Trying To Relate

The three of us had hardly returned to Serif's suite when, speaking very slowly for the benefit of his guest, he said, "I have to leave you for a short period my sweet, perhaps you will entertain Mohammed until I return." With that he left.

I had decided on my ploy to avoid commitment until my lover returned. My only chance was to keep talking, act flirtatious and seductive but stay out of his reach and pretend to misunderstand any sexual overtures that were made to me. Putting this into operation, I walked to the window, gazed out for a moment then turned and asked brightly, "Have you been in England long General...Mohammed?"

Mohammed had opened his trousers and released his penis. "Suck," he ordered.

I almost laughed. Due to the distance separating us and possibly the angle, it looked both short and stubby. There was no choice; I had to give this man something. I started walking slowly towards him but as I drew near I was suddenly afraid. Close up I could see that the man's cock easily exceeded Serif's generous length and that stubby impression had been caused by the organ's incredible girth.

Sinking to me knees in front of him, I was considering how to approach the task. It would have to be a largely licking job because I doubted if I could get very much into my mouth. I was not given the chance because he gasped a handful of my hair and rammed his rock hard rod forward, badly splitting my lip in the process. They say that you can't get a quart into a pint pot - but using brute force and ignorance General Akbar achieved an equivalent feat. He was a satyr, or at least a man who can ejaculate multiple times without any change in the stiffness or hardness of his cock. I almost drowned on his cum and he then proceeded to sodomise me. I passed out with the pain and then came to more than once while the buggery continued only to decent into merciful oblivion again. I was still reasonably aware when an hour had passed and I hoped that at any moment I would be rescued from my torment but Serif did not come. Akbar raped me several times, shot his sperm down my throat again and forced his cock up my rectum at least once more. I fell into a state of semi-consciousness at one point registered in a disoriented way the passage of three hours. Throughout the cruel Arab demonstrated that his command of English was restricted to a vocabulary of four letter type words.

Before he left I was roused by him urinating on me as I lay on the floor and vividly remember the words, "I piss on your princes hospitality." My memory is that Serif appeared almost immediately that my abuser had gone. I remember lying looking up as he stared down at me but instead of compassion in his eyes I saw disdain - as if I was little more than discarded garbage. While continuing to drift in and out of consciousness, I registered several flashes, which suggested that someone was taking pictures. I awoke in hospital.

My two top front teeth were loose and I later found that they had to put three stitches in my anus. I hurt all over and my twat felt as if someone had driven steam engine through it. My medical notes were to say that they had found bite marks and bruises over almost every inch of my body. Serif made a fleeting appearance to leave flowers and say that his plans had gone terribly wrong, as a consequence of which he needed to disappear for a time. A nurse passed my handbag and I was slightly consoled to find in it an envelope containing forty notes of the usual denomination. I think that I had just fully recovered my senses for the first time when my darling Charles entered the room. The love in his eyes and pain on his face as he saw my injuries triggered a surge of love for him and I started to cry for the first time. I told that I had been attacked and raped but did not reveal exactly how badly I had been brutalise because that knowledge would have been too hard for him to bear. When I inadvertently mentioned that an Arab had committed the attack, the vehemence of his reaction told me that my husband must never discovered the true extent of my relationship with Serif.

I did not work for four weeks and even when I resumed it was in a very restricted manner. My body ached for Serif but I could not face the thought of sex with other clients, even regulars, and resorted to the hand job cop out. After a fortnight of working in this fashion I began to seriously wonder if I could continue in the profession because I had to fight a wave of panic

every time I first entered a clients room. Then one day I found a package waiting in my mailbox at the agency. Inside was a very worn and scuffed jewellery case, which snapped open to reveal a fabulous necklace, which was obviously extremely valuable and also very old. I was suddenly very frightened, shut it again quickly and was about to stuff it back into the package when I noticed a newspaper clipping lying at the bottom of the box. It was from an English/Arabic newspaper and read:-

COUP FOILED IN QUARUBA

Acting on information placed before it by Crown Prince Serif Abdul Yamani

The High Council of Quaruba today held an extraordinary Court Martial.

