Judys Misadventures Ch 02

Judy continues her story

Taritarat was a mystery land, like Brigadoon or Shangri la, a paradoxical place racked by extreme religion and unrestricted vice. I wondered much about a place my parents had lived that few outsiders had seen for 30 years. Also, now having reached 30, I sought some adventure to distract me from my lost youth. I became obsessed with learning more about Taritarat.

I spoke of Taritarat with Gloria who nostalgically said how much fun it had been there for awhile. "It was really beautiful both the country and the people who were there. All those crazy, bold, sexy people." I asked her how long she'd been there and she said, "Long enough to have ... ," paused and finished, "five years." When I inquired what she knew of the place now, she let drop that she was sure she knew a few folks there but she wasn't sure who. "Maybe, if you are so interested in Taritarat, you should go and see for yourself."

I read everything I could about the place. I spoke to an official of the State Department. He told me that Taritarat was on its "Don't even think about visiting" list along with North Korea and areas of the Middle East run entirely by religious extremists. I managed to find an older woman who admitted to having left Taritarat in the last decade but she absolutely refused to discuss conditions there. When I suggested that I would like to visit and write a story, she said that that was crazy. I'd be better off swimming with sharks or going to visit Mexican drug lords or ISIS fighters.

I told John Dalman about Taritarat and suggested the idea of getting into there. He said that he had vaguely heard of the place and that going there was a fabulous idea. The magazine would definitely publish whatever I wrote after getting back. "Judy, if you pulled that off, it could make our magazine more than a shiny advertising piece and give us a reputation for real journalism. If you really experienced the place yourself, I'm pretty sure you could also swing a book deal."

"I agree," I said, "but I haven't found anyone who thinks I can visit there."

So I went back to Gloria to probe more. "I think you can go there but I don't know, I have not been there for 30 years," she said. "I think I know someone who knows more."

About a week later, I received a call from a John Harpin. Harpin said he was a friend of my mother's and he could get me into Taritarat if I was still interested. We agreed to meet for lunch. I was immediately rather put off by the way he stared at my body without even pretending that he wasn't doing so. Also, he made clear that Taritarat was not a place for visitors who could not deal with very different mores. "You can't just go as a journalist or a tourist, you need to contact someone in advance who is acceptable to the Taritarat government to act as a guide who knows how to broker the three main factions and go pretty much incognito. You would have to pretend to be visiting relatives and expect to wear an abaya whenever you left your room.

Women in particular would face a lot of adjustments. The Wallee are not Muslim at all and trace themselves to beliefs that go back to before Mohammed. The Nubimbi claim to be Muslims but no real Muslims would ever accept them as such. They claim they are descended from a secret prophet, Nubimbat, to which Mohammad imparted esoteric teachings, not mentioned in the Koran or the traditions These teachings require many more rituals, forms of purity and stricter control of women than is required by any real Muslim school or sect.

"In some parts of the country, the laws are so religious and strict that Taritarat makes Saudi Arabia seem like Germany or Nevada. What you would consider to be petty offenses are punishable by death or very long prison terms. Also, the police are authorized to execute justice on the spot unless witnesses volunteer that there is a potentially valid defense."

"If this mission is impossibly dangerous, why are you talking to me about going to Taritarat?" I asked.

"The laws are very strict, but, enforcement can be very flexible in Glaessov and Lbirne," Harpin said. "Officials and policemen in the cities don't go looking for problems if they have been given the routine payment. Even if they find problems, they can become very reasonable. Wealthy persons and their servants are not likely to be bothered by anyone. Indeed, it is said in Glaessov and Lbirne that the law is what the highest bidder says it is."

It was obvious that the idea of going to Taritarat to write about it was about as dangerous as explorer Richard Burton's trip to Mecca in 1853. Even keeping one's head off a chopping block might be expensive. When I told this all to Dalman, however, he encouraged me not to give up. "Stanley crossed half of Africa on foot to get a story no better than this."

