ She reached out her hand and placed it on my cheek. Stroking it. I blushed deeply and lifted my hand to hers, pressing it against my face. ‘Thank you’ I replied, looking down in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact. ‘No, my dear, it is I who must thank you for travelling so far to become part of our household. I want you to know that we will do everything we can to make your stay with us a satisfying one. Now, my sweet Tiffany, shall we go down to dinner? My husband is longing to meet you…’ I followed Mrs Aziz down the wide marble staircase and thorough into a large drawing room, richly decorated with floral wall coverings and furnished with cushioned divans and thick rugs. An elderly man with a thick shock of grey hair rose to meet me, smiling broadly. ‘Ah, my dearest, is this our charming friend Tiffany? Of course it is, of course it is. I am so pleased to meet you my dear, so please to meet you at last. I'm Kishan Aziz. How do you do? We have been so looking forward to your arrival, haven't we my dear?’ Mrs Aziz, approaching me from behind, slipped a comforting arm around my shoulder and squeezed me gently. ‘Yes, my dear, we have. And is Tiffany not even more beautiful than her photograph?’ ‘Oh yes, dear Tiffany, you are very beautiful indeed. But I think you must be hungry - shall we go through to eat?’ We entered the dining room together. At the head of the table stood three waiters - all dark skinned, a man and two women. All immaculately dressed. Mr Aziz sat at the head of the table and Mrs Aziz sat opposite me. The meal passed quickly as Mr Aziz spoke of his work, of Cairo, of Egypt and of his travels. As I listened I cast my gaze across to Mrs Aziz. I had not looked at her properly before, being far too nervous and tense. Now in this more relaxed atmosphere I was able to contemplate her more intently. Her thick black hair was open and hung down her shoulder and her back. Two golden clasps held it back from her eyes. Her complexion was smooth and obviously well cared for, her skin colour a wheaten brown. Her eyes were deep black, and this was accentuated by her dark eye shadow. Only her deep red lipstick stood out in contrast. Her top was loose and concealed her voluptuous body, but her arms were bare and gold and silver bangles hung around her wrists. She was a very handsome woman and obviously a powerful personality. I liked mature women and had long fantasised about sensuous Middle Eastern women. Well, Mrs Aziz was everything I’d fantasised about and more. And when she looked up to see me gazing at her alluring beauty she held my gaze, smiling gently and running the tip of her tongue across her thick lips. I felt myself tighten across the chest with nervous anticipation. An erotic glow diffused through me. I could hardly bring myself to eat as my mind wandered to the delights, which I hoped, lay in store. After dinner we returned to the spacious drawing room. Drinks were served and we sat on the soft cushioned sofas. Mrs Aziz smiled as we chatted and slid her manicured fingers through her luxuriant hair. She asked me about myself, my background, my likes - and dislikes. All the while I was becoming more comfortable in this woman’s presence. Quietly and unselfconsciously Mrs Aziz placed her hand on my left thigh, squeezing and stroking it gently whilst we talked. The sensation was electric and I could feel my cunt seeping dampness into my panties. To signal that I recognised and accepted her advances I placed my own hand on hers, keeping her hand on my thigh, letting her know that was what I wanted - that I was hers for the taking. God I was feeling horny, my arousal increased by the pungent atmosphere of that room, combination of the scent of Mrs Aziz’s perfume, the burning of incense and the first puffs of Mr Aziz upon the sweet tobacco of his after-dinner hooka. This was what I had travelled east for - what I had fantasised about. And it was all happening so quickly. Truly I could learn to abandon myself to the erotic possibilities of this new world. My reverie was only broken when Mrs Aziz rose from the sofa and expressed a wish to dance. She bent over to turn on the music system and then, as the rhythmic sounds began called across to one of the servants. ‘Moosuph, come and dance with your mistress please.’ From the shadows there stepped forth a tall, powerfully built man, smartly dressed in a dark suit. He was very black and I later learned he was Sudanese. I was somewhat surprised to see Mrs Aziz immediately press herself close into this man’s arms, her ample body soon held firm against this strong black man. She was swaying her hips to the music, and Moosaph was responding in kind. Her face was pressed against his chest and I almost gasped when I saw Moosaph run his hand through his mistress's hair and hold her close. Somewhat alarmed I cast a gaze across to Mr Aziz, but found him gazing nonchalantly upon his wife, sprawled back against the cushions, an indulgent smile on his lips. Remarkably this smile continued when Mrs Aziz lifted her head to gently kiss her black dancing companion. It was a short kiss but unmistakable. Equally unmistakable was the movement of the Sudanese's hand over Mrs Aziz’s ample arse and the subtle movement of her own hand up to what I knew must be the servant’s cock. I was amazed and not a little shocked. But more strange still: I was actually a little jealous. I had anticipated that it was I who would enjoy Mrs Aziz’s favours tonight. I was hot for this woman, my horny pussy demanding attention. And wasn’t this, after all, what I’d travelled 6,000 miles for? Yet here she was caught up in the very different charms of a young black man. Yes I was somewhat peeved all right. After watching this couple smooch and gyrate for half an hour or more I began to feel overcome with tiredness and felt my eyelids press to close. I rose from my seat and expressed a desire to go to bed, mentioning my long day. ‘Of course I understand, my dear…’ Mrs Aziz replied, breaking herself free from Moosaph. ‘You must be needing a good rest. Do let us know if you are wanting anything during the night…’ Mr Aziz also rose to wish me good night and I walked from the room, the music still beating out its rhythm. Casting my eye back I saw Mrs Aziz now cuddling up to Moosaph on the sofa. It was as a somewhat confused young woman that I entered my room and changed into my nightdress and slipped into bed. It was shortly afterwards, just before I’d turned off the light, that a knock sounded from my door. Come in I replied and it was the comforting form of Marcella who came through the door. She was wearing a tight black top that set off her awesome curves to perfection. Her low cut front gave me a delicious look at her large black breasts. Sitting herself down on the edge of my bed she placed her hand on the outline of my leg through the sheet. Gently she stroked it. ‘Tiffany, my dear, Mrs Aziz sent me here to check that everything is satisfactory and that you are comfortable. Do you have all you want?’ ‘Yes, Marcella, thank you. You have looked after me so well. The room, the bed, everything is wonderful. You have been most kind.’ ‘Why thank you. It's my privilege to serve you my dear. And I want you to know, Tiffany, that I'm here to meet all your needs, whatever they are…’ Lifting her hand from my leg Marcella reached up and brushed to one side the hair that was hanging over my eyes. She stroked my forehead again. ‘Umm, miss Tiffany, you are beautiful. You oriental girls have such smooth, flawless skin. I'm so glad that you have come to join us here. I wonder, would you let me kiss you goodnight?’ My juices were now alive in response to the sight and smell and touch of this voluptuous black woman. I didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, Marcella, I'd like very much for you to kiss me good night. In fact I’d love you to…’ Her smile flashed white across her dark face. As she placed her right arm against the headboard, leaning forward, her sumptuous cleavage dominated my gaze. Slowly, seductively, she leant forward and planted a tender kiss on my cheek. I sighed at the contact of her full lips. As she sat back up I looked into her dark eyes and reached my hand to clasp her arm. ‘Thank you Marcella. But I wonder if I might ask for a little more. Will you kiss me, please, as a woman should kiss a woman?’ ‘Tiffany, my beautiful girl, you really don’t need to ask…’ Marcella again leant towards me and her lips touched mine. But this time she did not pull away. Instead out lips locked together. We kissed and kissed, our mouths opening to each other, to each other's taste and sensation and smell. I had never kissed a black woman before. The experience was overpowering. Her lips were so full, her tongue so strong, searching out mine. My hands were clutching her head, feeling her thick curly hair, pulling her to me. But she needed no come-on from me. She pushed herself towards me, her fat bust pressing against my own large breasts. I was groping for her body, feeling her thick waist, her wide hips, her juicy black arse. ‘Oh Marcella, thank you. That was the best goodnight kiss I’ve ever had. But do you have to say goodnight? Could you stay with me, tonight, please? I’m feeling so horny, so turned on - too agitated to sleep. Please tell me you can stay. ‘Don’t you fret your pretty little head. Of course I can stay - I want to stay. I’m here for you girl, and believe me, I’m hot for you too. Now perhaps we should get a bit more comfortable, don’t you think?’ Marcella slipped herself from the bed and standing before me slid off her shoes. Reaching for the base of her tight black top she peeled it over her glorious bust and then over her head. Reaching around she unclasped the black skirt she was wearing and stepped from it. Her lingerie was black too, and substantial bra supporting her hefty tits. First she pushed down her panties, to reveal a plump stomach and a thick mass of black pubic hair. The smell of her arousal filed the air. I gestured for her to give me the panties and she dropped them into my waiting hands. They were damp with her juice and her sweat. I raised them to my nose and inhaled deeply. I had never before encountered such raw sex. I licked the way up the middle of the fabric that, I knew, had nestled so close to Marcella’s cunt. God I was in heat. Marcella then sat herself down again on the bed, with her back to me. ‘I wonder, darling, if you’d help release me from this bra?’ Leaning across I disengaged the metal clips and allowed the bra straps to open. As I did so in planted a kiss on the middle of Marcella’s smooth back. ‘Umm that feels so much better. Here, baby, wanna see what Marcella’s got for you?’ As Marcella turned to face me I gasped when I saw her massive black breasts. No longer supported by the heavy-duty bra they swung free and heavy. They dominated her body - and the room. I could look at nothing else. Under their weight they rested low on her body, meeting her round stomach. The nipples were large - about four inches wide - and very dark, almost black against her dark skin. ‘I hope you like a well-endowed woman, honey. I'm an all-natural EE-cup. They’re an effort to carry around all day - but a moments like these I find it worth it. Certainly my lovers - male and female - don’t complain. Mrs Aziz is especially appreciative. But then she loves a full-figured woman - and I can see you will do very well.’ Marcella pulled back the sheet as she said this and slid into the bed by the side of me. Instinctively I snuggled up against this woman’s soft, ripe, body. She lowered her mouth to kiss me again, tenderly this time, softly. We both knew that we had all night - that our lesbian love would be consummated completely. Tentatively, still somewhat in awe, I reached to support her left boob, loving the way the dark soft flesh spilled over my slender white hand. ‘They are right, dearest, they are so right to love your breasts. I loved them the moment I first saw you, their sculptured beauty against the outline of your tight dress. And now I'm in your arms, darling, feeling your softness. It's too much, too much…’ What followed was a long and intimate session of the most tender and satisfying lesbian kissing as two women - one African, the other oriental, learnt to explore new sensations, to discover and relish new realms of womanly love. Feminine hands stroked soft feminine bodies, breasts and nipples met and merged, saliva was shared and tasted, the scent of perfume and feminine arousal was heady in the room, tongues entwined, and words of tender love exchanged. Above all, I felt whole and safe and aglow with desire. Only after 30 or more minutes did we stop for air, to share our experience. ‘Marcella, darling, I have a confession to make. I've never been with a black person before. I've fantasised about it, looked at pictures, men and women in the street, but I've never done it before.’ ‘Well honey, I've never been with an oriental beauty like yourself, so I guess that makes us even. But tell me some more about those fantasies of yours, girl. Do you fantasise about black men I wonder? I'm sure you do - don’t all white women love the thought of black cock?’ ‘Yes I do Marcella. I've often thought about making love to a black man. To a black man with a thick black cock and a hungry mouth and a powerful body. Is it true, Marcella, what they say about black men? Have you been with many black men?’ ‘Oh yes, it’s true all right. And I should know, honey, I'm married to one. He’s big and strong and he loves me real good - he fills me up and gives me all I need. Perhaps you'd like to join us some day - he’d love some sweet oriental pussy. But tell me, baby, do you ever fantasise about black women?’ Marcella’s voice dropped as she said this and she pressed her lips to my neck, resuming her seductive kissing, moving her dark red lips across my chest towards my heaving bosom. I slid my hand through her hair, holding her close. ‘Oh yes, darling, yes. I get very hot at the thought of making out with a black woman. I love the thought of exposing my pale skin to her gaze, of watching her dark fingers touch and explore my breasts. Of her thick lips meeting mine, of her tongue exploring my mouth….’ Marcella had placed her mouth on my right nipple now and was squeezing both my tits with her hands. ‘Tell me more baby about you and this black woman…’ ‘God, she will take possession of me with her raw sensuality - she will overpower me and make me her slut. The smell of her will intoxicate me. I’ll become wet and aroused just being close to her. Ohhh, that’s good, I like this, I’ll….’ ‘Go on Tiffany, tell me more about you and this black woman. What’s she like baby, what's this black woman like?’ ‘She's voluptuous - she exudes sensuality. She’ll have lovely big breasts, fat and full and fertile. They’ll hang low on her body, with massive dark nipples. She’ll let me suckle on those breasts for hours, nourishing me and treating me like a baby. Her hips will be wide and will swing as she walks, and her arse, God, it will be so big and juicy and inviting - and she will show it off with tight clothes and keep me gagging for it - always.’ Marcella was now kissing my flat stomach, licking her way past my belly-button to navel. My cunt was on fire with anticipation and I was arching my back, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘And what about her pussy, dear. Have you ever thought about black lesbian pussy?’ ‘Of course I have. Yes, it will be unshaven - a thick mat of black wet hair. And it will be dripping with her juices and the smell will be awesome. And amongst the black wet hair will be the dark fleshy lips of her cunt. They will be distended and soft and I’ll bury my tongue in her folds and I’ll feat on her juices and she will flow for me - a river of love for me, covering my face in her honey, baptising me with African desire, stamping her smell on me, making me hers.’ ‘Her clit, honey, what about her clit.’ ‘Big and vital and throbbing with desire. Aroused and hungry for my mouth, my tongue. God I’ll worship that clit, and she will want that - she will want me as her oriental lesbian whore, she will want me to worship her as a goddess - and I will, completely.’ I felt my thighs being pushed wide apart and I looked down to see Marcella gazing upon my shaven pussy - the pink lips open for her mouth, her touch, her love. She extended her long tongue and began to circle my cunt in powerful strokes. I lifted my legs up high before draping them over her soft rounded shoulders. Harem Days As I write these words, sitting in my comfortable old study in Hartford, Connecticut, my life is drawing slowly towards its end. And what a life it's been. The tale I am about to relate happened many years ago, and was my first great adventure. My name is Emily Buchanan, and I'm...well, probably a lot older than you are. I'm something of a crab apple these days, with my long silver hair, worn in a bun, my lined face, bi-focal spectacles, liver spotted hands and stick thin frame. I've always been proud of my height though -- I'm five-nine or thereabouts -- and I carry myself erect, with my head held high. At the time when these events took place, I looked very different. My hair was long and golden, my green eyes sparkling, my complexion peaches and cream, my figure was greatly admired on three continents, and I had legs to die for. But then, I was only in my mid-twenties at the time. I was a professional archaeologist -- the work that has been my passion across the decades. We were a rare breed then, women in archaeology I mean. I'd graduated from Cornell with a First in Classics, then gained admission to Oxford to study under Sir Wilfred Allenby, possibly the greatest archaeologist of his day. Plenty of people at the university looked on askance at the idea of a woman taking on such a profession, but like all true devotees of a subject Sir Wilfred was gender blind when it came to his students. His only concern was commitment and ability, and I scored highly on both counts. I became very fond of the old dear. It was through his class, and the summer digs in Greece that he led us on, that I met the man who became my fiancé, Gerald Crichton. Indiana Jones he wasn't: tall and skinny, with a shock of spiky black hair that no amount of Brylcreem could control, black-framed spectacles and long limbs -- at first sight he reminded me of nothing quite so much as a spider - but he was quite brilliant. He charmed me with his dry British wit and his enthusiasm, and over the course of a year or so I fell in love with him. It was thanks to Gerald that I found myself working in the Arabian desert, which is where this story really begins. A Brit, by the fanciful name of St John Philby, was a close confidante of the Royal Family, and through him a regional potentate called Sheikh Faisal al Surreyih bin Saud invited an archaeological team to excavate a site in his territory, where an ancient temple and tribal graves were located. On Sir Wilfred's recommendation Gerald was appointed one of the leaders of the expedition, despite his relative youth, and I accompanied him. The sheikh was slightly doubtful about a female being involved, but he was utterly charming: a huge man, way over sex feet tall, with glittering eyes like those of a hawk and a big hooked nose like a beak. My God, it was hot in that desert. We rose at the crack of dawn, worked until late morning, rested through the heat of mid-day then resumed work in mid-afternoon, carrying on into the evening. I quickly got used to being constantly bathed in my own sweat, my hair plastered to my neck, sand getting into and irritating my most intimate places. At first I felt I should adopt a modest approach in front of the native workers, and wore long pants tucked into my boots, together with a blouse buttoned to the neck and a pith helmet. After two days I decided the hell with that, and I switched to shorts, a scarf tied around my head as a bandana, and an open-necked blouse. I was well aware that when I bent down the men could see my bra, if they chose -- and I had a good rack in those days -- but, frankly, I was too hot to care. Anyway, if guys wanted to admire me I took it as a compliment. I could never get enough to drink, and guzzled water greedily when I had the chance. One of the other guys on the dig was a British military officer, David McHugh. He was a captain aged around 30, stationed in Aden, to the south, which was then under British rule. He was an enthusiastic amateur historian, and his colonel had given him special leave to come and join us. I was amused by his military bearing in such intolerable conditions -- always ramrod stiff, his short blond hair neatly groomed, his little moustache trimmed to perfection, and his khakis always pristine, the creases in his trousers like knife blades. I didn't know how he did it in that heat. He was always very kind and solicitous towards me though, and went out of his way to make sure I got plenty of liquid. We were staying in the local town, at a place called the Grand Hotel, where the faucets usually worked, even if they did supply only a trickle of water, but the ceiling fans were less reliable. Consequently I spent hot, uncomfortable nights, to add to my hot, uncomfortable days, even though I wore only a pair of silk panties in bed. After ten days we received a visit for dinner at the hotel from Sheikh Faisal's younger brother, Prince Hafiz. We were told what a great honour it was, and I saw it as a rare opportunity on that trip to feel glamorous, for one evening at least. I had a long bubble bath, applied tasteful make-up, and wore the one pretty dress I had with me, white cotton with red polka dots, belted at the waist, sleeveless with a v-neck line which revealed just a hint of bosom. Then I did what I could with my hair, which had been turned to straw by the sun, and pulled on a pair of black high heels which I just knew would kill me by the end of the evening -- I've never really been much of a girly girl. Finally, I pulled on the diamond solitaire with which Gerald had sealed our engagement, which I clearly wasn't able to wear on the dig. As an afterthought, and as a nod to Moslem sensitivities, I draped a thin black cardigan across my shoulders. (I had actually thought I might need one in Arabia!) Then I joined the other members of the team on the hotel verandah, to await our guest. As eight pairs of admiring male eyes turned towards me I really felt like the belle of the ball. Gerald, unusually attired in formal evening dress, leapt to his feet and wrapped his arm around me, giving me a peck on the cheek. David was wearing his military dress uniform for the occasion. He rose as well, and handed me a lemonade. His eyes taking me in from head to toe, he murmured, "My, Emily, you look quite stunning tonight." As he stood very close, gazing down at me, suddenly, unaccountably, I felt a blush pass across my face and chest. I couldn't understand it -- I'd never experienced a physical reaction to Captain McHugh before; but there was something different about that evening. I dipped my eyes and sipped my drink to cover my confusion. It was clear Gerald hadn't noticed anything, as he continued to hold me, grinning like an idiot. I was trying to think of something to say when we became aware of a distant dust cloud rising in the twilight. We watched in silent fascination as it gradually approached, finally resolving itself into a group of a dozen or more horsemen, all dressed in flowing Arab robes, the lower halves of their faces covered against the dust. They reined in their magnificent stallions and dismounted beside the hotel. Clearly, Prince Hafiz had decided to make an impression. As members of his retinue gathered together the reins of the beasts, he strode towards us, a tall figure in a white head-dress and robe, with black riding boots. As he mounted the verandah I could see he was much more handsome than his brother, in his mid-thirties maybe. He flashed us a brilliant white smile, and bowed at the waist to me. He was accompanied by a bull of a man, with a fierce face, a down-turned mouth and a livid scar across his cheek, bisecting his beard. At his waist was a large curved dagger with elaborately jewelled handle and scabbard. His Highness introduced the thug as Abdullah, his personal adviser. I assumed that was a euphemism for bodyguard. The other riders, all with carbine rifles slung across their shoulders, waited outside, sitting on the steps of the hotel or lounging against the wall. As we ate a well cooked dinner of mutton, I could feel Hafiz's gaze on me. Each time I looked up he gave me that dazzling smile, and raised his glass of water to me in salute. It seemed he was fascinated by me as both the only woman present and the only, as he put it, "citizen of the land of Uncle Sam". He had a kind of oily charm which I found slightly repugnant. Following the meal the men lit up cigars, or in David McHugh's case a pipe. Normally at this point the ladies would have been expected to withdraw, but in view of my singularity my male companions accorded me the huge privilege of being permitted to remain. I felt as if I had been 'promoted' to honorary man for the night(!). The conversation drifted back and forth across our work, politics, Hafiz's dreams for his young country, and so on. Towards the end of the evening he leaned across to Gerald and, in a stage whisper clearly audible to all those present, said, "You know, Doctor Crichton, your woman is very beautiful. I would gladly give you ten camels for her." Conversation died and Gerald looked shocked. Then a slow grin spread across the prince's face, and Gerald laughed, catching up with the joke. He shook his head, and replied, "I'm afraid she's worth a lot more than that to me, Your Highness." All the men thought it was hilarious, apart from Abdullah, who retained his perpetual scowl. I managed to force a sickly grin onto my face. Hafiz sank back into his chair, nodding slowly, steepling his fingers in front of his face. The he said, "All right, thirty camels, my final offer." The laughter continued. Gerald took my hand in his, squeezed it, and said, "I really am sorry Your Highness, but Em isn't for sale at any price." There was a sharp crack as Abdullah leapt to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor. As if by a magic trick, the dagger appeared in his hand. A shocked silence fell, and he snarled, in heavily accented English, "You insult my lord. He has made you a very fair offer." Instantly another chair fell, and it was David McHugh who was on his feet, his fists bunched, his square jaw firmly set, fury in his eyes. The hotel manager, who had been twittering around the prince all evening, stood in the doorway, looking as if he was about to faint. Gerald was frozen, sitting with his mouth hanging open, his eyes locked on that vicious dagger. It was Hafiz who broke the spell. He uttered a rich chuckle, and placed a restraining hand on his retainer's wrist. "Abdullah, where is your sense of humor? I am just having fun with our English friends. And our beautiful American friend, of course. I apologise, lady and gentlemen, Abdullah is very devoted to me, and protects my honor with his life." The prince's mouth smiled, but his eyes did not. After a pause of what seemed like several centuries, Abdullah slowly sank into his seat. McHugh did the same, but their eyes never left each other. Conversation continued with an uneasy edge, and only about a quarter hour passed before Hafiz excused himself. I watched Abdullah and David closely, and their eyes never left each other. As the visiting party left, Hafiz shook each of the men's hands. All gave him a polite smile but David McHugh, whose look could have melted an iceberg. When he came to me, Hafiz took my hand in his and delicately kissed it. "Goodnight Miss Buchanan, I very much hope I will have the pleasure of meeting you again before too long." I tried not to shudder in revulsion until he had passed on from me. The next day at the dig several of the men were somewhat hung over, having stayed up late drinking a smuggled bottle of whisky. Captain McHugh was his usual trim self though, and apologised to me for any offence his behaviour the previous evening may have caused me. I gave him a warm smile, and told him how grateful I was to him for having stood up for my honor. He winked as he responded, "Well, we Scots have got to stick together" -- a reference to my surname. Then he chuckled. "Honestly, that Prince Hafiz -- 'our English friends', indeed! I'll bet Hans wasn't too impressed by that either." Hans Ullrich was a German member of the team. As usual David brought me copious amounts of water throughout the day. Something had changed between us though. Whenever he stood close to me I felt myself getting antsy and flustered, playing with my hair and blushing when my eyes met his. I became aware that I was watching him as he moved around the site, and shook myself angrily, telling myself to stop acting like some dumb broad. Nevertheless, there was a spark of sexual electricity between us that hadn't been there before. It was after about an hour that someone noticed the lone rider on a hill overlooking the dig site. He was no more than a distant silhouette, black against the burning sky, sitting stock still on his horse. At first we tried to ignore him. Eventually the men started debating as to whether someone should drive one of our battered trucks over and see if he wanted something. McHugh counselled against that: "I think Prince Hafiz has simply decided to take more of an interest in our work here." So we ignored him again. Personally, he gave me the creeps; he seemed to me like something out of a Tom Mix movie, the Sioux scout observing the wagon train just before the big attack. Our immobile watcher stayed with us all day, and it was only as we were loading up for the return to town that we finally saw him galloping away over the horizon. When I got back to the hotel I felt hot and dirty from the dig, confused over the way I was suddenly feeling about David, and maybe a little frustrated that Gerald didn't seem to be paying anything like as much attention to my welfare. I excused myself from the party, had the manager send dinner up to my room, then, after another long soak, sat in bed writing my journal. I turned out the light around ten o'clock and settled in for another uncomfortable night. The ceiling fan was turning slowly, but producing no relief whatsoever. There was a tiny balcony by the full length windows in my room, and I had flung them open, but the air outside was still and heavy. At sometime during the night, as I lay basting in my sweat-drenched sheets, I thought I saw the curtain across the windows billow. It was clearly an illusion, I thought: there wasn't a breath of wind to be had