General Mohammed Akbar was arrested at Military headquarters accused of

Treason, planning a coup de tat, consorting with females not of the Faith for

immoral purposes, rape and unnatural practises. Various unspecified charges

of murder were not proceeded with. The General was found guilty by a

unanimous verdict and subjected to immediate summary execution by firing

squad within the precincts of the palace.

After the trial, Crown Prince Serif peacefully replaced his father as head of state

and promises a firm hand dealing with the wave of civil unrest that is sweeping

the country.

This was followed by another paragraph in Arabic, which I presume gave the same information. I was very disappointed that there was no note from Serif. I could neither wear nor dispose of the necklace due to my doubts about its legal status so decided to hang on to it, ready to return if someone made such a demand. It joined my other gifts in the safety deposit and I tried to forget all about it. Knowing that I would never see Serif again sent me plunging into renewed depression and I realised that it was only having sex him that allowed me to be nice to my other clients. I sank so low that I communicated my sense of disillusionment to Charles but without specifying what had prompted it - thankfully he blamed the attack I had suffered.

Fortuitously, my next client saved me because I knew that I wanted to fuck him the moment I saw him. Jonathan was far younger than my usual paramours having just graduated with honours from Oxford. I got the impression that he came from a titled, landed background and he told me at length about his education in various famous public schools. I actually asked him why he had the need to hire someone like me. He laughed and said that he had never paid for sex in his life but decided to treat himself to the experience as a private celebration of his degree. I liked his added touch that 'having once seen my picture on the internet he became enchanted by me'. It was glorious with him in bed - financially he was an extremely generous young man but I still gave him far more than he paid for. Oh for the resilience and enthusiasm of youth. Akbar's brutal virility almost killed me but I revelled in the ability for quick recovery enjoyed by my good looking, extremely well endowed graduate. Jonathan infused me with such a renewed zest for living that my next two clients quite genuinely made me cum.

I was back on track but I seemed to have transferred my depression, lock stock and barrel, over to my husband. The moment that I intimated my new found enthusiasm, his face fell as if I had just delivered a death sentence. Thereafter, when I set out for work he clung to me like a small child not wanting to be left at school. I was seriously worried about him - so much so that I cancelled appointments to have another full week staying at home with him. You will understand why, on my first night at home and after I had given back-word to my now favourite regular, I was not too pleased when Charles disappeared to see his friend at 9 p.m.

We were sitting watching television, and about nine o'clock during a commercial, we had just talked about going to bed early, when the phone rang. Charles answered, said 'No' twice and then agreed. He said to me "Mathew's got a problem, I've got to see him", and then he was gone. I sat up waiting until it was very late but he didn't return. He slipped into bed just before four o'clock the next morning. It took me only one glance to know that my husband had had sex - and a great amount of it if I was any judge. Believe me, I have become an expert on recognising the signs on a man's face - particularly the eyes. I was filled with jealousy. Who the hell was she? How did they meet? How often and for how long had he been screwing her? One thing was certain - it was my fault. I had driven him to it if only as a petty kind of revenge. What superheated my jealousy was that it had been a very long time since I had made Charles look quite so totally shagged as he looked that morning.

Retraining my curiosity I merely asked, "Did you have a good time with your friend Mathew?" OK - so I probably sounded a bit more scathing than that. Charles just nodded not meeting my eyes so I asked, "Is there anything that you want to tell me?" This time he shook his head but kept staring down at the floor. Changing tack I asked, "Are you happy with the way things are going?" Again he shook his head but this time he looked up and there was a haunted expression in his eyes.

I reached forward and grasped his hand. "Do we need to get help love," I asked.

He nodded. I knew by the tears streaming down his face that the emotion inside had made him incapable of speech. And that kind sir is why we have brought our troubles to you."