But there I left the matter for a month until the idea of the trip was raised from an unexpected direction. After telling Julie and Tony about Taritarat over wine after work, Julie said that while recently visiting a restaurant for the magazine in Mexico she'd met a chef who made what he called "Steak Taritarat. She'd thought it was very good but had never heard of it. She had asked the chef what was in it. She was slightly surprised to learn it involved fishmeal, veal and goatmeat but, as a food writer, she had encountered a lot of unusual foods. What was most unique was the variety spices used that she had not had before.

The chef said a few of the spices could only be obtained from a strange little country in Arabia that was almost completely isolated from most of the world. She asked him how he knew about the dish and how he got the spices. Turned out he'd lived in Taritarat in the 80s but had gotten out when the civil war got hot. The chef also told Julie that there was some foot traffic over the mountains that separate Taritarat from the United Arab Emirates and Oman and a little travel by boat to the cities. He had the spices mailed to him from a guy who lives in Dubai. "Fortunately, the spices don't smell at all like anything illegal in Mexico."

"How did you get so much information out of the guy?" I asked. Julie smiled and said, "Well, I smiled and jiggled my boobs a bit and he opened up a little. But when I asked him a bit more about the guy in Dubai, he looked at my torso and said that I'd have to put out a lot more than a smile to get any more information. The guy was handsome enough but I wasn't interested enough in a meatball recipe to put out more than a smile and a jiggle right then."

"Now we are after more than a recipe," I said, "obviously he knows how to reach the guy in Dubai but I don't know if it's worth a trip and who knows what else to fly to Mexico just to find out where the chef gets his spices."

"I think it is worth it," Julie said. "Also, as the guy lived in Taritarat for years, he knows a lot more than the Dubai address. Anyway, sounds like a fun road trip to me."

We found the restaurant on the Internet, called the place to make sure the chef was still there and talked to Dalman who readily agreed to Julie and I flying to Veracruz in a week. I was surprised when Tony and Dalman decided that they would come along. We sent an email to the restaurant making a reservation to which Julie even attached a picture she'd taken of her and me on the beach. I knew it would be interesting watching Julie get the necessary information from the chef although I was unsure why she was so interested. I did not know she sent additional emails.

The four of us checked into our hotel and made a reservation for about one hour before the place closed so that we would be there at closing. Julie got the waiter to pass a note back to the chef. She got back a note, which she showed me. It said the chef was definitely interested in seeing her and meeting her friends, "especially the luscious blond with the hourglass figure," which I guessed meant me. The restaurant owner came over, introduced himself as Hugo, and said that we were all definitely welcome to stay afterwards and meet in the cocktail lounge that had a lot of cushy furniture. I wondered just what all Julie had written in her note.

We'd sat about 15 minutes after closing when the owner, a man in decent shape in his 40s, came over again and reseated us all in the lounge. The Chef, a fairly handsome man in his mid-50s named Hanson, came over and Julie gave him a hug. He then looked at me and asked if I was the one who wanted to know about Taritarat. He said with a big smile, "Julie wrote that you'd be glad to pay my little fee for the information."

I blushed. I'd somehow thought that Julie was going to provide the "payment" so to speak. We all chit chatted about how good dinner had been until the waiters, dishwashers and other staff had left for the night. Hanson waived a piece a paper and said that the information we wanted was all here and said, "Would the ladies please strip." Julie immediately removed her dress as I just sat there shocked.

After doffing her bra and getting down to her panties with the four men staring at her flawless full breasts, Julie said, "Judy, you've gotten a bit behind me, surely you did not think I was going to do all your research for you. Tonight, I only intend to amuse John and Tony, you are writing the Taritarat story." Dalman said, "I think she may have had the impression that Julie was going to do her research although every writer for our magazine is expected to pull her own weight." Tony added, "She should be punished for every minute she delays with ten slaps across something tender." Hanson produced a wooden stirring spoon. Hugo leered.

I suppose that there are women with the strength of pride, self-respect or modesty, who would have gotten up and walked out at that point, but I am not among them. Blushing, I opened my dress in front and let it fall to the floor. Surprising myself, I pulled my arms back to trust out my breasts lifted my arms to the sky as though they were tied above my head, and said, "Unwrap everything you want. It is all yours for the evening."