in the whole of Arabia that night. Angrily, I bounced onto my other side, turning my back to the windows. A few seconds later I heard a floorboard creak. As I began to turn back to investigate the sound, a hand firmly gripped the back of my skull, a damp cloth was clamped over my nose and mouth and, as I drew breath to scream, darkness descended on me. When I awoke I was momentarily disoriented. My head was swimming, and I had no memory of where I was, or what had happened to me. As I stirred I thought I heard a door open and close. Dopily I brushed my hand against my face, then down my body -- and froze. Apart from my bed panties I had been naked when I went to sleep. Now I was wearing some kind of soft, silky outfit. Suddenly it all came back to me in a flash: the intruder in my bedroom, the sickly sweet taste in my mouth, and smell in my nose...I realised that somebody had abducted me. But who, and why? I leaned up on my elbows, and stared down my body. I was lying on a huge bed covered in a silk sheet. My upper half was covered in a clinging, silky pink sleeveless top, the hem elasticated above my navel, my lower half in matching pants, which ballooned around my legs, again elasticated around my ankles. My feet were bare, and beneath the silk suit I was quite naked. As I gazed at my surroundings, I realised with horror who must be behind my kidnapping. The place was like something out of the 1001 Nights -- the only thing it was lacking was a magic lantern containing a genie! It was a huge room, the walls draped in gorgeous hangings, gold fittings here and there, and in one corner several large cushions arranged on the floor, a hookah between them. Before I could notice anything more, one of two large golden double doors at the foot of the room opened, and closed and there, as I had expected, stood Prince Hafiz bin al Surreyih bin Saud. He was wearing a simple cotton robe, and purple and gold slippers, with curled toes. He sauntered slowly towards the bed, and murmured, "Ah, my prize, I see that you have finally woken." Pushing myself into a fully sitting position on the bed, I snapped, "Just what the hell is going on here?" Hafiz shrugged, and said, as if explaining the obvious, "Your man refused my very generous offer for you, so I exercised my right and took you. You now belong to me." It seems difficult to believe now, but I actually laughed at him, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of his suggestion. Sliding on my bottom to the foot of the bed, I placed my feet on the rich carpet and replied, "Like hell I do. Who do you think you are? You've been watching too many Rudolph Valentino movies. Now get me some proper clothes and let me out of here, right now." He crossed his arms and gave me a smug smile. "I am afraid you have not yet appreciated your situation, Emily. By the way, that name does not please me, henceforth you will be known as Farrah, and you will call me My Lord. You are now one of my wives. It is done, decided. The only thing which remains is for our marriage to be consummated." I began to feel a tremor of fear at his confidence in the situation. Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, "You'll never get away with this. My friends will already be looking for me. And this is the first place they'll come" He nodded in acknowledgement. "Quite true. But they will not find you. There are many bandits in this area. In a day or so my men will present your friends with some severed heads, and tell them that, sadly, the rest of the gang got away. The last thing my people saw was a pale woman with yellow hair struggling between two of the ruffians as they rode off. There will be no rescue party for you." Now I was starting to feel really scared at this quite unreal situation. "President Roosevelt is my godfather", I lied, "he'll send a thousand marines to rescue me." Hafiz simply chuckled, shaking his head slowly. I tried a different tack. "Your Highness, please, you consider yourself an educated, modern...an enlightened man. What you're trying do to me is the act of a savage." He bridled at that. Then he relaxed a little, and said, "I am modern man. But I am also a law abiding man. If I were to visit America, or England, I would respect the laws of those countries. If their peoples come to my country, they must respect our laws. What I have done is quite legal. Of course, your archaeological team's work will cease, and my brother will be annoyed, but he will understand. But that is enough talk, Farrah. Now we will consummate our love." With that he lifted his robe over his head, and dropped it to the floor. He was naked beneath it, revealing a long, thick, already semi-erect cock. As he advanced towards me I realised, too late, my mistake in not getting off the bed at the first opportunity. Now it was too late and, terrified, I began to edge up the bed away from Hafiz. I tried to dive off to one side, but it was too late. He grabbed my thighs and dragged me into the centre of the bed, turning me onto my back again. Then he was on top of me, his weight pressing down on me. With one hand he gripped the neck of my top, pulled hard, and it ripped away, exposing my breasts to him. With a roar of delight he fell on them, painfully squeezing one in one hand and biting the other. Sobbing with pain and anguish I tried to hit him but he just laughed. Still assaulting my boobies, he grabbed one of my flailing arms with one hand and bent it painfully behind my back, pinning it there under our combined weights. Then he released my breast long enough to grab my other arm, which he pinned to the bed in a vice-like grip. Then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, "I like a woman with spirit. But we have played this game long enough now." Harem Days As he switched his mouth to my other breast I begged him, "Please! Please don't do this." He ignored me, and a moment later his fee hand gripped the waistband of my silken pants and ripped them off as well; he didn't push them down, but literally ripped them away from me. Truly desperate now I kicked out at him, but he thrust his own legs between mine then outwards, forcing them wide apart. All my attempt to fight had done was make things easier for him. With a satisfied grunt he pushed his dick deep into me. I was not a virgin, but I had never had a penis that big inside me and it felt as if it was tearing me open as he thrust viciously at me. Totally insensitive to my screams for help, and my continued begging for him to stop, he pounded at me, his balls slapping against me, the weight of his body making me struggle for breath. At one point he gripped my cheeks and squeezed, forcing them open. Then he thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, his beard and moustache scratching against my face like sandpaper. I could feel myself getting wet inside, but I derived no pleasure from Hafiz's attack on me. Despite myself, my knees rose up and my hips thrust at him, even as I wept my heart out. Finally I felt him surge inside me, then he collapsed onto me, driving even more breath from my body. I tried to wriggle out from beneath him, but he was a dead weight. After a time Hafiz finally rolled off me. I rolled onto my side sobbing, curling into a fetal position. I don't know how long I lay there before he stood over me, gripped my shoulder and roughly shook me. "Now you are truly my wife. What is your name?" Through hands covering my face, I whispered, "Emily." Then, dropping my hands, leaning up on one shoulder, I screamed at him, "Emily! My name's Emily, you bastard! You ANIMAL!" Before I knew what was happening, he had grabbed a length of my hair and swung me onto the floor with it. Then he kicked at me with all his strength, his bare foot connecting with my stomach. I didn't have enough breath to scream, and I lay curling in on myself as he kicked me a second and third time. Then he leaned his face very close to mine, and spittle flecked my cheeks as he roared, "Bitch! Your name is Farrah. Remember that next time I ask you. Farrah!" With that, he turned his back on me, lifted a bell and shook it vigorously. Within seconds, hands reached beneath my armpits, and two guards half-dragged me, half-carried me, still naked and screaming with fear and pain, through the corridors of Hafiz's palace to a room where they passed me on to an old woman. Silently she put her arm around me and helped me to a plush chaise longue, where I lay on my side, weeping. I must have slept, through sheer exhaustion. When I woke, my pussy feeling as if it was on fire, an Arab girl was kneeling beside me, running her hands through my hair. I guessed her age at 19 or 20. She was quite pretty, dressed the same way I had been before Hafiz raped me. She had long black hair, but seemed fascinated by my blonde locks. I pushed her away, and rolled over, my face to the back of the chaise, to continue my crying. A short time later the old woman came and gently shook my shoulder. She said something I didn't understand. The girl was beside her, and said in English, "You must come. Our Lord wishes you to see something." The old woman gave me a lightweight bathrobe to wear, then took my hand and led me to the door to the room. A tall, fat man in a silk vest and pants and a turban, stood aside, and I shrank back as I saw Abdullah smirking at me. The last time I had seen him was at the dinner party, where he had been prepared to kill Gerald for denying me to the prince. In his heavy accent he said, "You come with me", then he grabbed my wrist and wrenched me along beside him. I found myself on some kind of concealed balcony, above what could only be described as a throne room. Hafiz sat on a huge golden chair, a guard either side of him, and stood before him were Gerald and Captain McHugh! I drew breath to scream, but Abdullah's hand clamped over my mouth, and the sharp tip of his cruel dagger pressed into my throat. I heard Hafiz's voice echo up from below. "I am sorry gentleman, I know nothing of any lone horseman. I only wish I could tell you where Miss Buchanan is. There are several groups of brigands operating around here, and they are not unknown to kidnap young women for ransom, or...for other reasons. I will send some of my men to see what they can find out, but I am afraid I can do nothing more for you." I watched, tears streaming down my face, as Gerald's head dropped. David McHugh however, took a step forward, and said "Are you sure you haven't seen Emily, Your Highness?" At David's movement Hafiz's guards both drew scimitars and began to move in his direction, but Hafiz raised a staying hand. His voice dripping with ice, he said "Captain McHugh, are you questioning my word?" For fully five seconds David held his position and said nothing. Then, reluctantly, he stepped back and said, quietly but distinctly, "Of course not, Your Highness." I squeezed my eyes tight shut, trying to stem the flow of tears, as Gerald and David turned to leave, thanking Hafiz for his kindness. Mindless of the dagger at my throat I struggled, but Abdullah hissed into my ear, "They see you, you die, they die." Then he pushed me back to the room he'd brought me from, laughing uproariously at my misery. At the room he raised a foot and, placing it against my rump, kicked me back into the arms of the old woman. Her name was Aamina, and I suppose she was in her sixties though it was difficult to tell. The younger woman was Hayfa. There were three other women in what I realised must be Hafiz's harem, Hayfa's mother Fakhriyya, and two other young women, Muna and Salha. I never did find out the names of the eunuchs who guarded the door. Aamina, it seemed, had been a concubine of Hafiz's father, and was now living out her days as a sort of internal manager of the harem. In fact, she spent most of each day dozing. Among the women themselves, there were two clear camps. Muna and Salha kept to their own company, and Hayfa dismissed them as "stupid, ignorant, foreign girls." They both spoke Arabic, so I wasn't sure where they were from. They occasionally had screaming matches with Hayfa and Fakhriyya. I made a token effort to get to know them, but we had no language in common, and when I tried with gestures they just gave me sullen looks and remained unresponsive. I was surprised there were not more women in the place. Hayfa explained to me, "Our Lord considers it vulgar and unsophisticated to have too many women at any time. There is one other, but she is currently heavy with child, and has been isolated until the baby is born." I was also surprised that Fakhriyya was Hayfa's mother, she didn't seem old enough. Hayfa explained that too. "My mother married Our Lord when she was 15 years of age. She is very old to remain in the harem, but Our Lord likes her for sentimental reasons, as his first wife." It took a moment for the implications of Hayfa's words to sink in. "Wait a moment. Hafiz is your father. But you live I here...I mean, do you...he, er, boffs his own daughter?" Hayfa frowned. "I do not know this word, 'boffs', but I pleasure My Lord as he desires. It is the purpose of my being, as Allah wills it. I have borne him children too, and they are being educated, as I was." I thought that was the sickest thing I'd heard, but in the circumstances I kept the thought to myself. The day after he'd first raped me, Hafiz sent for me again. I stood sullenly before him, dressed again in a little pink harem suit. He stood sternly with his arms crossed across his chest, and said, "Wife, what is your name?" I lifted my head, and tossed my chin at him. "My name is Emily Buchanan. I am a citizen of the United..." The upper cut caught me squarely under the jaw, sending me sprawling. I was still reeling from that when he pulled me up by an arm, and swung me backwards into a wall. I landed on my fanny with a thump. I was only half-conscious as Hafiz raped me this time. I vaguely felt my shoulders rubbing across the carpet as he pushed at me, grunting as he came. Then he stood astride me, and pointed a finger at my face. "If I ever -- EVER -- hear the name Emily from your lips again, I will have Abdullah rip out your insolent tongue. Believe this." That night, lying on the hard pallet that served as my bed, my jaw still aching, I heard a moaning sound from across the room. Thinking that someone was maybe unwell, I crept in the direction of the sounds. I pulled up with a shock, and barely suppressed an audible gasp. In a beam of moonlight through a narrow window, I saw naked bodies straining against each other. It took me a moment to realise who it was -- Hayfa and Fakhriyya! Each had her head between the other's thighs, licking at their pussies and moaning with arousal. Hayfa, on the bottom, squeezed one of her own boobs even as she lapped at her mother's cunt, while the older woman probed her daughter with tongue and fingers. As if it wasn't enough that Hayfa was being screwed by her own father! I felt horrified at what I was watching, yet at the same time I couldn't drag my eyes away. After a minute or so Hayfa gave a small scream and her hips jerked at her mother. The older woman waited until the younger had finished her orgasm, then calmly resumed nuzzling her. Hayfa, when she had caught her breath, began to lick her mom's pussy again. Suddenly her eyes swivelled sideways, and locked into mine. After a moment I turned and crept back to my pallet, praying that I was caught in some Hellish nightmare, and that