Harem Days

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.