Vanessa's Vocation Ch. 02

I asked her if she knew anything about the shows we were to do, and she told me we were due to fly to Saudi Arabia the following week.

'Saudi Arabia!' I exclaimed, 'fuck! We'll be lucky to get out alive!'

'I've been before,' she said, 'and so has Nikolai.'

'Is it just the three of us?' I asked.

'No, there's an Arab guy called Asif, who always works with us in the Middle East – he'll meet us there.'

Time passed quickly until it was our turn to fly out to Riyadh. I spent a wonderful night with Rafael. He gave me ten strokes with his favourite cane, then fucked me brutally in the arse, before enfolding me in his arms and taking me slowly and languorously twice more. I told him I would go to the ends of the earth for him.

The day dawned, and we had to dress decorously to pass the Saudi immigration authorities, but we were soon through customs, and whisked away in a huge Mercedes, to be deposited at the entrance of a luxurious apartment block. Once inside our equally luxurious apartment, we breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, and exchanged our sombre clothes for little sundresses and – in Nikolai's case – Bermudas and a tee-shirt. Looking out of the window at the passing crowds, the women all covered from head to foot in shapeless robes, Alicia said, 'How does anyone live in this bloody awful country?' I shook my head in disbelief, and wondered how Rafael had managed to set up a show in a place like this. Just then we were startled by a knock on the door.

'Fuck,' said Alicia, only half joking, 'it's probably the religious police – they're onto us!'

I looked through the peep-hole and saw a smiling young face, who didn't resemble a policeman at all, so I opened the door.

'Hi,' he said, with a distinctly American accent, 'I'm Asif, and I'm to work with you guys tomorrow night.' He was a nice-looking, wiry guy, dressed in western casual style, in a button-down blue shirt and cream chinos, and had big brown, flashing eyes.

As he had done shows here before, we asked him about them, and he told us about their format, saying that there would be some 'audience participation' – which I wasn't sure I liked the idea of. He had risked all sorts of dire punishment bringing alcoholic drink with him in a shoulder-bag, and now produced a bottle of Chardonnay, for which we were all grateful, and we sat down to enjoy it before Asif took his leave and left us to watch some of the ample supply of videos we found in the flat.

Next day we hung around the apartment, cooking ourselves food from the good variety of stuff we found in the fridge and cupboards, and were relaxing when, at about seven o'clock, Asif again showed up, this time accompanied by two burly guys wheeling trunks containing the gear we were to wear.

When the porters were gone, we inspected the goods. There was full Arab dress in the form of dish-dash, shumagg and ogal for Nikolai, which we all thought would clash horribly with his blond Nordic looks. Asif, we knew, would have his own. For we girls, there were long transparent white gowns, and long black velvet cloaks to cover us from head to foot whilst we were being transported to the venue. There were also the obligatory stilettos, two sets of ankle chains, and handcuffs, which Asif told us were not to be put on until we arrived 'at the palace.' (It was the first time anybody had told me we were going to a palace.)

Then I found a big box containing what I assumed to be gold-plated jewellery. 'It's solid gold,' Asif told us, as we ran it all through our fingers, 'and if the Sheik is pleased with you, you may keep it!'

Arabs love their women adorned with gold. We discovered a heavy waist-chain each, anklets, bangles, a heavy choker each, long pendant ear-rings, and nipple-clamps, connected by the finest of chains. Alicia, who had a pierced clitoris-hood, decided to use one of the anklets to connect the ring there to her waist-chain, and tried it for length, with Asif's eager assistance.

'Hey,' she said, 'don't go getting horny just yet – you might need it for the show.'

When the time came for the show, we were ready and waiting. Nikolai looked surprisingly authentic in his dish-dash, a dagger stuck in his belt, swaggering around the apartment, doing Lawrence of Arabia impressions. Alicia and I had helped each other put our hair up – long hair often gets in the way of a whipping, as we knew from experience, and we were both nervously anticipating what we had in store. I couldn't resist looking at my image in the long mirror in the bedroom several times. I thought I looked very sexy in the transparent white gown, at which my hard, rouge-darkened nipples thrust sharply. Just before we left, I would get Nikolai to put the nipple-clamps in place. Below, the heavy links of the gold chain accentuated my slim waist, pare links hanging down and teasing my hairless mound. If I pulled back thee folds of the gown slightly, the start of my pink slit could be seen. My feet were encased in ultra-high stilettos, and gold anklets enhanced my slender ankles. When I returned to the saloon, I saw that Alicia was also checking herself in the mirror, and she looked ravishing, the lewd chain disappearing into her crack clearly visible through her gown, as was the ring hanging from her right nipple.