I would eventually wake up in my bed back in the Grand Hotel. I don't know whether they put something in our food to make us docile, or whether I was beginning to lose hope of rescue -- maybe a bit of both -- but the third time Hafiz sent for me, four days after my arrival, all the fight had gone out of me. It had begun to seem as if Gerald had accepted my captor's lies, and this harem life was my future. Whatever the reason, when he asked me on my arrival what my name was, I cast my eyes down to my bare feet and muttered, "My name is Farrah, and I exist to serve My Lord." He was sitting, naked, in a large armchair, and a huge grin spread across his face. "Good. This is very good. Now, my wife, come and kneel here." He pointed to a spot on the carpet between his big hairy thighs. I did so. Then he reached down and pulled my flimsy blouse over my head, before taking my breasts in his hands and gently kneading them, flicking my nipples with his thumbs. He shuffled forward in his chair until his erect cock was less than two inches from my mouth. Then, huskily, he murmured, "Now you may pleasure me." I stared up into his eyes. "I'm sorry...my Lord, I don't understand. You want me to...?" Chuckling he placed his hand behind my head and pulled it forward, until the tip of his prick nudged against my lips. Obediently I opened them, and it slid into my mouth. Perhaps I was naïve, but in my entire life to that point it had never occurred to me to suck a man's John Thomas. A thought briefly arose that I had an opportunity to clamp my teeth down into it, but I knew that if I did my remaining lifespan would be measured in seconds. I was aware of the expression 'a fate worse than death', but at that moment my body clearly didn't feel this was it. I didn't know what I was expected to do, so I just slid my lips up and down it, swished my tongue around it, and cradled his balls in one of my hands. It seemed to be the right thing as his breathing became deep and ragged, and he began whispering encouragements in Arabic. After a few minutes his hips thrust at me, driving his cock deep into my mouth, and a stream of jizz hit my throat. I nearly gagged at that, but I held off and, assuming it was what was expected, swallowed, feeling a warm slimy sensation in my throat. Hafiz slumped back in his seat and ruffled my hair, like I was one of his dogs. Not having had permission to move, I rested my head on his thigh, wondering what came next. I soon found out. He stood and led me by the hand to the bed. There he knelt and slipped my pants down my legs, pausing for a good look at my hairy blonde triangle. Then he had me get onto the bed and, like a toy doll, I compliantly let him arrange me onto all fours. I felt him move behind me, his hands caressing my buttocks; then his cock rubbed momentarily against my cheeks, before thrusting into my pussy. He gripped my hips and rammed hard at me. I gasped with the force of his penetration. As he fucked me I could feel my boobies swinging beneath me. I had never had sex in that position before, and his prick seemed to be hitting different spots to normal. I felt myself heating up and, unable to stop myself, I moaned and started pressing back onto him. When he gave one particularly deep thrust I pitched forward, catching my weight on my forearms, and Hafiz carried on screwing me, the different angle again producing new sensations inside me. I definitely came that time, with a small squeal, just before My Lord shot his bolt. Despite my continued misery at my enslavement, I felt an unwelcome frisson of satisfaction that I had served My Lord well. I was oddly deflated therefore, when, without a word, he withdrew wiped his prick on my discarded pants, and left the room without a backward glance at me. When I arrived back in the harem, Hayfa came and sat with her arm around me, stroking my hair. I assumed she was just being sympathetic to me, and gave her a grateful smile. After a while she kissed my cheek and left. Later that night I awoke with a start, feeling breath on my face. In the darkness, I saw Fakhriyya's face smiling at me. She was lying on my pallet, inches from me, and as my hand accidentally brushed against her I realised she was nude. In an instant I thought back to Hayfa spotting me seeing her make love with her mother, Hayfa stroking me earlier in the evening... Before I could take that line of thinking any further, Fakhriyya rolled half on top of me and began kissing my face. I was shocked. I'd known there were a few girls in college who had done this sort of thing, but I'd always been too interested in boys to find the slightest attraction in my own sex. The woman spoke no English, and I no Arabic, but I whispered urgently, "Fakhriyya, no please, I'm not...I mean, I don't..." She simply took the opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. I pressed my hands gently against her chest, trying to ease her away from me. A mistake -- they pressed flat against her big breasts, the nipples pressing into my palms, and she moaned and pressed her groin against me. I felt wiry pubic hair rubbing against my hip I didn't want her to continue, I really didn't. But the truth was, I felt absolutely desolate, mentally and physically ragged, and Fakhriyya's tender kisses and soft caresses were very different from the rough way in which Hafiz used me. I needed some warmth and kindness, and there it was, from this darkly beautiful thirty-something woman. Her hands slipped up inside my blouse, one extending a warm, soft arm around my back, the other cupping a breast. I felt myself beginning to heat up, my nipples stiffening and my pussy, seemingly of its own accord, rubbing against my new lover's thigh through my pants. I began kissing her back, my tongue drawing circles around hers. My hand closed around her breast and began softly squeezing. She eased us sideways on my pallet until we slipped with a soft thud onto the carpet. When she tugged at my blouse I raised my arms to allow her to slide it over my head and off. Then we lay in each other's arms, kissing deeply as my boobies squashed against hers. Fakhriyya trailed her lips down my throat. I sighed and stroked her hair as her mouth locked onto one of my breasts, a hand gently kneading my other breast. She tweaked one nipple with fingers, flicked the other with tongue, as I writhed beneath her. For all the times Hafiz had fucked me, I'd never felt remotely as turned on as I was then. I threw my legs apart as my mistress's hand slipped between my legs. She instantly found my clitty, and my knees jerked up in response to her touch. I felt her pulling my pants down y legs and off. Moments later Fakhriyya's tongue slipped across my belly, then I whimpered as I felt her warm breath on my inner thighs. I shuddered as the tongue licked the length of my slit, then wormed its way inside me. Nobody had ever kissed me there before, and I thought I had never felt such intense pleasure. She moved her tongue and lips onto my clit, and began reaming my pussy with her fingers. As I'd seen Hayfa do the previous evening, I began kneading my own boobies with my hands. My eyes were half-closed, but I saw a shadow flicker across me, then a weight dropped onto my chest. Hayfa was sitting lightly on me, her black pubic bush inches from my face. She gazed down into my eyes, uttered one word -- "Please" -- then slid forwards, until her pussy lips were pressing lightly against my facial ones. Inexperienced as I was, I placed one hand on her ass to steady her, and with the other I prised her cunt open and ran my tongue along it. She bucked and, encouraged, I dove into her, my tongue thrusting deep inside. It wasn't easy as I kept having to stop to moan or sigh as Fakhriyya continued to drive me crazy, even as I licked out her daughter. I felt a pressure on my backside, then Fakhriyya wormed her fingers into my anal passage. She was now pleasuring my pussy with tongue and one hand, while with the other hand she reamed my ass. I wasn't sure how much of this erotic delight I could take, but I bravely continued to lick and suck at Hayfa as she swayed and groaned above me, gripping her breasts in her small hands.. Finally, I felt an explosion welling up between my legs, and I bit on one of my knuckles to muffle my scream as I flooded my juices onto Fakhriyya's face. She rolled away from me, then, before I could start in again on Hayfa, the younger woman flipped herself around, so that I was now licking her pussy from behind, and she bent forward and took over from her mother in tongue-lashing me. We sixty-nined for minutes on end, each coming time and time again as we manipulated our tongues and fingers inside each other's pussies, torturing each other's clits with our caresses. I felt a hand on my booby and realised Fakhriyya was kneeling next to me. Blindly I reached out a hand and found her pussy. I slowly finger-fucked her as she stroked me and Hayfa and I continued to eat each other's cunts. After that, although I could never have truly accepted life in the harem, I began to habituate to my new reality. I was losing track of time as one day merged into the next. When not called upon to pleasure My Lord, by day I lounged around the harem, by night Fakhriyya, Hayfa and I fucked and sucked each other in every possible combination. We had to be careful in our timing -- Hafiz could call on any of us at any time, day or night, and it wouldn't have done to be caught in the midst of our lesbian fun fest when he wanted us. He often took girls away in combination -- either Muna and Salha together or, more kinkily, Hayfa and Fakhriyya as a pairing. I was only ever called upon to serve him on my own though. I cannot say I ever enjoyed sex with Hafiz, but I did start to come every time, and I began to get used to his rhythms and match to them, which was better for both of us. Sometimes he would actually make love to me tenderly and considerately. Most times he would fuck me as roughly as possible. On occasions, when he was displeased with me (I never knew why) he would beat me. During the long days when we weren't called upon, we made our own entertainment. There was only one book in the harem, the Koran in Arabic, and Hayfa would translate passages to me. She began to teach me phrases in Arabic. She taught me to dance, better to please My Lord if called upon to do so. At other times we would just talk, or I would lounge drowsily on my pallet, or take long soaks in the large sunken bath at the back of the room. More than once Hayfa joined me, and we lay kissing, sucking each other's breasts, and fingering each other to orgasm under the water. Talented lover though Fakhriyya was, I so loved Hayfa's vibrant youth and enthusiasm when we coupled, and increasingly I sought opportunities to have her to myself. I soon realised that Fakhriyya had noticed, and an unhealthy jealousy seemed to be building up between mother and daughter. Harem Days One evening, all five of us were sent for. We were led not to Hafiz's bed chamber, but to a large dining hall, where he was entertaining several richly dressed men. He told them "My wives will entertain you as you please, my honored guests." First, while they ate, he had us dance -- I said a silent prayer of thanks that Hayfa had taught me, as I whirled around the table, jiggling my hips, brushing my long hair across the diners' shoulders, shaking my breasts shamelessly in their faces. Then Hafiz, with a huge grin, took Hayfa by the hand and led her away. The remaining men ignored Fakhriyya, two of them taking a giggling Muna and Salha between them, the other two closing in on me. As one of them eased me out of my clothes the other undressed. Then he pulled me down onto a group of cushions while his companion stripped and joined us. Hayfa had said something about entertaining Our Lord's friends, but until that moment the reality of what she meant had not hit me. I lay unresisting while one of the men fucked me as the other one guzzled my boobies. The one screwing me had a tiny cock compared to My Lord, and I almost wasn't aware of him inside me. The other one was much younger -- I suspected he was the first one's son -- and I stroked his rather larger dick with my hand. After the first one had come inside me they both caressed and licked me until he was hard again. Then they moved me onto all fours. The younger one moved behind me, but I was shocked when, instead of entering my pussy, he rammed his dick into my ass. The other one pulled my mouth open with his hands and slid his little cock into my mouth. When Hayfa or her mother put their fingers -- or their tongues -- deep into my anal passage it felt heavenly, but this young bully was stabbing me so painfully I felt tears spring into my eyes. The one in my mouth, despite having already shot off once, lasted only seconds. He made no move to withdraw, however, so I simply held my position with his flagging dick between my lips as I winced with pain from the harsh treatment of my backside by his companion. I did try to arouse the other one again with my tongue, if only to distract myself, but it was like sucking a dead worm. Eventually the cur at my rear end released his jism, and the two of them pawed at me some more, the old one pushing his short, pudgy fingers into my cunt and ramming them hard against me while I stroked both their cocks. After a while, each having spunked again, they returned to their clothes, laughing and slapping each other on the backs as if they were really proud of themselves. Aamina was then allowed to lead me away. It was quiet when I returned to the harem room, with only Fakhriyya there, drowsing on her pallet. Feeling dazed I quietly went and washed out my backside, finding not only the young pig's sperm but also traces of my own blood. Then I lay on my own pallet, curled into a ball, and wept silently. Fakhriyya came over and tried to kiss and caress me, but I pushed her away; I was beyond solace that night. I didn't think My Lord could heap any deeper humiliation on me. If only I'd known. The next afternoon, as I sprawled on a chaise longue, still feeling traumatised, Aamina came over to me, looking quite agitated, and indicated with hand gestures that I was required. Sighing, I made my way to the door, where a guard stood to lead me to My Lord. He didn't, though; he took me to a room I'd never seen before, where a number of Hafiz's lieutenants sprawled about on pillows, guzzling chicken. As I entered, the door slammed closed behind me, and I whirled round to see Abdullah blocking the exit, grinning at me. As I looked back to the others, I saw they were rising to their feet, wiping their greasy fingers and beards and, to a man, stirpping off their clothes! There were about a dozen of them, and they slowly closed in on me, encircling me, the revolting Abdullah among them. I trembled as I realised what they planned. Turning to face Abdullah, I screamed into his face, "Don't touch me you pig! My Lord will have your heads on a plate for this." Abdullah shook his head, grinning even more widely. "Not at all, Farrah - you are our Lord's gift to us." I made a desperate lunge for a small gap in the circle, but it closed and they fell on me. Within seconds my clothes had been ripped from me, their fingers gouging me, tearing long rakes in my skin. For several hours they did as they wished with me. They either ignored my sobs and screams or, if they became too irritated with me, slapped