Fiona stopped talking and looked for my response. The trouble was that the accumulation of saliva in my mouth made me almost as incapable of speech as her husband had been. Making an effort I said formally, "Thank you for being so completely frank with me. I need to interview your husband to get the full picture but at the moment I have cause for optimism. My job is to uncover all the hidden factors but I think I can say now that I have been able to help couples with problems far more serious than your own."

Fiona smiled and uncrossed her legs with exaggerated slowness leaving no doubt about the absence of underwear. Then she stood up. Politeness decreed that I should do likewise but the oversized boner jammed against the underneath of the desk made it impossible for move.

She walked to the desk, placed her hands well apart on the surface and leaned forward to look deeply into my eyes. I was not aware of this at first because her top two buttons were undone and I gazed enraptured at two fabulous breasts hanging before my eyes like lush ripe fruit. Finally dragging my eyes upward I was treated to a knowing, very intimate look. "If you can solve our problems, I will be very very grateful," she murmured in a voice laden with promise. Then in a more normal tone she continued. "The financial side does not really bother me because, if allowed to continue, I think I have it well in hand. If you can only get this silliness out of my husband's head, I will be more than happy. I enjoy my work but I will give it up if required - I would far rather lose the house than risk losing his love."

With that she was gone. Thankfully, her last sentences gave me answers that I should have sought, had my mind been properly on my work. My interview with Charles was for the following day and I knew it would be far less enjoyable that this one had been. One thing was certain - I now had far greater motivation than simple job satisfaction, to bring this case to a successful conclusion.

Charles sat in the chair his wife had occupied far more decoratively. I could tell immediately that he was more at ease alone with me than he had been when accompanied by his delightful spouse. All the same I felt that he was likely to divulge more if I kept him on edge. Following this philosophy, before he had chance to properly settle, with a slightly scornful edge to my voice I said, "I take it that you are not totally happy with your wife's choice of occupation?"

My plan worked because he flustered, "Yes...No...I mean" Then he stopped, gathered himself, "I admit that what Fiona does to earn money for us has been very difficult to accept - but that is not the problem."

"So it's the cock-up with your job and the small fortune that you have finished owing?"

He shook his head. "That is a worry but it is not what at times makes me almost suicidal."

Now we were down to the nitty gritty. "Another woman? You got pissed off with your wife putting out for others and grabbed a slice for yourself on the side to compensate. Now you're worried scared that the lovely Fiona is going to find out. Your lady friend wants you to leave your wife and is threatening to spell the beans - is that it?"

Charles again shook his head. "It is not another woman," he told me categorically but did not seem inclined to elucidate further.

I had gone rather heavily out on a limb, speaking in the wrong tone and acting upon a completely wrong assumption. I had absolutely no idea how to backtrack and restart the interview on a more sympathetic basis. To my surprise, Charles came to my rescue. "Perhaps it would be better if I told you what has happened to me. You probably will not understand because, to be honest, I don't understand myself. Please don't ask any questions until you have heard the whole story because it is so unbelievable that I doubt if I could give a rational answer."

Undeniably intrigued, I relaxed and allowed him to continue:-

"Imagine an area of black ice that you come upon unsuspectingly. You have fallen before you realise and from then on you seem to slide inevitably further and further away from safety until you even lose the will to try. Continuing the analogy, it is only because I have seen a gaping hole in the ice ready to consume me that I am making this effort to escape.

I was just an ordinary man but one favoured with both intelligence and background - and also blessed with an exceptionally beautiful wife who loved me deeply. I am unable to father children so was fortunate that Fiona has no yearning for motherhood. She thrives on admiration and the thought of losing her figure for months would be far too big a sacrifice - at least that is what she told me. So we lived a secure and comfortable life, able to devote ourselves to each other. It was ambition and greed that brought me down - greed for money that we did not need.

