Yosef Mohammed groaned nervously as he sat
back in his chair. He was having serious trouble thinking.
It was absolutely necessary for him to clear
his head and complete the concession deal for the Nigerian oil field his family
owned. There were millions of dollars at stake, a large part of his family’s
future wealth. Indeed, it was why he was in Saudi Arabia to begin with. The
Arab he was considering doing business with was a shrewd bargainer
and he desperately needed to concentrate on the negotiations. But the naked
white women were making that nearly impossible.
Not that they were in any way rude or noisy. They knelt quietly beside
the two men, offering trays of fruit, baklava and wine. Each one was an
exquisite creature with flawless pale skin and free flowing long hair. They
were young, late teens or early twenties and they seemed somehow to belong in the
opulent meeting hall of Ibn Al Taif’s
home.
The one dancing at the moment was particularly distracting. She was a
petite, gray-eyed blond with perfectly sized and
shaped breasts. They seemed to bounce with the same fluid and grace with which
she moved - just a fraction of a second behind her. Her hips swivelled and
churned, thrusting her vulva in lewd, coital motions. As she moved, Mohammed
could hear the slap of her bare feet as they danced on the smooth stone floor.
The whole effect was of total hedonism, made all the more sensuous and exotic
by the fact she was roundly pregnant.
God, how he wanted a creature like this. In those six years
he had studied in America, he’d seen white women aplenty. He had been told by
some that it was easy for a black man to “score” a white woman on a college
campus. Somehow, though, the secret to bedding them had eluded him. The
arrogant and self-reliant white women he met had little use for him. He had
always dreamed but never saw his dreams fulfilled.
The woman danced closer, swirling and writhing, moving in a way
obviously calculated to inspire the basest instinct of any male present. A
lovely, full-breasted white woman, he thought, closing his eyes. He wished he
had been the one who had bloated her belly. He could visualize himself pushing
her onto her back, mounting her and feeling her long smooth legs wrap around
him. He would have made her beg for it, plead with her voice and her body for
the seed that would render her in this conquered state.
Yet that state did nothing to detract from her allure. Incredibly, it
seemed to make her appear even more graceful and liquid in her movements. Her
hands raised over her head, open-palmed as a gesture
of submission. As she gyrated, her belly bounced and jiggled, but she seemed to
know just how to incorporate this into the dance, even to draw attention to it
and centre the eye on it. This was a woman who appeared delighted to be naked
and pregnant before her master. It was easy for Mohammed believe she was proud
to be dancing naked before him, as if she were swollen with his
child.
Mohammed sighed. He had no doubt she would be an incredibly enthusiastic
fuck. Especially after she’d been soundly whipped!
“… And so I’ll think you’ll find my offer very competitive with any other
international proposals.”
“Huh? Oh … yes of course, Effendi,” said Mohammed. “Very
competitive. I have to say however, that the American Oil Company has
also made an exceptional offer.”
The Arab smiled, running his fingers along his beard thoughtfully.
“You’re quite impressed by my serving girls.”
Mohammed was startled. He had been doing his best to seem business-like
and unperturbed. Despite the fact that the Arab was greatly his senior in
years, there was his family’s reputation as cool hagglers to uphold. Was his
obsession that noticeable?
“I’m sorry, Effendi. I am a little distracted. Please forgive …”
“No need to apologize,” laughed the Arab, waving his hand reassuringly.
“I am aware of your fondness for the bodies of white women. I make it a point
to learn the tastes of my prospective clients.
“As you can see,” he continued, “it is a predilection I share. The white
female is after all, one of Allah’s most beautiful animals.”
Mohammed nodded. He wondered if the Arab had any idea of the full scope
of his “fondness” and the bizarre fantasies he fostered about women in general.
White women in particular. In the corner of his eye he
could still see the dancing girl, her convex abdomen bouncing provocatively. I
wonder how she danced when her belly was empty! He thought.
“Allow me to enhance my proposal,” said the Arab. “And make an offer the
American Oil Company is not likely to match. I will include the blond dancing
girl in my existing offer. She will make a good addition to your harem.”
Mohammed was stunned. He was skilled negotiator for his age, but he had
not anticipated this. “I … I don’t really have a harem,” he choked. “Just some
mixed race servants who were with my father.”
The Arab frowned. “No harem? You are a young Islamic man with means. You
must obtain a harem. This wench would be a good piece to start with. She’s
British, from a good, cultured English family in the south. And,” he chuckled.
“She’s well trained.”
“How … How did you obtain her?” asked Mohammed. His head was still
spinning from the offer and he could think of nothing else to say.
The Arab smiled. “With extraordinary difficulty.
Suffice it to say her family believes she is dead and she has no outside
entanglements.”
Mohammed licked his lips, leering at the girl. He had never considered
this kind of deal before, but the Arab’s offer was an excellent one even apart
from the woman.