my face to quiet me. I was fucked in the mouth, the cunt, the ass, and at least at one point all three orifices were filled simultaneously by sweating, grunting men thrusting at me. Towards the end I mercifully lost consciousness; my last clear memory was of Abdullah slamming into me from behind, his fingers digging deep into my hips, growling "Like this, you fucking whore." When I'd been half-carried, half-dragged back to the harem, I sat very still on my pallet for a while. Hayfa and her mother both asked if I was okay but, as if in a trance, I ignored them. Then, very slowly, I walked to the lavatory, knelt over it, and threw up, over and over, until I was dry heaving, stomach acid burning my throat. Finally I was too weak the puke any more, and I collapsed on the floor in hysterical, screaming tears. I lay awake on my pallet that night, my knees drawn up towards my chest, sucking my thumb, seriously contemplating killing myself. Then I heard Hayfa whisper urgently, "Farrah, look, something is happening." Struggling to raise the slightest interest in anything, I stood and drifted over to stand behind her at the window. At first I saw nothing. Just as I was about to return to my bed, I heard a cry. Was that a human screaming, or just some wild animal? A few moments later I saw two or three small lights, torch beams I thought, flash briefly through the night. Then they disappeared and nothing more happened. I thought I must have been mistaken, that they were no more than fire flies. I went back to my pallet and continued to consider whether I had, or wanted, a future on the planet. It was probably five minutes later that I heard a thump outside the door to the harem. It opened and, in the light from the corridor, I saw a large figure slump through the gap to the floor. The eunuch who had been on duty. Several shadowy figures flitted into the room. An oil lamp was lit, then another. I stared in disbelief at Captain David McHugh, dressed from head to toe in black, his face smudged with black boot polish, a dagger clutched in his hand. Behind him stood two similarly clad figures, one with a stubby machine gun slung over his shoulder, the other holding a short straight dagger to the throat of a terrified Arab guard, hand clamped over the captive's mouth. I opened my mouth but David put a finger to his lips, silencing me. Then Aamina appeared at my side. She took one look at the men, then drew breath, clearly intending to scream. Without even thinking, I rammed my elbow into her stomach. Her eyes bulged and she doubled over with an explosion of breath. In moments David had leapt across the room, gagged her and tied her hands and feet. I pointed to the bath area and he carried her, kicking and gasping for breath, back there. All the other women were staring in astonishment. Hayfa was still by the window, Fakhriyya was sitting up on her pallet, Salha stood at a distance watching the scene with eyes as big as bowling balls, and Muna lay on her pallet crying softly and trembling with fear. David assessed the way I was dressed in a glance then took a pair of canvas sneakers from a small pack on his back. I slipped them on my feet and he took my hand and began to lead me away. I turned back. "Hayfa, some with us. Get away while you have the chance. Tell your mother, too." Hayfa shook her head. Her voice tiny, she said, ""We cannot. I am scared. Where would we go, what would we do? My Lord is kind to us, and this is all we know." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. David hissed at me, "Come on Miss Buchanan, we have to leave." Ignoring him, I reached out a hand. "Hayfa, please, I can't just leave you here." She stared at me silently shaking her head, tears forming in her eyes. David, sounding furious, wrenched at my arm and growled, "Emily, NOW!" I cast one last glance back at Hayfa, then allowed him to pull me through the door. On the way out of the building I counted four dead Arabs, plus the eunuch. I didn't know what had happened to the captive guard, I didn't see him again. Within minutes we were outside, and I saw two dark military personnel carriers, with various dark figures moving around them. Hands dragged me into one of the vehicles and a rather prickly olive great coat was draped around my shoulders. Then, slowly at first, the small convoy moved off. When we were maybe a mile from Hafiz's palace the drivers gunned the engines, and we made all possible speed across the border into Aden, and the safety of British protection. Dawn was breaking when we pulled to the side of a road and David came to see how I was. The tension finally broken, I fell sobbing into his arms. "I'd given up on being rescued. I thought I'd be there for ever." He stroked my hair. "I know. I'm sorry it's taken us nearly three weeks. First I had to convince my colonel Hafiz really had you, then we had to get permission from London...anyway, you're safe now, and you'll soon be home." I couldn't believe it had been such a short time. Sniffling, I asked David where Gerald was. A grim look flashed across his face, but he said my fiancé -- the term he used -- was in the city. Due to the extreme secrecy of the mission, he hadn't been aware of it, so my arrival would be a surprise. They took me first to see a doctor, who gave me a thorough check over and said I needed a few weeks of complete rest. When the examination finished David presented me with a khaki shirt and a pair of army pants, saying it was all they could manage at short notice. The shirt sagged on me, and the pants were a couple of inches too short and baggy at the waist, but I was so relieved to get out of that goddamn harem suit. Then David took me to the Imperial Hotel, where Gerald was staying. As we arrived I rushed up the front steps, barely noticing the army sergeant who gave David a small shake of his head. David grabbed my arm and said hurriedly, "Don't go up there just yet Emily, I'll go and get Gerald for you." I couldn't understand David's attitude. I wondered for a moment if he was displaying jealousy. I was forever grateful for his efforts at rescuing me of course, but...Breaking free I rushed to the desk clerk, asked for Doctor Crichton's room number, and raced up the wide staircase to the first floor. When I got to Gerald's room I burst through the door. I should have knocked first, but, hell, he was my fiancé, and he'd be overwhelmed with joy to see me, obviously. I stopped as if I'd been turned to stone. Gerald was on the floor in the middle of the room -- stark naked apart from his specs, his body curled around that of an Arab slut who he was fucking from behind, his hands locked to her miniscule breasts. She was gazing back at him over her shoulder, eyes rolling and tongue hanging out. She saw me first, and immediately started bucking back at Gerald and moaning and wailing dramatically as he continued to thrust into her. It took maybe three strokes before he became aware of my presence. He froze, stared at me with his mouth open, then gasped, "Em! Oh shit." Oh shit indeed. I turned and fled. Seconds later I heard Gerald pounding down the corridor behind me, calling my name. Murder in my heart, I stopped, turned on my heel, and snapped, "What Gerald? Let me guess, this isn't what it looks like?" He was still naked, and his rather small cock reared up at me, glistening with that little whore's juices. "Emily, I'm sorry. You weren't meant to see that, I had no idea they'd gone for you. It's wonderful to see you my darling." He took a step towards me, his arms outstretched, but I stepped back. Dropping his arms, he said, in a rather peevish voice, "Emily, I love you, this doesn't mean anything, she's just a native girl." I thought of the 'native girls' I'd left behind me, of how they'd been used by Hafiz, just as he'd used me...just as Gerald had been using this girl. I thought also of how he'd taken her from behind, his body wrapped around hers, just as Abdullah had taken me only the previous day. Sarcastically, I snapped, "Gee thanks Gerald, you have no idea how much better that makes me feel." Then, an instinctive reaction, I swung my leg back and aimed my foot at his balls. I was only wearing the soft sneakers, but judging by the way his eyes crossed, and the way he sunk to the floor with a whimper, his hands clutching his crown jewels, they can still hurt. I whirled away from him and, for the second time in a few hours, found myself weeping into David McHugh's chest. A couple of weeks after I was rescued, David disappeared for couple of days. Shortly afterwards, news spread that Hafiz and his henchman Abdullah had been found with their throats slit, their genitalia cut off and stuffed into their mouths. The official story was that it was the work of local brigands, but I wondered about that. I never found out what happened to Hayfa and Fakhriyya. It was only two days after I arrived in Aden -- after I learnt of Gerald's betrayal -- that I made love with David McHugh for the first time. He wasn't a great lover, but he was good enough, tender and considerate, and he gave me a warm glow inside. It was while David was gone that I discovered I was pregnant. David immediately asked me to marry him, the full British thing, down on one knee. Only when I was satisfied that it was a sincere request, not a charitable one, did I agree. As I did, I prayed that my baby would be pale and blond with either green or blue eyes, not swarthy with dark hair and flashing black eyes. David loved me deeply, but I'm not sure that I ever truly loved him; he was a good man though, an extremely kind man, and I grew very fond of him, and very eager to make his life happy. Of course, it was through him that I came into contact with Signor Mussolini's associates in Ethiopia...but that's another story. Harem Days Ch. 02 After Marcella and I welcomed the morning with some sleepy kisses, she extricated herself from my bed and told me she simply had to attend to her 'other' duties. I lay dreamily in bed for some time, reliving every detail of my night with Marcella. If that was what black pussy was like, I wanted an awful lot more! It was a knock at my door that finally brought me into the new day. Entering was a slim dark-haired woman in her early twenties. She was carrying a tray upon which was set a breakfast of fruits, yoghurt, pastries and coffee. Instinctively I pulled the sheet over my exposed breasts and she placed the tray down beside me on the large bed. I smiled and said hello. 'Hello and good morning, ma'am. My name's Maria and I'm your personal maid. Mrs Aziz has told me to take personal care of you. I shall be cleaning your room, changing your bed, bringing you breakfast, taking care of your clothes. You name it and I will do it.' 'How very kind of you Maria. Please come and sit with me.' Maria smiled and placed herself on the side of my bed, crossing her legs and smiling. She was wearing a black maid's uniform that fitted snugly against her trim figure. Her black hair was tied back behind her head in a bun. Her complexion was clear and tanned. She had a sweet and open countenance. She was evidently charming - and I was charmed. 'Where are you from, Maria?' 'I'm from Nicaragua, ma'am.' 'Please call me Tiffany! How long have you been here in Egypt?' 'I've been here for three years now. Mrs Aziz recruited me to work here during a trip to South America. She has been good to me - very good. I'm so glad you have joined us Tiffany. I hope you are equally happy here too. I hope I can help to make you happy.' I reached out and took her petite hand, squeezing it gently. 'I'm sure Maria that you will. I'm sure we are going to become very good friends.' Maria left me to eat my breakfast. Taking up the tray I saw there was a note and opening the envelope found it was a letter from Mrs Aziz. 'Darling Tiffany, I do hope that you had a good night's rest. I sent Marcella up to check on you. I do trust she made you comfortable and welcome. I'm afraid I shall be out most of the day to-day and Mr Aziz and I will be dining out. However, I should love it if you came to our room tonight at 11pm. You will find the door open. Till then do amuse yourself as you feel. Any of the servants will do as you wish. A.' The prospect of 12 unemployed hours stretching before me was a little daunting. So I set about filling them as best I could. I took a shower and dressed in white shorts and a tight white top. I am proud of my ample bust and always try to show it off. For a woman of Asian background I am well endowed and that always turns heads. I wondered around the palace, investigating rooms, inspecting the library, the music room, the film room and the swimming pool. It was there, sitting by the poolside in the shade of an umbrella, that Marcella found me. 'Umm, there you are my dear. I've been looking for you all around. I do hope you are ok, girl?' Marcella came up behind me and bent over to place a kiss on my lips. 'Yes, you taste as sweet as ever. I wondered if you'd like a massage, to smooth away the aches and pains of travelling here. My husband, Marcus, he's Mrs Aziz's personal trainer. His also a skilled masseur. Knowing you girl, your gonna love him and what he does with his hands. Come on, I'll take you through.' I followed Marcella down along a long passageway and through into a large room full of exercise equipment. 'You can always come and work out here, dear - and keep that kinky body of yours in nice shape. Now where is Marcus? She shouted his name and from one of the side rooms emerged a truly impressive piece of manhood. Well he was every white - and oriental - woman's fantasy male. Tall and broad and with a wonderfully muscular torso. His chest was smooth and his head was shaven too. He was naked but for a small pair of shorts that were evidently struggling to contain his endowment. And yes, he was black. Marcella walked up to Marcus and placed her hands on his chest, leaning forward slightly to kiss it. 'Marcus, darling, this is my dear friend Tiffany. You know I told you about our night together honey. Well, I told her about you too and she's really wanting to meet you. I've told her you'll look after her good and proper - wont you darling?' Again Marcella kissed her man's muscular chest and ran her red fingernail across it as she pulled herself away. As she returned to me she took my chin and held me still while she kissed me on the lips, full in front of her husband. 'He's all yours, sweet, and I mean all of him.' As Marcella slipped away, Marcus smiled and reached for my hand and led me through into a side room. In the centre was a raised massage bench - and to one side was a wide divan, well supplied with cushions. Everything here was built for comfort - and, I was discovering, the hedonistic indulgence of the senses. 'Tiffany, would you care to slip off those clothes for me?' Trying to remain confident and cool I unbuttoned my white shirt and tossed it onto the divan. My shorts I eased off next, leaving me in my bra and panties. From the corner of my eye I saw that Marcus was gazing on me steadily. That heat I'd felt in the presence of Marcella last night was rising in me again. The act of being kissed by my black lover in front of her husband had already stirred my juices. Emboldened I tried to take the initiative. Slipping down my skimpy panties I took them in my hand and turning to face Marcus offered them to him. He enclosed them in his big black hand. Tossing my long black hair forward I asked. 