tagGroup SexSexual Diversions Ch. 04

Sexual Diversions Ch. 04


It had been Mike who had put the idea in Sammi's head. She had told him that she wasn't sure she could do what he wanted in the role-play therapy, but that she was thinking about it.

"Tell you what," he said, "I have to go to Saudi in a couple of weeks time to tie up the details on the deal, why don't you take a holiday and think everything all the way through."

"Ok thanks, that sounds a good idea."

"If you would like I could arrange for you to use a friend's house in Barbados, it really is lovely, and it would be free."

"Really?" Sammi replied, a little suspicious and getting the feeling it might be some form of "persuasion."

"Yes, this friend has Barbadian residence for tax purposes, but spends most of his time in Australia so he needs the house to be occupied and the gas and electricity used to show the authorities that he's been there."

"He's not though, if I use it."

Mike laughed. "Don't complicate things, ten days in Barbados for the cost of your air fare, why worry about Brad's tax problems?"

Sammi phoned her closest friend, Mel. She had bucketfuls of money, plenty of free time, loved the sun and had, how had Emma described her, oh yes, the sexual morals of an alley-cat; just the sort of girl to go on holiday with, Sammi smiled as Mel said that she would love to come with her.

The ten days in Barbados with her old friend were fantastic. As it turned out it was also somewhat of a watershed on her life. Not only did she finally make her mind up about the new therapy and job, she also found the pleasure of being fucked by a big cock; a big black one as well come to that and a big, black one that was on an older man and that to Sammi, was near perfection.

She had always preferred older men. Why? She had no real answer to that, simply assuming some form of father complex, but she didn't try to analyse it further. Why bother when she was happy with it and got more pleasure from sex with forty to fifty year olds than she did with guys her own age. That's not to say she didn't dabble now and then with young guys and, in fact, in Barbados on the second evening, the two of them met up with a couple of Dutch guys ending up in their beds.

Mel was her oldest friend. They had known each other since they were five or so and they totally confided in each other. Whilst they were incredibly close, trusted each other implicitly and probably loved each other there had neve never been any form of sex between them. Not between them, but when they were teenagers they had had sex in the same car with two guys and once on holiday in Ibiza a couple of years ago, in the same bed with two guys. But much to both pairs of blokes chagrin the two of them hadn't "played." It was just not what two really close girl friends did. It was different with Roni, Sam felt; she wasn't a real intimate and such an old friend, almost sister, like Mel.

"Yes on balance, I think I would do it if I were in your position." Mel had said when Sammi had explained the situation at the clinic and the new therapy. "I mean it is, after all, medically sound, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, without a doubt."

"Even the uniform?" Mel had said smiling referring to the white coat that she had seen Sammi in.

"Well that's not really Mike or the clinic, that's Emma and La Crème, and that's different." Sammi said, the fantastically erotic, black dress and white apron Emma had modelled for her, flashing into her mind.

"But she's going to run the place isn't she?"

"Yes but for a different company, not the agency."

"Oh well as will maybe. If it's a proper thing, then why not take the money and say fuck it. After all what's the difference between that and paying for dinner at the Ivy or a night at a club by opening your legs."

Sammi smiled at her friend's vulgar, but probably true analogy.

"You don't think that getting money for sex is immoral."

"Immoral, what's that?"

"Ok I get the point."

"And talking about sex," Mel said. "Those Dutch guys over there have been giving us the eye for ages."

Mel's advice was the clincher for Sam. She respected her friend, not just because she was bright, but also because she was sharp and worldly-wise with a pragmatic view on sex. She also got on well with her for Mel was probably even more selectively promiscuous than she.

She had also done quite a lot of research on the net, at the BMA and in the Royal College of Nursing library. Mike was absolutely correct in everything he had told her other than he was not quite the leading pioneer and luminary he had implied. The movement in reactionary counselling, as it was also called, was, not surprisingly, the Swedes, where sexual neuroses caused suicides were, per capita, the highest in the world. A couple of eminent psychiatric groups in the US had taken it up and were now actively promoting and using it with, so they claimed, amazing results. She read quite a lot about the moral dilemma of the trained medical staff that were required in the role-plays and that was reassuring, in the main. Just how she would feel, though, when she kissed a woman or a bloke fucked her in front of Mike, she couldn't imagine.

