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.’