'Marcus, will you be a dear and unhook my bra for me?' He came up behind me and I felt his powerful presence. The aroma of black masculinity. As his hands touched my skin I shuddered. It had been a while since I had been with a man, and a black man never. His hot breath was on the back of my neck and I thought I could feel an already aroused cock touch my arse. The clasp was released, but not Marcus's touch. His hands remained on my back, gently stroking it. I was breathing deeply, unsure how to proceed. Fortunately Marcus broke the ice. He planted a kiss on the nape of my neck. I groaned and pushed back against him, against his hard black body. And this time there was no doubt that his cock was full and hard pressing against me. Wonderfully, his powerful hands slid around my body to cup my breasts, which were yearning for attention. The sight of his dark skin against my milky boobs was intensely erotic. I lay back in his arms now. 'Oh Marcus, I'm loving what your doing to me already. Your in control, just give me what you think I need.' 'I don't think there's any doubt about what I need...' Marcus pulled me around to face him. Tilting up my chin he pressed his mouth to mine. And so we kissed for the first time and I found myself in the arms of a powerful black man - and at that moment there was nowhere in the world I'd rather have been. Suddenly Marcus bent down and swept me up in his arms. He carried me across to the massage bench, laying me face down. He placed a cushion under my shoulders and carefully scooped up my thick main of black hair and rested let it hand over the side of the couch. 'Just relax, baby, and let me smooth away all you're your tensions. We need to get you ready for all your activates here, don't we?' I felt the cool drops of massage oil trickle down my back and listened as Marcus worked the oil into his hands. And then, yes, I felt the sensation of his large, supple, black hands on my skin and I lay still and gave myself over to the experience of total bodily stimulation. Marcus was slow and insistent and thorough, giving careful attention to every part of me - my shoulders, my arms, my back, my calf muscles and my thighs. I was in a trance, relishing the loving attention I was receiving from this black hunk. My pussy, I knew, was seeping juice and my pert, well-rounded arse, was alive in expectation of Marcus's expert fingers. He took a long time getting there, approaching the tops of my thighs, only to draw away and concentrate again on my legs. But he knew what he was doing - and what I wanted. And when I felt the massage oil dribble into my arse crack I groaned audibly. 'Mmm, Marcus, I thought you'd never get to my arse, dear. It was feeling neglected, missing your beautiful touch. Ohhh, that's it - squeeze me good, I need this so bad, that's it, yes...' I squirmed between Marcus's powerful hands, as they kneeded, and teased and squeezed, and held my ample arse-cheeks. As he pulled my cheeks apart I knew I must be giving him a clear view of my dark-pink arse hole, like the rest of me shaven smooth. 'Well, Tiffany, I can see that Marcella wasn't exaggerating when she told me about your sensual arse. It's beautiful, baby, and nice and full for an Asian girl. I like a juicy plump arse - and so does Marcella. Man, when she came back this morning she could stop raving about you honey. You really got her juices flowing, girl.' And then, for the first time, I felt Marcus drag a finger across my arse hole. I moaned and he repeated the movement, adding another finger this time. His oiled fingers began to circle my already wet anus. I pushed my arse up and spread my thighs wider, to let him know how welcome this finger was - how I loved what he was doing. 'But Marcus, weren't you upset when Marcella didn't come home last night? Weren't you jealous or angry when she told you she was with another woman?' 'Oh, no, Tiffany, I ain't jealous. Marcella's always loved other women. They can't resist her juicy big tits and horny black pussy - and really girl, it turns me on to see her with other women, especially when she brings them into our bed. And quite a few, I'm pleased to say, fancy some black cock as well as black pussy.' As he said this Marcus slipped his well-lubricated finger into my arse-hole. I exhaled breath sharply and then relished the feeling of this long black finger in my arse. Marcus knew full well what he was doing, sliding his finger gently back and forth, probing my inner cavities, stirring my already thick juices. I began to whimper, burying my face in the cushion. 'Tell me Tiffany, are you strictly a muff-diver, or would you fancy some black cock too? Did Marcella tell you how big I was, honey, how I fill that sloppy big pussy of hers? Would you like some black cock, girl? If so you gonna have to tell Marcus about it...' Writhing still under the finger in my arse, my face yet pressed in the cushion, my throat thick with desire, I struggle to articulate my words. 'Yes, yes, Marcus, I want black cock...' 'I can't hear you too clear, honey. You'd better tell me louder.' 'Yes, please, I want black cock. I want to be fucked by a black man - I want his cock in me. I want to be taken and used by a thick black cock.' 'Umm, that's it, Tiffany, that's it. Marcella said you were a ripe little Asian slut for black meat, but I wanted to hear it from you my sweet. Now I wonder, baby, if this is what you want...' Slipping his finger from my arse Marcus gently eased me on to my side and stood at the head of the couch. I found myself looking straight at the massive bulge in his tight shorts. He reached for my right hand and lifted to place it on the outline of his cock. It felt wonderfully full and hard and lustful. I rubbed it for him and he groaned. I gazed up at him seductively and licked my lips wantonly. 'Isn't it about time that Tiffany unwrapped Marcus's nice big gift for her?' With both hands I very slowly eased the material from over Marcus's manhood. The black head of his cock appeared first and I gently stroked it with the palm of my left hand while continuing to expose the rest of his endowment, inch by inch. Finally the tightly packed balls were uncovered and I allowed the fabric to slip down Marcus's powerful thighs. This indeed was the cock of a white woman's dreams. It sprang long and proud from Marcus's well toned body. It was not yet fully hard, and formed a delicious curve as it dipped slightly under its own weight. The circumcised helmet was strong and nicely formed, and the veins stood clear and visible. The balls were shaven and hung full and succulent from the base of his manhood. Indeed, Marcus's smooth skin only highlighted the dimensions of this wonderful weapon. Tentatively I let my right hand slide over its dimensions, feeling it stir like an animal. But in truth I was in awe if this cock and was struck with nerves. Could I handle it, could I satisfy such a man?' Sensing my nerves Marcus took me by the arm and lifted me onto my knees. I slipped my body between his powerful arms and gazed up at him like a helpless girl on her first date. He lowered his mouth and kissed me on the forehead, the nose, and then my lips. I grasped at him hungrily, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his muscular arms. 'God, Marcus, I've never seen such an incredible cock. I love it darling, it is so wonderful. Its so big, baby, but I can take it, I know I can. I want you to use me as a white whore. I want to go black, Marcus, completely. I want you to spoil me for any white man...please, Marcus, make me your white slut...' Gripping me tightly, Marcus lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the divan, my mouth locked against his. Here he laid me down and I spread my legs wide, offering him a full view of my bald pink pussy - wet with desire. Like a cat he crawled between my legs and engulfed me with the bulk of his black body, allowing his wonderful cock to press against my soft stomach. He was possessing me and I was offering myself to him. It is hard to relate the intense eroticism of that moment. I had dreamed of being taken by a well-endowed black man. But the idea had been intriguing, academic almost, a curiosity as to what it would be like. Yet now it was an absolute fact and intensely, elementally, real. It was like being engulfed by a tidal wave of passion: little was left standing of my old world by the time it had passed. His skin was so dark and alluring against my pale flesh. And silky smooth too, flawless and shiny with health. His muscles so hard and developed, the product of long ours working out. His dark lips so hungry for my curvaceous white body. The intense masculinity of his scent, assaulting my nostrils and stirring my deepest animal passions. His gorgeous tight arse, which I clasped to pull him close to me. His powerful thighs, which enabled him to thrust so deep and so long. And yes, above all, his rampant black cock. It was not its size alone that awed me. It was all it represented. To me it was the embodiment of virility, a totem of illicit desire, an object of fascination - and the end and object of my womanly instincts. Such a cock was the essence of masculinity, of the coupling of man and woman, and, yes, of fertility. Such a cock would plant torrents of impregnating seed in my womb and turn me into a breeder of babies as black and virile as Marcus. That, at least, is what I felt as Marcus finally pulled his gorgeous cock from my devouring mouth and positioned himself between my thighs and steered his black meat into my dripping pussy. As the bulbous head of his cock first pushed asunder my hungry cunt lips I smiled at him and slid my hands onto the tight cheeks of his arse, helping to draw me in to my centre, my womanhood. Patient as ever, Marcus let me adjust to and accommodate every additional inch of his flesh. But he had ensured that I was well lubricated and I find myself drawing him deeper and deeper in until, yes, our pelvic bones met. Marcus had given me his all and I had accepted it. I clung to my lover now, as the emotion of the moment coursed through me. Tears welled in my eyes. 'Marcus, my dear Marcus, I'm filled up. For the first time I've been properly filled by a man. You've taken my true virginity, darling. This is the moment I become a true woman. . And it's you, my darling, my black stud, my hung stallion, who've done this. Fuck your little white girl. She's yours. You've stamped yourself on me - made me your own. Give me your cum, baby, give me your lust, your black juice, your virility. Fuck your tiffany - fuck her properly for the first time.' Marcus needed no encouragement. Now finally the leash was let slip and he used me for his pleasure. His black cock slipped back and forth in my vagina. Every thrust brought a loud grunt from Marcus and a squeal from me. My cunt was burning and pain was mixed with pleasure in more than equal measure. Yet I urged him loudly. 'Harder, my love, harder. I can take it. Give me this black cock, open me up. Ruin me for any white man. Give me your cum, give me your babies. I want your black babies, Marcus, I'm a slave to your desire, your manhood, use me, use me, whenever you want me - take me, please, please, I want more of this, my white pussy wants more, oh yes, arghhh, don't stop, pound me, ahhh, ahh....' 'Here I cum, white bitch. Take my seed, girl, I'm cuming, I'm cuming, urghhhhh...' Grunting loudly Marcus orgasamed in my welcoming cunt. I clung so tight as he spent himself in me, flooding me with his white cum, filling my womb with his seed. I was too dazed to do anything but spread my legs wide, letting him use my gaping cunt as a receptacle for his virility. Only when the torrent of his desire abated did he lift himself from my shattered body, a string of cum hanging from the tip of his black meat. My eyes were closed and I panted for breath. It was with some surprise then that I suddenly found soft lips pressing against mine and I opened my eyes to see the beautiful smiling face of Marcella gazing at me. 'Oh, Marcella, I'm sorry, did you see...did you hear...? Oh I'm so sorry, I...' 'Yes, my darling, I saw and heard everything. And I'm so happy that you and Marcus have gotten to know each other so well. I kinda hoped you would. And my dear, you were wonderful. It's gotten Marcella all hot and wet watching your kinky body get fucked. And yes, didn't I tell you that Marcus was the best? I think you know where to come if you want chocolate cock and pussy - and I do think you've gotten quite a taste for it, haven't you?' Harem Days Ch. 03 It was shortly after 11pm that evening that I slipped from my room and made my way down the dimly lit hall towards the chink of light that was emanating from the door of the Mrs Aziz's bedroom. I was wearing only a white silk housecoat that barely covered my arse to reach my soft thighs. On my feet were my black stiletto heels: I liked the extra height they gave me, and the way they accentuated my well-formed calves. My long black hair hung free down my back. Of course, my heart was racing and my legs less then steady. And yes, my pussy was tingling with anticipation for the touch of the beautiful Mrs Aziz. The door was already open and swung wide as I knocked gently. The room, like so much else in the house, was large and spacious. A gentle light suffused the scene, supplied by two table lamps and some dimmed wall-lights. A fan turned lazily overhead, stirring the incense-laden air. I had expected to see Mrs Aziz, but it was in fact a younger woman, who I had not seen before, who I found reclining on a large bed in the centre of the room. Sensing my uncertainty she broke the silence. 'Mmm, Tiffany isn't it? Do come in. There was no need to knock - you may enter our room whenever you wish. We hope you will come to regard it as yours as well.' In front of me was a large bed. Leaning back against its headboard was a strikingly attractive dark-haired woman in a loose green robe, open at the middle. She was about 30 years of age, with high cheekbones, flashing white eyes, deep red lipstick. She reminded me very much of Angela Devi, a real heartthrob of mine whose pictures always made me hot and wet. The swell of her ample breasts was clearly visible with the parting of her robe. But what caught the eye was her very pronounced stomach. This woman was heavily pregnant. She was stretched out languidly, her smooth legs bare to my gaze. I guessed immediately that this marvellous woman was Mrs Aziz's daughter. 'Tiffany, my name is Mumtaz. I am Mrs Aziz's daughter. I have been looking forward so much to meeting you....very much indeed...' As she said this she eased herself gingerly from the bed and slowly walked towards me, her pregnant stomach swinging before her. Approaching me she reached out a hand and I leant forward to take it. She lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it, holding my gaze as she did so and smiling gently. 'Yes, Tiffany, I have been really looking forward to meeting you. Believe me, Mama has been telling me all about you, how beautiful you are and how sexy. She is just taking a bath and asked me to take care of you. I hope you aren't too disappointed...' As Mumtaz said this she raised her elegant arm, laden with golden bangles that so complimented her dusky skin, and stroked my cheek with her soft hand. I tried not to move, but my heaving bosom testified to my arousal at this sensual act. 