Her mind made up she put all of those concerns to one side to enjoy her holiday with Mel, catch up on all the gossip from back home, get some sun and, hopefully, get fucked a few times.

By the fourth day she had achieved all of the first three, but only part of the fourth. The Dutch boys had fucked 'em and left 'em, the bastards.


As Sammi was sunning herself and getting laid in Barbados, Mike was in an even hotter place and was not likely to get laid. He was In Riyadh. It was around one hundred and ten each day and, or so it seemed, around one hundred and nine each night.

In the hotel, where he spent most of his time as usual waiting for meetings that had been scheduled for certain times to happen, there were no women. None of the staff and none of the guests were female, other than Arab wives all covered up looking a little like penguins, he thought. Other than the odd expat wife, again all covered up and closely accompanied by a husband or a "bodyguard" from the company that employed their husband, he saw no women, not in the shops, along the streets, on the buses or driving cars. There were no bars, obviously, no cinemas or theatres, nothing entertaining at all. You couldn't even access porn or girly sites on the Internet, the miserable sods had blocked that.

"What a fucking dump" he had thought several times and gave his thanks for the regular phone sex he had with Claire.

Apart from his last trip and this all the other meetings about the funding had been in Düsseldorf or London. There was the minor excitement of discovering this new culture and the mild expectation that it couldn't really be as bad as most said and that surely, somewhere you could find sex, even if you paid for it. It was every bit as bad, if not worse and as far as he could see, you certainly could not find or buy sex as he most certainly would have done.

In some ways meeting Emma had been awful.

For the only time he was in Saudi, a meeting happened when it was supposed to; Abdullah's involvement he wondered. He got a call, a Merc, with blacked out windows picked him, on time and he was whisked to the King Fahd hospital just to the south of Riyadh on what used to be the Al Kharj road, but was now an eight lane superhighway. After passing through what was, by some margin, the strictest security he had encountered, far more so than at airports or the government building he visited, he was in the hospital.

And suddenly there were women, Western women, Indians, Philipino and Thai. Women nurses, women with legs, albeit covered, women with skirts, albeit long and, unlike women in the shapeless black robes of the Arabs, women with breasts. Just walking past the wards and seeing them started to give him a hard on.

Although, in many ways, his meeting with Sunni al Korensi was the most important of his life, the visions of, what in reality were probably fairly ordinary looking girls who he probably would not give a second glance to ordinarily, distracted him. But if that was distraction, then when he was introduced to Missus Emma, as Sunni called her, their consultant on hospital management, he was lost completely.

He hadn't realised that she was going to be in Saudi, for she hadn't mentioned it when they had chatted about the staffing for the new venture that La Crème, of course was handling. She looked, he thought, absolutely fucking gorgeous. Of course she had to cover up, none of the La Crème type nurses outfits out here, so Emma was wearing a long loose dress, almost a robe and a head scarf. Although the long, flowing garment covered most of her curves, a movement or a gesture would occasionally stretch the thin material across her breasts or her bum. That rather defeated the idea of the dress, which was to hide the woman's womanly features so that male onlookers would not get aroused. It failed completely on two counts as Emma, of course, knew it would.

She said little during the meeting, just answering a few questions Sunni had on Mike's plan and proposal, As it ended she left the room with Sunni, who had said for Mike to remain there. He sat twiddling his thumbs for half an hour or so, reading some papers to do with the deal.

"How about lunch?" He heard a female voice asking and, turning was pleased to see it was Emma.

"Can we do that?" He asked standing.

Smiling and pushing the head scarf off her head, she looked him right in the eye, and rather flirtatiously said. "Mike, when you know your way around Saudi, you can do anything, and I do know my way around."