When the firm folded I got three months salary in lieu of notice. If I had used my intelligence, we should have consolidated available cash and made contingency plans for the future. Instead we continued to service financial commitments that would inevitably need to be defaulted on in the future. In short we continued as if nothing had happened, living for those brief months in a fool's paradise, putting unpleasantness out of our minds and vaguely hoping that something would turn up.

We had reached the point, where only a few coppers separated us from financial destitution, when my wife told me that she had found herself a part time job. My spirits soared but then immediately sank again with equal rapidity when she told me what the job was. The word 'Escort' has acquired an unfortunate connotation but I did accept that there are organisations that offer a legitimate 'escorting only' service. This didn't help because I was unhappy with the thought of Fiona alone in the company of other men without me hovering in attendance nearby. This was not just jealousy because I had learned from experience to be wary. Such is my wife's unusual figure and beauty that over the years, I have known many decent men step completely out of character and behave in a most ungallant fashion when believing themselves to be unobserved in her company. Despite these reservations I reluctantly agreed but only because Fiona was so keen on the idea. I was prepared to sacrifice my peace of mind for the benefit of hers.

The night that she was to work for the first time it was a different matter because I found that I was wound up tighter than a spring. Fiona gave me an especially loving kiss at the door and told me not to worry but when I sat down a minute later I was trembling all over. So it proved a welcome distraction for my agitated mental state when the doorbell rang about half an hour later. Standing on the doorstep was the very last person I expected to see.

His name was Mathew and he had been part of the team under me during my short tenure at Sherwood's. He was also the only person in that office that I had actively disliked. In any office environment, the workers tend to be more or less homogenous in background but Mathew was an odd man out. His appearance and behaviour came from lower down the social scale but he was undoubtedly intelligent. On my first day he sauntered into my office, helped himself to a cigarette from the hospitality box and then sprawled in an armchair. The familiar way in which he did indicated showed this was a routine that he had followed many times before. He openly told me of a yet undiscovered scam in which he had colluded with my predecessor. This consisted of misrepresenting the quantity of finished product in stores with it being Mathew's role to extract the undisclosed surplus and dispose of it using his contacts. Quite blatantly he suggested that I continue the arrangement and when I refused, it was the start of a persistent campaign of insubordination and attempts to undermine my authority. I had one other grievance against the man and that was the way he had lecherously pawed Fiona at a firm's dance.

Now strangely I found myself pleased to see him. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder. More likely it was the fact that since the firm collapsed, Mathew was the only one who had taken the trouble to call round to see me. I did desperately need someone to talk to and in that situation, he was better than nobody. Only when I had invited him in did I notice he was carrying a four pack of lager. I thought that he was looking round admiring the house but it seemed that his eyes were searching for Fiona because he said, "Where's that lovely wife of yours hiding Squire - fetch her out so I can get another gander at those gorgeous tits."

"I'm afraid that she has gone out for the evening," I told him rather coldly.

Disappointment was obvious in his face but he remained unabashed. "Never mind - I can call another night for a look at the lovely Fiona. I'll stick around tonight anyway. You and I didn't exactly hit it off before, which is a pity because I think you are my kind of person. Give it a chance and what do you know - I bet we are hitting it off like a house on fire."

I took this as an apology and accepted the can that he offered. We did get on very well. Instead of the surly face and snide remarks of before, he was constantly smiling and gave some wickedly humorous impersonations of our mutual acquaintances at the firm. I hadn't laughed so much for a very long time. He left reasonably early and my wife was not late getting home. To my relief, she reported enjoying a very nice meal and said that she had then come straight home.

The following Friday Mathew was again standing outside my front door. On each of the three successive working evenings, Fiona had arrived home very promptly and I was now far more relaxed about her part time job. I had no desperate need this time for Mathew's presence but I had enjoyed his previous visit so much, I invited him in again. Once more he looked eagerly round for my wife and I had to tell him that she had gone out again. He accused her of avoiding him so I explained that she had a part time job. His next question was about what she did and as soon as I told him I immediately regretted it. He gave a lecherous grin. "An escort - you mean that she hawks her chuff!"