'Umm, Tiffany, perhaps I ought to tell you a little secret. You see, hearing my mother talk about you has made me a little bit jealous. Your curvaceous young oriental body has been getting her all hot, you see. She has been saying how much she wants to kiss your full red lips, to run her hands over your nubile body, how much she yearns to suckle on these nice full titties...' As she said this Mumtaz let her hand drift down my front to trace the contour of my breast, cupping it in her feminine hand, getting a sense of its size and weight. 'And she was telling me, Tiffany, how much she wants to press her tongue into your succulent arse, and rub her nose in your cunt and eat out your pussy. That's what she said she wanted to do, Tiffany. Can you understand, Tiffany, why that might make me jealous? Can you?' While she was speaking, Mumtaz had slipped her hand into my open gown, allowing her hand to stroke the burning flesh of my left breast. Her refined hand was squeezing my tit-flesh, stirring my circulation and arousing my nipple. My whole breast ached with womanly desire. My throat too was dry and tight and I struggled to articulate my reply. 'Yes, yes, I do think I understand.' 'Mmm, my dear, I think you just might. I think you do know how a woman can need another woman, how she can crave a woman's touch, a woman's tongue, a woman's body, a woman's scent. I have got strong feminine needs Tiffany, and somehow my condition has only made them stronger. Do you think you can help me Tiffany? Please tell me that I'm wrong to feel threatened by my mother's love for you? Am I wrong to feel jealous?' Taking my right hand in hers she lifted it and placed it upon her heavy pregnant belly. She held me to her at first, but aroused by the eroticism of the sight of my pale hand against this dark-skinned woman's fertile belly I began to stroke and explore this essence of femininity. Mumtaz groaned and sighed at my touch, pressing her belly out to its fullest extent, revelling in my attention. Her eyes were closed and she began to rock her head back and forth on her shoulders. Reaching up now she took the lapels of her green gown and slid it off her shoulders, allowing it to crumple around her ankles. Mumtaz was exposing all of herself to me now, offering me her full ripe body. She was indeed a woman in her prime, radiating an earthy sensuality, a bountiful fertility, an utter confidence in her womanhood and her desirability. Her breasts, naturally full like her mother's, were engorged with milk and from her big dark nipples her teats were erect and inviting. Her thick hair hung free down her back, tossing back and forth with the movement of her head. She raised her hands to her breasts and began to massage them whilst I continued to caress here swollen belly. 'Ahhh, Tiffany, this feels sooo good, honey. I love what you're doing to me. Feel how heavy I am - I'm carrying a black man's baby. He impregnated me with his big black cock. But my breasts are full of creamy white milk - I want you to feed from me baby, I want you to relieve my pressure, to drink down my essence. Will you do that, baby? Does it turn you on?' Fired now with arousal I pushed myself up against Mumtaz's delicious body and took hold of her head, pulling her lips hard against mine. She opened her mouth to mine and our tongues met, each melting into the other. She was hungry for my lesbian kisses, devouring my saliva and groaning as my tongue traced its way over her red lips, her nose, her eyelids and into her ear. Holding her close I whispered my reply 'Yes Mumtaz, yes you turn me on. I want you, baby, I want your sexy kisses, your sensuous hands on my body. I love your hot pregnant body, it's amazing and kinky and ripe. I'll take care of your needs, darling, night and day - you tell me what you want. I'll massage you and lick you and suck you and eat you - and please, please let me feed from your breasts, release your milk for me - I want your sweet milk in my mouth and dribbling down my face and onto my breasts and you can lick it off me baby. Now let me fuck you, honey, let me fuck your sweet body.' I pushed Mumtaz back towards the bed, and she sprawled back against the loose sheets. For the first time I had a really good view of her body as she spread her legs wide, exposing to me her dark, moist, and aromatic pussy. Instinctively she slid her right hand to her cunt and began to slide her dark fingers, with those long painted nails that so turn me on, over the folds of her pussy flesh. As she did so her hips gyrated, sending ripples through her pregnant belly. Slowly I crawled onto the foot of the bed and kneeled before her, placing a leg either side of her left thigh. Reaching for the belt on my nightgown I seductively untied it and eased the gown of my shoulders, tossing it to the floor. I was naked now except for my black stilettos. I lifted up my arms to my head, ruffling my thick black hair and thrusting my breasts forward. I wanted this woman to see how well endowed I was. Both Mumtaz and her mother had large breasts: I didn't want to disappoint them. With my arms still up above my head I began to clench and relax my stomach muscles, causing my bald pussy to rub up and down Mumtaz's thigh. Her eyes were fixed on me, drinking in my curvaceous body. I held her gaze and we each acknowledged the other woman's beauty and eroticism. We were affirming too our essential lesbianism: our overwhelming attraction to and love for another woman. Mumtaz was working her hand against her cunt ever more vigorously, stirring her juices and making pleading gasps and groans. To fire her arousal I began to massage and explore my breasts, teasing the nipples and making them hard. 'Do you like my kinky oriental body, Mumtaz? Have you fantasised about making love to an oriental woman? I bet you have, honey. I bet you've dreamed of eating out smooth Asian pussy, of suckling an Asian girl at your heavy breasts, and of a slender Asian hand fisting your cunt. Isn't that what you've wanted? Am I right?' Mumtaz was in agonies of arousal as she masturbated her cunt and feasted on my body and words. Her breathing was heavy and she struggled to reply, nodding and pleading with me to satisfy her and make her mine. 'Its ok darling, Tiffany's all yours. I'll be your oriental lesbian slut. I'll rub my kinky oriental body up against yours. I'll show you how Asian women please each other - as long as you share with me your Eastern treasures...' I moved my body forwards now and lightly slid across Mumtaz's naked form, being careful not to put pressure on her stomach. Our hungry mouths again found each other. She was such a good kisser, passionate and insistent and so sweet. She lifted the fingers of her right hand, which had been pleasuring her pussy, to my mouth and I sucked eagerly, loving the feeling of each elegant feminine finger. Continuing up her body I offered her my full breasts, which hung down above her face. Stretching up to suckle on my right nipple I supported Mumtaz's head, stroking her hair and nursing her at my breast. She sucked eagerly, her other hand massaging and squeezing my left breast. 'That's it baby, eat my breasts. I know you love full womanly breasts. I do too baby. I love your breasts. I love the thought of them full of milk. I wish I had milk for you as well, darling. I wish I could feed you like your gonna feed me. But I can give you some juice, baby, some wet sticky pussy juice. Come on girl, drink down my juice, I made it for you darling...' Pulling myself up with the headboard I was astride my lover's face, my horny wet pussy inches from her nose and mouth. Clutching my thighs my lover pulled me against her face, abandoning herself completely to her lesbian desire. This woman was lusting for pussy and I was offering her all I had. Her lips enclosed my cunt flesh and her long and strong tongue began to explore the texture of my womanhood. She teased my outer folds causing me to leak cum in anticipation of her deeper loving. Back and firth went her tongue over my pussy lips and each time her tongue touched my clit I yelped with desire. God this woman knew how to lick pussy and I was shaking with desire, groaning out satisfaction, abandoning myself to my lover. 'Ohh Mumtaz, Mumtaz, don't stop what you're doing, honey. Fuck me with your long tongue, fuck your lesbian whore. Urgghh, ahh, ahh...yes...that's it, darling, that's it. Love Tiffany's clit, girl, ouch, this is sooo good, I'm close dearest, I'm close...' As Mumtaz ground her face against my pussy she clutched my plump arse, sinking her nails into my soft flesh. I was held in a vice of desire and it was all I could do to slump my upper body over the headboard. And then, just when I thought I'd reached the height of pleasure, I felt one of Mumtaz's exquisite fingers press up against my anus. My arse hole was already wet with arousal and I wanted that finger up inside me - I was hungry for everything this woman wanted to do to me. 'Push it in, baby, go on. I'm wet for your finger - shove it in deep - fuck my arse, fuck me...' As my lover's finger penetrated my anus my pleasure became almost too much to bear. I was being completely satisfied. While her tongue made love to my cunt her finger fucked my arse. Juice was oozing from both orifices. I was being totally and devastatingly taken by this woman, reduced to a quivering heap of female desire, utterly wanton and wholly eroticised. All I could do was swim with the sensations she was giving me, allowing myself to spend my juices, glory in my sensuality, and let my orgasm take over my body. And this it now did. My clit was now unbearably sensitive, my juices were rising from the depths of my cunt. In the past my most intense orgasms had caused me to squirt cum and I knew that this would be no exception. 'I'm cumming, I'm cumming. I'm gonna squirt baby, watch me squirt - for you...ahhhh....yeeessss!! urghhh...' The dam broke and my desire flowed. Mumtaz pulled back her face and opened her mouth. She was transfixed as one then another then another jet of pussy juice shot from my cunt over her face, onto her hair, and into her mouth. I had never cum so hard, so much. But then I'd never been so turned on. By the time my orgasm had subsided I was panting and sweating and flushed. I was also completely fulfilled. Completely a woman. And it was a woman who had done this to me. I slid my body back down the bed and Mumtaz opened her arms to me and hugged me to her dusky bosom. I kissed my darling tenderly on her full lips - loving the taste of my own juices. 'That, my sweat, was incredible. I've never cum like that, never. I've never been eaten out like that, either. You really know how to satisfy a woman. Well, this woman is totally satisfied.' I began now to lazily kiss my way across the upper part of my lover's breasts, my hand settling again on her pregnant belly and gently stroking it. 'I've always fantasised about Middle Eastern women. I've always been intrigued and turned on by your deep dark eyes, your alluring dusky complexions, your long black hair, and your oozing sensuality. And I was captivated by the thought of eastern lesbian love. Tell me, Mumtaz, is it true about what they say went on in eastern harems? Did the women, my darling, turn to pleasuring each other? Did they indulge in lesbian lovemaking?' Mumtaz smiled as she stroked my hair. 'Mmm, will you answer that mummy - could you tell Tiffany the secrets of the harem?' Startled by Mumtaz's reference to her mother I looked around. I was shocked to see reclining on the divan adjacent to the bed the beautiful and voluptuous form of Mrs Aziz. She was lying against a pile of cushions, wearing only a tight black cut-off top that struggled to contain her heavy breasts and a thin see-through nightgown. Her thick black hair streaked with grey cascaded over the cushions. Her legs were parted, the left bent at the knee, and her left hand was gently stroking her cunt - which I saw, for the first time, nestled within a thick covering of black pussy hair. Smiling, she eased her ripe body off the divan and approached the bed. Crawling up behind me I felt her hand delicately caress the curve of my arse and up to my hips. As I automatically began to twist to face her I felt the force of her hand press me back down towards Mumtaz's soft bosom. 'Don't stir, Tiffany, my sweet. Rest your head on my daughter. You beautiful girls need to rest. You've given mummy quite a show - now let her look after you...' I felt an electric charge as this older woman spooned my body from behind, allowing the fabric of her top to rub against my back, her generous stomach to press against my arse. Her hands were soon massaging their way over my body and then her tongue began to trace its way between my shoulder blades and up to my neck. The touch was exquisite and I arched my head upward to find her daughter gazing into my eyes and stroking away the hair that had plastered to my forehead. As Mrs Aziz kissed her way around my neck she whispered seductively. 'Yes, my darling Tiffany, what you say about the harem is true. We Eastern women have been kept secluded in palaces, our only purpose to satisfy the carnal desires of our masters. But no man could satisfy so many women - beautiful women, trained to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, to indulge expensive appetites, living lives of voluptuous ease. So naturally, my love, we women, horny with desire, turned to each other for pleasure. We found love in each others arms and soon discovered, what we three know full well, that lesbian love is the most satisfying, the most tender, the most erotic.' 'And yes, my love, it was the special pleasure of the older women of the harem to befriend the younger girls and initiate them into the delights of Sapphic love - and the younger women, my dear, always responded and gave themselves to their lovers...' This time I did twist around my body and seek out the lips of Mrs Aziz. And this time she allowed me to do so, easing my body round till I was facing upwards and then gently lowering her body onto mine. Our mouths closed over each other's and our bodies merged, my younger curvaceous body complimenting Mrs Aziz's full, mature form. Our passion, building for days, now found mutual release and we each of us got to know and experience the sensuality of the other. I pushed up Mrs Aziz's night-gown to bare her arse, gripping the soft flesh tightly, clawing at her with untrammelled desire, not wanting a millimetre to separate me from my lover. Only when our lips parted could I rasp out words thick with desire. 'Ohh, Mrs Aziz, please choose me as your pupil. Initiate me into the secrets of harem love. Open to me the delights of lesbian love. I'll do anything you want - anything you desire. Treat me as your Sapphic slut...' Drawing herself up Mrs Aziz sat crouching over my body. Placing her fingers over my mouth I licked and sucked on them eagerly. 'Of course you can be my pupil, Tiffany. But I think you know that you'll have to share me - with my darling daughter. But you don't mind sharing me, do you Mumtaz?' Mrs Aziz reached out now towards her daughter who slowly sat up in the bed and gently moved towards her mother's open arms. And then, each kneeling and facing the other, mother and daughter embraced for the first time. Embraced and then openly and shamelessly kissed. At first their kisses were short, stabbing, movements. And then Mrs Aziz gripped the back of her daughter's head and pulled her close and now they kissed long and deep, Mrs Aziz running her hand up and down the smooth back of her daughter, each woman groaning and sighing with desire. I had never seen anything so erotic and lay back gazing up in amazement. What I was witnessing broke every taboo - yet it was also so right, so natural - and so beautiful. 