“How do I get her to Nigeria?” he asked.
“I can have her brought down in my private plane. A few well placed bribes and she’ll be kneeling on your doorstep
in a few days.”
Mohammed laughed with satisfaction. The Arab was right, he should have a
harem. It was just that he preferred fair skinned white women and there had
been, until now, no easy way to obtain one. He knew that Ibn
Al Taif’s company badly needed his oil field to
diversify out of the Middle East and that the man was making an exceptional
offer. He decided to act quickly.
“Done,” said Mohammed, smiling. “I’ll be back tomorrow and we can sign
the papers.”
Ibn Al Taif clapped
his hands. The background music faded and the girl stopped dancing. When he
snapped his fingers she ran and knelt before him, casting her eyes to the
floor.
“You are being sold to this young Champion of the Faith. You will obey
him as you obey me.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied meekly. But her eyes registered doubt, as if
she were feeling revulsion at the thought of being a slave to a black African.
She glanced over at Mohammed with a look of disdain. It lasted only a fleeting
second, but her Arab master saw it instantly.
Without warning he slapped her viciously across the face. “How dare you
show insolence in the presence of my guest?”
Her laboured smile faded to open mouthed horror and she whimpered,
“please, Master … please forgive …”
Mohammed could tell that Ibn Al Taif was not about to show weakness or mercy in dealing
with a slave, particularly in front of him. The Arab ordered the girl to bend
over and grasp her ankles, which she did despite her maternal condition. One of
the other slave girls scurried to bring him a black lacquered cane from wall
and presented it to him, kneeling subserviently.
The blond girl’s face was a mass of anguish, but she remained silent and
holding tight to her ankles.
Al Taif brought the cane down on her bottom
with a quick snap of his arm. The girl screamed, her eyes wide with agony, but
she did not get up or release her legs. The slave had apparently been
disciplined this way before.
The Arab gave her five strokes. When he was done the slave girl’s cheeks
and lower back were glowing with wicked red weals.
The pregnant white girl sobbed pathetically, but still dutifully maintained her
position until he snapped his fingers. She then knelt, chastened at his feet.
“Thank you for correcting me Master,” she said, trying to keep her voice
steady.
“You are fortunate I do not want to mark you for your new Master,” said
the Arab grimly,” or I’d give you a dozen more with the cat! Now get up. Show
this young champion of the Faith what else you’re good for aside from dancing.”
She crawled over to Mohammed, looking up at him and smiling. Her face was beaming with joy at being
allowed to service him, but he could tell in her eyes she hated what she about
to do. She was simply too cowed to make even the slightest protest. Mohammed
took mental notes. Ibn Al Taif
was obviously a master of training white women and had just demonstrated it. He
could learn much, simply by association with this man.
The blond girl moved her soft hands deftly to unzip his pants and pull
out his manhood. Mohammed sucked in his breath as she ran her lips along the
rock hard shaft a few times and then took it into her mouth. Then she looked up
at him, her blue eyes as limped and servile as any man could hope for.
“Aaahhh,” he sighed, as the woman skilfully
stroked the underside of his glans with her tongue. She did not break eye
contact with him as her mouth descended down his shaft.
The young black man’s balls churned and he gritted his teeth to keep
from cuming. He needed to distract himself quickly to
avoid the embarrassment of ejaculating as quickly as an inexperienced boy.
“I … I thought the Arabs always veiled their women.”
“My wives, yes, in public or in the presence of other
men. But these are mere whores. They are here for my guests to enjoy as
well. These white women don’t cover their faces in their own countries. Why
should they be afforded a veil in my house?”
“Yes … quite,” Mohammed managed to gasp. “Do … do you want the child
returned when it’s born?” He naively assumed Al Taif
had sired the baby.
“Oh no,” said the Arab. “I have many others. I breed them, you know.”
“Breed them?” choked Mohamed, astonished.
“Yes, I have a young white boy who I use to inseminate all my white
slave girls. Despite the rumours, I do not have unlimited wealth. It’s much
cheaper and easier to breed them than capture them. And it’s gratifying to know
the little creatures have been created for me, by my will, for my use. In fact,
I am going to acquire another boy, blue eyed and blond haired so I can breed
for the characteristics I want.”
It was only minutes before the woman’s expert swirling tongue, grazing
teeth and gentle sucking action brought Mohammed to a rousing climax.
The girl swallowed every drop of his semen, still gazing at him with her
wide blue eyes. She licked his organ clean and carefully zipped up Mohammed’s
pants. Then she dropped back onto her heels, her hands folded primly in her
lap.
“I told you she was well trained,” laughed the Arab.
“Wha … what shall I do with the child when it
comes?” sighed Mohammed, still not fully recovered.
“Oh,” said the Arab, his eyes twinkling. “I believe you’ll think of
something.”