He walked alongside and occasionally behind her through a myriad of corridors. It was, he often reflected, the most erotic walk he had ever had. He saw more and more nurses, some quite pretty, was continually smelling Emma's lovely perfume and, particularly when he moved behind her to go through doors, he saw the enticing wiggle of her great arse. In normal circumstances the walk through the huge hospital would not have been anything special, but in women and sex starved Saudi, it was an incredible turn on for him


When she had booked the holiday with Mel she had contacted Wilson. She had got to know him when she worked at her first hospital in Birmingham. Wilson and his wife Gemma had been so kind to Sammi and she had spent lots of time with them, all three of them being nurses at the same hospital. They had kept in touch when Sam moved to London, but when Wilson went home to Barbados four or so years ago, after Gemma had been tragically killed in a road accident, they had lost contact with each other, although they still exchanged Christmas and birthday cards. She had phoned him from the UK just after she had booked the holiday and he had invited her to come to his home.

"It's quite near to the flash area you are staying, Sam," he had advised. "Give me a ring when you're there and make all the arrangements."

She had told Mel about it, who had, so she reminded Sammi, met him and Gemma when she had come up to the hospital for a ball.

"If I remember he was very tasty, how old would he be now?

"Around forty five, maybe fifty."

"Just right for you then," Mel smiled, knowing too well her friend's penchant for older men. "Maybe he's got a friend."

Mel understood that Sammi wanted to be by herself with Wilson, catching up on old times, so she arranged for a day round the pool.

It wasn't planned; it hadn't been hinted at or thought about; not in all time they had known each other. It was the furthest thing from both their minds, well the conscious parts of them at least. And it wasn't her, it wasn't him and it wasn't them. It was circumstances. It was the circumstance of their long friendship, the circumstance of the three of them being so close and the circumstance of Gemma now not being with them. It was the circumstance of Sammi being in Wilson's home country, in his home town, in his home and then in his arms as they embraced on the doorstep of the small, neat bungalow. It was the circumstance of her wearing a little sun top and a skimpy shirt and him wearing white shorts, tight ones and a yellow vest. It was the circumstance of Sammi crying as they spoke of Gemma, of Wilson consoling her and of him telling her there was no one else. Yes it was the combination of all those circumstances that caused them to fuck, that caused Sammi to stay with him all night, that caused him to fuck her several times and caused her to come to adore his great big, hard cock. It was true what they said about black guys she found out; something that had never really crossed her mind, until Wilson and Barbados.

So, as they kissed hello, as he cuddled Sammi, as he held her, as she clung to him and as they consoled each other over their tragic loss, they found something else; another emotion, another feeling, something that had lain dormant and hidden in each of them all these years, a strong lust for each other.

And that caused the intended peck on the cheek to become a kiss on the lips. The kiss of friendship to become, a mouth open, lip squirming, tongue plunging kiss of likely lovers. The tender embrace to become an, almost, bear hug of a cuddle. The holding of each other to become a grinding of their bodies and the light touches that two old friends give each other to become urgent, enquiring caresses.

Nothing like it had happened to them before. They couldn't understand what was happening, their minds were reeling, their bodies were aflame with passion and their emotions were running riot with lust for the other.

There could only be one solution, one outcome, one result. After just a moment or two, that became an inevitability, it was as certain as night follows day. Following just a few moments in each others arms, there was no alternative whatsoever other than for them to have sex.


Mike and Emma had lunch in a villa in the vast grounds of the hospital that they reached by using a golf buggy and which turned out to be where Emma lived in Saudi.

She had sat him in a beautifully furnished lounge and had given him a drink, surprising Mike with her well stocked bar. She had left him alone for a few minutes. When she returned his heart had started to pound, for she was wearing a western style dress that was short, tight, thin and revealing, emphasing her great tits, fabulous arse and wonderful legs.

It was served by a pretty Thai girl who was continually popping in and out of the dining room, freshening their drinks and offering tea or coffee.

Emma explained her role in the venture to Mike and told him a little about her history with the al Korensi family. He learned that she was a qualified nurse and had worked in numerous hospitals becoming a sister at Barts at the very young age of twenty eight.