'Mummy dear, don't you think its time we got you naked for our Tiffany - Isn't it time we released your lovely big breasts....' Mumtaz positioned herself behind her mother and took the two edges of her night-gown, gently pulling it of her mother's shoulders to reveal her lovely dusky skin. Mumtaz reached around now and began to massage her mother's big boobs through the black fabric of her tight top. As she explored her mother's tits I could clearly see the outline of her hardening nipples through the fabric. Mrs Aziz reached up her arms to clasp her daughter's head, her wonderful bust thrusting forward as she did so, rising and falling as she gasped for breath. 'That's it mummy, show us your breasts, show us your beautiful sexy bosom. Lets release you now, let's show you to your young lover, let's show her your womanhood...' Mumtaz unhooked Mrs Aziz's tight black top and her heavy breasts spilled forward and swung free on her body. For the first time I saw the whole of Mrs Aziz's feminine form, her gorgeous succulent body. And I saw, too, for the first time the dark sensual hair that adorned her. Though I always keep myself clean-, I have always been turned on by women who preferred to go natural. And Mrs Aziz was more than natural: she was positively hirsute. With her raised arms I got a full view of the black hair that graced her armpits - sticky now from the combination of perfume and feminine perspiration. From her nipples too, so large and exotic, sprouted several dark black hairs. And her pussy hair now filled my gaze, reaching some way up her navel towards her belly button. Harem Days Ch. 03 As Mrs Aziz lay back now into the arms of her daughter, whose elegant hands massaged and explored and caressed her full body, I began to finger my own cunt with my right hand while my left made love to my own breasts. 'Do I turn you on Tiffany? Is this how you imagined me? Is this what you wanted?' 'Oh yes, yes. Your making me so horny - my cunt is dripping, darling, I'm sooo wet. This is better than I could ever have imagined - and I love your body hair. It's so beautiful - you are so beautiful. Please kiss me and rub your body against mine. I need you, baby, please don't tease me...' Mrs Aziz allowed herself to be pulled down onto my waiting body and her breasts sunk against mine as she smothered me with her love. I parted my legs wide to receive her and then closed them around her, wanting to lock her between my legs. Mrs Aziz was on fire with desire and kissed and sucked and licked and nibbled me with unbridled passion. Between kisses and groans she continued to talk dirty to me, knowing that I loved to be fucked verbally as well as physically. 'Oh, my lesbian whore. I've been panting for you since you replied to my ad, since I saw your photo. I've been horny for you for days, masturbating my hairy cunt. God your bodies so kinky, so hot and randy. I'm sorry I teased you with that servant. I wanted to make you jealous, to see how much you wanted me. He was never serious. I play with men - but I love women. It was naughty of me. But its you who gets me aroused, you I desire, you I want...' I was clawing at Mrs Aziz, my own passion equally strong. Lifting her arm above my head I pressed my face into her hairy armpit, losing myself in the luxuriance of her feminine hair. I drew the air deep through my nose, wanting to capture every scent of this woman's arousal, my tongue stirring and lapping up her juices. Mrs Aziz supported the back of my head with her other hand, pulling my face against her arm pit, helping me nurse at this soft and intimate place. 'I'm glad you like my hair, darling. I love to be natural, to let my body express itself as it will. Mumtaz loves me like this and never lets me shave. I'm so glad that it turns you on too my love. Here, don't neglect mummy's other arm...' Mrs Aziz rolled from me and onto her back, her breasts resting on either side of her body. She placed both hands above her head, exposing to me her hairy arm pits. I straight away made for her right arm pit and again licked and kissed my lover - though this time taking it slow, knowing how much it turned her - and me - on. I used my tongue forcibly this time, running back and forth, up and down, my darling's soft skin. She was groaning and rocking her head from side to side and juice was oozing from her pours, letting off the most erotic aroma of desire. Drawn to her mother's arousal Mumtaz now slid her pregnant form alongside and began to kiss first her breasts and then her other armpit. Each of us now was kissing and licking Mrs Aziz's luxuriant hair. She was groaning softly, lifting her head to plant a kiss first on her daughter's cheek and then mine. Her soft body was squirming between her younger lovers and I placed my hand on her stomach, caressing her rippling flesh and allowing my fingers to trace their way through her cunt hair. Lowering her left arm, Mrs Aziz placed her hand over mine and eased it down to her waiting pussy until my fingers were touching the exposed lips of her cunt and the wet humid hair of her ripe mature pussy. 'Ohh Tiffany baby, love mummy's hairy pussy. My lesbian pussy's aching for your touch...ahhhh yes, that's it, just there, that feel's so good, so good. Feel my juices, darling, my heat - its for you two, my girls, my babies....Don't stop, Tiffany, don't stop loving me with your fingers....go on, push your finger in, keep it in, that's it. And another darling, two fingers please....Ohhh, that's good that's good - I love having your oriental fingers in me, I love it....' I was easing my index and middle finger in and out of my lover's cunt. She was wet and horny and oozing slick juice and my fingers slipped back and forth easily. I looked up to see that Mrs Aziz was being supported in the arms of her daughter, the two women locked in a deep French kiss. Knowing she was ready I joined a third finger, easing it into her deep wet pussy. 'God you're so wet, darling, you're so ready to be fucked by my fingers. I love your mature pussy - it's so ripe and pungent and dripping with desire. Your hair is so wet, too, I want to lick up every last drop of your honey with my tongue, I want to worship at your cunt. But first I want to fuck you full and deep like no man can fuck you. Can you take four of Tiffany's fingers - can you, darling, tell me darling....' 'Yes, girl, yes, I want your fingers - all of them. Fist me with your slender oriental hand - fuck me with your hand, use my pussy, fill me darling please....' I had never fisted a woman before, but Mrs Aziz's urgent desire and her oh-so-wet and sloppy cunt drew me unquestioningly on. My four fingers eased into her dark and hungry cunt quite easily and I gently moved them back and forth, manipulating her pulsating clit with my thumb and marvelling at her distended cunt lips as they slid against my pale skin. As I continued to love my woman's cunt with my fingers I leant forward and pressed my tongue against her clit. She cried out loudly and her daughter pulled her against her milk-full tits for support, clasping her dishevelled hair. 'Go on Tiffany, fuck my mummy now, she's ready, she can take it...this is what she wants....' Pulling back my hand I joined my thumb to the other four fingers and keeping it pressed flat against my palm I slid my hand past the thick mat of black hair, past the fleshy mature lips of her cunt, and into her vagina. Gradually I pressed, moving forward slowly, half an inch at a time. The knuckle of my thumb disappeared, and then the widest part of my hand was at her cunt, and then it was in, my hand was in my lover, her cunt gripping me tight, her juices lubricating my every movement. It was an extraordinary feeling - it felt as if I were becoming part of this woman, that we were one and indivisible, that she was taking me into herself. 'Oh my god, you've taken me, you've taken my hand you lesbian whore. No woman has given me this much. Your cunt is awesome, I love it. I want to service your mature pussy with my young hand, my young fingers, my young mouth every night. You're one horny dyke and you need two horny dykes like me and Mumtaz to satisfy you, don't you? Isn't that right? Show me, go on, show me how much juice there is in this old pussy, give me all you've got...' Moving my hand back and forth was too much for my lover to long stand. She was in agony, writhing and twisting in her daughter's arms, crying and groaning, sweat emanating from every pour, her ample fleshy frame shaking with desire. Finally she arched her back and reached up across the bed with her arms and let out a scream that would have woken every servant in the house. Scream followed scream as she experienced her orgasm, releasing yet more of her honey juice as I struggled to maintain my rhythm, driving her to the edge of desire, urging her on and glorying in my ability to bring this woman such release. Only when the orgasm had run its course did she reach down and push my hand from her, which I gently did. It was slick and wet and dripping with my darling's love. Mrs Aziz was on her back now, her body panting hard and her face covered by her hands. Mumtaz beckoned me towards her and I crawled up to join the two women, offering my juice-soaked hand to Mumtaz. She lifted it to her mouth and kissed the back before slowly taking each finger in turn, lovingly exploring its length, not wishing to miss any of her mother's desire. 'This tastes so good. Mummy's cunt is so delicious - and to eat her juices of your charming hand is even more special. You fucked her so well, Tiffany. I've never seen mummy so completely taken, I've never seen her orgasm so hard. You are a special person, Tiffany, you really are...' Mumtaz kissed her way up my arm, tracing her tongue across my neck and then planting a kiss on my waiting lips. Her kisses were as erotic as her mother's, yet subtly different. Truly, I felt I was in Sapphic heaven. As we kissed Mumtaz took my hands and placed them on her breasts. 'Feel my breasts, Tiffany, feel their weight. They're full, darling, full of milk. I need to express myself darling, to release my milk. Mummy feeds on breasts each night. Would you like to join her, darling? I've got milk to spare - if you want it...' To enter into a breast-feeding relationship with another woman was one of my most intense fantasies. Naturally I was not going to pass on such an erotic opportunity. I looked deep into Mumtaz's eyes and ran my hands gently over her tender breasts. 'Mumtaz I would love to suckle at your breasts. I would love to drink down your essence and relieve your pressure. It would be an honour my love - and a deeply erotic one...' Taking my left hand in her right, Mumtaz shifted her pregnant body back up to the head of the bed and propped herself up against the pillows. She spread her legs and then beckoned me to lay my head on her lap. As I did so she lifted her full right breast and lowered the nipple to my mouth. I opened it and took in the teat. Gently at first, and then more forcibly, I began to suck. Mumtaz stroked my hair and sighed gently. 'That's it baby, suckle at my breast. It feels so good. I'm going to let-down soon, baby, I'm close. Mmm suck me, darling, suck me - my milk's coming girl - keep sucking, it's all yours, all yours...' A jet of warm sweet liquid hit the roof of my mouth, then another, and another. My lover was giving me her gorgeous juice and I relished the intimacy of the moment. Having fucked her mother only a few minutes ago I was now sharing a different, yet equally intense, unity with the daughter. Mumtaz gently squeezed her breast, encouraging her milk to discharge into my thirsty mouth. We settled into a delightful rhythm as I lay on my lover's lap, receiving her wonderful feminine gift. The revelry was only broken by the husky voice of Mrs Aziz. 'Mmm, how beautiful my babies look. Aren't my daughter's breasts so sexy Tiffany, and Isn't her milk delicious? Do you mind if we share...I know there's plenty for both of us...' Mrs Aziz leant across her daughter and began to kiss her breast. As she approached the nipple she pushed out her tongue and insinuated it between my mouth and the teat. I opened my milky mouth to kiss my older lover before easing myself to one side to allow Mrs Aziz to suckle at her daughter's breast. Mumtaz sighed and began to manipulate her left breast. I knew that this too would need emptying and walked around the bed to cuddle up to darling and take her left breast into my mouth. Quickly she let down her milk and again I was feeding from her body. She leaned back and gave herself up to nursing her lesbian lovers, her mother at her right breast, me at her left. For many minutes we fed at her breasts while Mumtaz pleasured her pussy with her fingers. It was only when Mumtaz was quite spent and we had taken all her breasts had to offer did Mrs Aziz and I share a lazy milky-wet kiss, each licking the droplets of milk from the other's chins. Exhausted and fulfilled we each of us nestled against Mumtaz's heavily pregnant body. I placed a hand on her belly, which was shortly followed by Mrs Aziz's. Mumtaz then lowered her hand to ours and we three women slept with our fingers entwined. And so that night were established bonds of love and dependence as well as desire. Our harem was complete and each of us knew that we would never be without the love of another woman. Harem Days ‘And tell me Tiffany, how much will this black woman want your body and your loving. Tell me about her needs.’ ‘Oh, I know she will be insatiable. She'll want me to suck her and fuck her all night. Her hot black body will be demanding. I'll have to become her white slave. And she’ll bring me into her marriage bed and get me to watch as her man fucks her with his big black meat. And she’ll make me lick all his white cum from her black cunt and she’ll expose her arse to me and make me lick it out while she suck’s her husband’s black cock and then I'll suck on her right tit while he suckles her left and then she’ll get me to wear a big black dildo and fuck her cunt while her husband rides her arse… Wont you Marcella, wont you make me do these things, and I'll love it and come back for more and be your lesbian slut and…ahhh….yes, baby, yes, eat my bald pussy, my clit, girl, my clit…harder…oh you black bitch…I've never been eaten like this, never, never, never….ahh urgghhh!! I thrashed wildly on the bed as a thunderous orgasm shook me. I bucked hard against Marcella’s mouth but she didn’t release her grip or her oral attention until every last bit of my desire and been spent and I was a panting wreck on the bed, drenched in sweat and shaken with what I’d just done. Somewhat dazed, the next thing I knew was that my lesbian lover was at my side and was pulling me to her gorgeous bosom and I was hugging her so close and was suspended in the purely erotic moment. And yes, my black lover was all I had imagined. And yes she was insatiable and yes when I awoke the next morning I lay for ages just gazing upon the African beauty who had opened my body and senses and mind to sapphic possibilities I had only before dreamt of.