Hugo went behind me and unsnapped my bra. I lowered my arms briefly so it could fall to the ground. "How many swats do we think Judy has earned," Hanson asked. "Ten is a round number," Tony observed. With no further discussion, I absorbed the sudden contact of a wickedly handled wooden spoon to my left breast. I yelped like a scared puppy as Hanson proceeded to swat me 9 more times on the breasts and bottom but the blows were more for show and humiliation than pain. Still, Julie whose breasts were being squeezed hard by John, observed, "See, Judy takes the blows like a natural sub. I think a woman is forever changed by the first time she surrenders to pain deliberately inflicted by another. I know I was."

"Well now, let's get down to business," Hanson said. "Judy, would you kindly, bend over that sofa with your face down and your bottom up, I think you need to take one doggie style. Julie, while we agreed you should not do Judy's research work for her, would you be willing to take notes as I am going to speak of Taritartat a bit while fucking Judy and I don't think she will be able to write legibly while I jam her." He pulled out his dick that appeared to be quite adequate. Meanwhile, Hugo had decided that I could suck his penis while receiving Hanson' cock and sat on the sofa where my head would be after I bent over the arm of the sofa. Hanson used the head of his cock to massage my nether lips and clit before easing into my vagina. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see that Tony was filming. At that moment, I did not care.

Most of what I recall of what Hanson said while he proceeded to move deliberately, smoothly and persistently in and out while squeezing my breasts comes from Julie's notes. Hanson started by saying that the guy who sends him spices from Dubai was not really the person we needed to meet as he was just a middleman. "You need to talk to a different man who has an office in Dubai but who frequently takes boatloads to and from Glaessov. He had been in that business for at least a decade. He would know how to get travellers into Taritarat if anyone did. Hanson said that it was hard to know when this trader, Hussan Morice, would be in Dubai. He thought he might live in Glaessov. All Morice's contact information he knew was on the sheet.

Hanson went on that he was in Taritarat from 1980 to 1986 and had worked in a restaurant in Glaessov. "For the first five years, it was all fun. Hundreds of young free-spirited Westerners without much ambition had joined with the lazy and lusty in Glaessov and Lbirne to create an atmosphere that resembled Sodom and Gomorrah. Also, outside the cities there were hippie communes full of young people.

We lived very comfortably but were not rich or prudent. It was very hard to get birth control way off there and so the women kept getting pregnant. This was not too bad a problem as the Midwives were amazingly skillful. In Glaessov and Lbirne there was far more tolerance for children born out of wedlock than in most of the Middle East. Guardians, mainly brothels and rich men of the Taritarat ruling class, took the children. The guardians made little effort to disguise that they planned to exploit the pale bodies of at least the daughters of the irresponsible westerners when they got older. The guardians gave all the children Western names as there was no pretending that their parents were of local stock. The parents of these children accepted the lie that these children would be brought up in good homes without wondering about the motives of the guardians. On the other hand, maybe the biological parents knew that they would not have been better in bringing up the kids than the guardians.

"Anyway, I saw the writing on the wall in 1985 and I got out of there a year before the central government completely lost control of the countryside in 1987 which led the hippies in the commune to flee first to the cities and flee Taritarat entirely when it appeared that the cities would fall."

I think that that part of the lecture is where Hanson started to lose control and began rocking me with more focused passion and energy. Hugo came in my mouth and Hanson and I came a few minutes later with me managing to swallow and gasping as my heart pounded, walls contracted and waves of tingling warmth spread out from my pussy through my body.

After a brief rest, I took over the pen and pencil while Dalman mouthed Julie's pussy before she lowered herself onto him facing him on a couch and Tony lubricated her other hole put on a condom and forced himself into there.

Hugo, Hanson and I had not much more to do than watch. Hanson asked, "One of Julie's emails says that your parents met in Taritarat. What was your mother's maiden name?" "Gloria Saintange, I think the name is French," I answered, "Mom said I was their first child and I was conceived about two months before they left Taritarat in 1987."

