I grew up in the Kingdom of Kahara. My father was the head of the Kahara-America Export Co., an international energy conglomerate.
I have always loved walking the seductive streets of Amsada, Kahara's capital city. I loved the dangerous looking dark men, in their robes, capes and hoods. You could always see those coal black eyes staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you. And the women. Those magnificent women with their fascinating almond eyes, also staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you.
And you had to imagine the beauty of the woman underneath all those covering, draping garments. Because all you saw were their fascinating almond eyes. Their robes covered them from the top of their head down to their delicate feet. And somewhere, face level, was a small peek-through opening, which displayed two magnificent oblong black eyes.
Those women were each and every one of them incredibly beautiful. They were beautiful in the way that actual flesh cannot be beautiful, but only the soaring vistas of the imagination can be beautiful. So was every woman I saw flawless and beyond compare.
Those incredible covered women. What mysteries lay under all that flowing fabric? I wanted to expose them. I wanted to hold them, I wanted to kiss them, I wanted to let my hands and lips explore the secret body, the secret mouth, the secret lovetunnel.
I wanted to have those women. To make love to them, to possess them, to conquer them. I wanted the triumph of making them give up everything for me. Because for a woman in Kahara, if you were deflowered before marriage, your life was over. No man would ever marry you. You were spoiled goods. A whore. Consigned to life-long solitude and shame.
Unfortunately, in Kahara, due to the sexual taboos, I was unfortunately still a virgin. My fantasies were beyond incredible. My experiences were nil.
One day, walking through a local bazaar, I saw a breathtaking young girl accompanied by her three women-servants. I could see only her coverings, but I just knew she was breathtaking. She had to be. I immediately had to conceal an enormous erection in my western style trousers. Often when I was walking the streets, I would spy a forbidden female, and become erect. I was always embarrassed. How envious I was of the dark Kaharan men, who were able to conceal their lust under caftans.
I did not have that luxury. I would have to dangle my hands in front of my body, and hurry home as soon as possible, in order to whip out my peter and whack it, until a torrent of hot white cream shot out from the large smooth head. Only then was I able to take a good deep breath. Only then did I feel relief.
But this day I did not hurry home. I could not bring myself to break away from this fantastic feminine creature. I had to meet her. I had to get to know her. I had to get to fuck her. I was driven.
I followed her, along with her three women-servants through the bazaar, as she examined and smelled luscious fruits and heady spices. Once she approved an item, she pointed, and the women-servants purchased it, and carried it.
At a pomegranate stall, she turned slightly and her almond-eyes caught mine, and seared themselves into my retina. I saw emotion in those eyes. She had noticed me. She had found me attractive. What joy.
At each stall, she turned slightly. Her eyes told me that they again saw me. I think her eyes were telling me that they liked what they saw. At the persimmon stall, I bowed slightly. I could swear that she tilted her head. I was getting somewhere.
I followed them through the bazaar for more than a half hour. At that time, they got into a large Rolls Royce. The maiden looked back at me, as if begging me to find some way to follow her. I did. I saw a taxi and jumped in. I had him follow the Rolls Royce until it pulled into the driveway of what could only be described as a small palace. This lady was royalty. A princess, probably. How much sweeter it would be to seduce a royal princess into becoming my whore. My disgraced slut.
More than sex, I wanted power. I wanted mastery.
Armed with her address, over the next few days I was able to do some detective work. I learned that she was indeed a princess. The Princess Salima Al Habbar. Daughter of the wealthy Prince Sulim Al Habbar. I learned that she had two older brothers, Turku and Mugar. It was said that they loved their sister dearly and were very protective of her. How would I get to meet her?
As luck would have it, one day when I was prowling the streets of Amsada, ogling all the covered cuties, I saw the family limousine pulling up before a coffee house. Two richly robed young men got out and entered the coffee house. Those had to be her brothers, Turku and Mugar.
I entered the coffee house. They were lounging on pillows in one corner of the room, drinking from little cups on a low table. There were empty pillows on the floor very near them, before another low table. I sat on the pillows and ordered my coffee.
I was trying to think how to get into a conversation with them, when I noticed an extremely large ruby ring on the hand of one of them.
"I say, that's a lovely ring," I observed.
The robed man at the next table turned his eyes toward me. So did his brother. They both stared at the blonde-haired western man at the next table. Who was this foreigner who had dared to address them? Me.
"You like the ring," he asked me, holding out his hand and admiring it himself.
"It's magnificent," I said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Yes. It is an old family heirloom. It has been handed down for many generations." Fortunately he spoke English. I had gone to the English school, and my Kaharan was not the best.
We started to chat. I learned that he was the older of the two brothers, Turku. He was tall and skinny, and he had a black moustache, and a short black beard. He had a mean and dangerous look, but there was something exciting about him. Something sexual. Now I was really mad to meet his sister.
He introduced me to his brother, Mugar. Mugar was a little shorter and a little heavier, but with the same facial hair. His eyes were searing. When he looked at me, I couldn't hold the gaze. I had to turn away. My legs started to tremble a little. I was frightened of him. Why should that be? He was perfectly pleasant. They were both perfectly pleasant. They told me about their royal family and questioned me about mine.