She explained that she had become frustrated at the poor money so, after divorcing her first husband, she went to work in nursing recruitment. That was how she got to know Abdullah al Korensi, some fifteen years ago. He owned a number of clinics and hospitals for which Emma won the recruitment of nurses from Britain and Thailand. She didn't exactly say it, for she liked people to think the success of La Crème was all down to her, but Mike guessed the money for setting up the agency had come from the family.

As they ate lunch and sipped a dry white, French wine she told him that she had first worked for them supplying nurses on contract, but then in addition to that she had, over the years become a consultant to them and had worked with them on numerous deals including the two private hospitals they owned in the UK and the big deal when they bought six in California.

Over coffee after lunch, sitting side by side on a sofa, the hem of Emma's skirt a good six inches above her knees, Mike's cock exploded into a full erection. It wasn't just the view of Emma beside him, it was also what she said.

"So Mike I will be working closely with you."

"You'll see a lot of me, here and in London."

"Please ask me anything at any time."

"Get in touch with me whatever the time, I really am a 24/7 woman."

The images that these and other phrases conjured up in his mind were lurid, graphic and pleasantly dirty. They were supposed to be, for that was exactly the images that Emma wanted to convey, for she was testing Mike.

What she had not told him was that in addition to the nursing agency and a couple of other businesses she had told him about, she also ran a small, but highly efficient investigative agency. Working solely in the medical field her agency did background checks mainly for recruitment purposes, but also for the family when they were doing deals. Her findings not only advised them on the financial state of their partners or adversaries in deals but also on their reputations and any other relevant information that might be of use to them. And that included any dirt or scandal that could help their dealings.

She had recently read the agent's report on Michael Robert Stevens. So she knew that he was a philanderer and that he shagged pretty much anything that came his way. She also knew about Claire and that she too shagged pretty much anything that came her way including the al Korensi's German partner Korlen Gunter who, from her earlier report on him she knew, also shagged pretty much anything that came his way including, as it happens her, several times.

She made no moral judgements on any of this, for if truth be known and in differing circumstances, she too would probably shag pretty much anything that came her way. But in her position that was not possible. No, Emma reserved her shagging for one reason only, one very special reason and that was business. Other than on a very rare occasion, she no longer fucked for pleasure.

So, as she had purposefully sent those images into Mike's mind, as she put the pressure on him and turned up the heat it was all business.

The investigation into his background had established that he always claimed to "never mix business with pleasure as far as sex was concerned."

Ahmad and Sunni had read that and laughed, not really believing it, for they and everyone they knew was quite the opposite. Emma had been lying naked between them as they laughed and joked about Mike's vow. One of them had said that maybe she should find out how true it was. That was how they worked with her. They would never order her to do anything or be direct and say, "Why don't you try to fuck him Emma?" But that is exactly what they meant by the vague remark. They knew it as well as Emma did.

And that was exactly what this nice little lunch was all about, Emma was trying to fuck Mike.


Sammi was as aware as Wilson was that sex between them was not only inevitable, but also seemed essential. Her body was reacting to him and the circumstances with the feminine alternative to the huge lump that had so quickly grown in his shorts and was pushing against her flat tummy and thighs. So there was no resistance at all when Wilson's hand found her breast, she wanted it there, she relished it there and she loved the feel of it there. Her smallish breast, inside the thin top without the cover of a bra came alive the moment he cupped it.

"Oh Sam," he whispered, those marvellous feelings a man gets from touching a woman's breast, particularly for the first time, shooting through his body.

"Shush, don't speak, don't say anything," Sammi whispered back, those marvellous feelings a woman gets from having her bare breasts caressed shooting through her. Her mouth covered his, stopping him saying anything further.

He didn't, but instead kissed her back even harder as his fingers revelled in firstly finding that she was not wearing a bra, secondly enjoying the softness of her breast and thirdly pinching the beautifully erect nipple that announced its readiness for sex by making a noticeable lump through the thin material

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