"That can't be," Hanson said, "I distinctly remember seeing Gloria Saintange pregnant in late 1985. Judy, I hate to add to your age but I think you are older than you think."

"Oh my God, are you going to tell me that you are my father?"

"No, not unless you can become a father by being sucked off by an obviously pregnant woman. I know that blowjob happened before I left Taritarat in 1986. Your parents must have wanted you to be an American citizen and somehow lied about your age. But don't feel bad, you are just as beautiful at 32 as you would be at age 30."

Naturally, I was stunned, so stunned that I did not resist in the least when Hugo worked a finger full of lubricant and a condom clad penis into my ass and leaned back with me against the back of the sofa while Hanson worked his revived penis into my vagina. It was a while since I'd had a penis up my ass and this was my first double penetration. When both Hugo and Hanson began to pump in and out vigorously, it was so intense I could hardly stand it. There was such a feeling of fullness and a sense that a conversation or lovemaking was going on within me as well as with me. After I had several explosive orgasms and Hugo and Hanson came, Julie, Dalman and Tony applauded.

When I recovered composure and cleaned up a little, I asked Hanson if he'd been back to Taritarat since 1986. He said he had in 2012 but he'd only been in the airport and what they call the Five Star community in Lbirne. He explained there was a Five Star community women's dormitory in both of the major cities. They were the fanciest of the old brothels fixed up and modernized but basically in the same use as before except that the women were all sex slaves rather than prostitutes (although the prostitutes before the breakup were pretty close to slaves). The Five Star communities were where they had the prettiest and most skillful of the sex slaves including several hundred women whose parents were from Europe or America who had been left as children or somehow come to Taritarat in other ways. There were also thousands of attractive women of local origin. Hanson said he knew that there were many other places where large groups of women lived but that as a sex tourist he would never be allowed close to those facilities.

"While the daughters of the Westerners who had been in Taritarat in the 1980s all became sex slaves in the Five Star brothels, some of the sons of the Westerners had management positions in the Five Star communities and reportedly a few of them had attained important positions in Glaessov or Lbirne.

"It seems," Hanson explained, "that sometime in the 90s the three factions fought to a standstill and agreed on some sort of peace. The coastal cities on paper are subject to the same strict religious laws as the rest of the country but, under the peace agreement, enforcement is left entirely to local authorities. So really the cities are allowed to be sinful but they don't have much control over land or revenues outside the cities. Or so I was told.

"The coastal cities are trying to make up the lost revenue by running a high priced sex operation and, of course, selling spices and drugs. There are still very good restaurants there but they are in or near the Five Star dormitory or brothel building, whatever you want to call it.

"The main reason that so little news reaches the outside world from Taritarat is that the only foreigners allowed in the country are people with close relatives there, relatives who would be severely harmed if the visitor spoke too much about Taritarat, and guys like me who came to fuck and are not eager to tell the world about having spent five figures on screwing fancy sex slaves. In fact, I don't really know much about Taritarat now except about the good food in the restaurants connected to the Five Star brothels, each named after a color, and the exceptionally hot babes who fuck with great skill and enthusiasm because they have no choice and because they have learned to live for sex. I have not been back because Hugo over there doesn't pay me nearly enough to spend 20K to get my rocks off for a long weekend."

There was a pause and I asked, "One last thing, just what did Julie say in her emails to you?" They all laughed as Hanson brought up an email on his smartphone from Julie saying that a really hot blond friend of hers with fabulous boobs and butt whose parents were in Taritarat in the 80s wanted to talk to me and would show him a real good time in exchange for info. It said also that the friend was trying to suppress it but she's really a total slut. In another email, Hanson asked if the restaurant owner could also fuck this hot blond and Julie had said that would be fine if they threw in dinner.

No dinner check to pay, we went back to our hotel with me feeling all of violated, confused, stupid, euphoric and satiated. I did not even know what age I was anymore.