The doorbell rang, and Alicia called, 'Wait, please!' while I summoned Nikolai and, easing the gown off my shoulders, had him screw the little gold clamps into place. The familiar pain was instant, and excruciating, accompanied, as ever, by a spreading, warm wetness in my cunt, that always made me gasp.

'Good start, Nikolai!' I said, 'Now for fuck's sake cover me up, or we'll never get there!'

His English had improved, and, grinning, he let me slide my gown back onto my shoulders, and fetched my velvet robe for me to slip on. I fancied Alicia was being simultaneously 'warmed up' by Asif, just around the corner, in the lounge, and now she picked up the entry-phone again, and told the driver we were ready.

We emerged to a fragrant, starry night, and were shepherded into a waiting Mercedes Vito, which immediately pulled away from the kerb, and we were whisked off through the traffic to an area close to Riyadh's new zoo. Here we pulled up outside an imposing marble-faced mansion, which looked like a cross between the White House and the Taj Mahal. Two little black guys showed us to a luxuriously-appointed dressing-room, and left.

Here Asif addressed us: 'You know that there's some audience participation – best you don't know anything else – it'll all be a nice surprise!' he had a mischievous grin on his face as he said it. 'What Iwilltell you is that it'll be my pleasure to have you, Vanessa, and Nikolai will do the honours with Alicia, at the end, to get them all applauding. I tell you this, in case you can't see who it is.' On this mysterious note, he changed the subject, and helped us shackle our ankles, with the heavy chains, and cuff our wrists. He now pronounced us ready, and, at a signal from some hidden source, we set off to troop into the auditorium.

It was quite large, and circular, with a circular stage right in the centre, to which we were led, down an aisle, the two men first, in their Arab dress, we shuffling along behind, dragging our chains, our wrists cuffed behind us. The place seemed packed, with men all in identical Arab dress, all sitting there in silence as we made our way on to the stage.

On the stage were two sets of what appeared to be medieval stocks, side-by-side, and we were made to stand beside them while our 'captors' unfastened our handcuffs and ankle restraints and stripped us of our flimsy gowns, so that we stood naked but for the shimmering gold jewellery. For the first time, the audience murmured in what sounded like appreciation. Asif then manhandled me into the stocks, and I saw that Nikolai was doing the same thing to Alicia, placing my wrists into the holes provided, and my head through theist orifice. Behind these holes was a padded bench, so that my stomach rested on this and I was in a kneeling position, but I found my legs forced apart about two feet, my ankles pushed into stirrups, and restrained there by straps. The position, though not uncomfortable, left my naked pussy open and vulnerable from behind, and, worst of all, I could see nothing behind me at all. Asif stood back now, and the stage began slowly to revolve. The whole audience would have a view of us from every angle!

When Asif walked around in front of me again, he was carrying a riding crop. I could have kissed him, had I been able to. Of all the instruments, with the exception of Rafael's private cane, the kiss of the crop, with its excruciating sting, was the one I loved the most, and I had already fantasised about this beautiful man lashing me mercilessly with one. Almost casually, he walked around behind me, and I heard the familiar 'swish' as the crop flew through the air, then descended on my waiting back. I writhed in my bonds, for the audience's benefit, and gasped a little, as I knew it was expected of me, and he whipped me harder, twice more, before pausing, and walking around me theatrically, co-ordinating this with Nikolai, who had rained a similar number of strokes on Alicia.

Asif said something in Arabic, and a boy of about eighteen flitted across my vision, carrying a bucket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Asif extract a raffle ticket from the bucket. Just what were they raffling off? He called out a number, and.a shout came up from the audience. Then Nikolai picked out a ticket and showed it to Asif, who called out another number. Another yell rent the air. And so on until twelve numbers had been picked.

Asif now stood in front of me as the stage continued to revolve, and gave a little talk, then called out two numbers. Two Arabs came up on to the stage, clumsily negotiating the moving step in their robes, and Nikolai and Asif yielded their riding crops to the first respective lucky winners. They did this, deliberately, I thought, where Alicia and I could see them.

Two relatively young Arabs tested the leather crops, walking about as they swung them through the air, then walked behind us, out of my line of sight. Suddenly, accustomed as I was to the delicious sting of the crop, I was surprised when I felt its sharp pain strike me where I hadn't expected it, at the back of my thighs. I wriggled my arse, knowing this would inflame thee audience, as I heard the sharp crack of a blow on Alicia's flesh, wringing a little 'Oh' from her. Another be-robed Arab took the place of the first, and I soon felt again the kiss of his lash, this time across my buttocks, well used to being whipped by now. I knew, as my whipping progressed, that I should have a pattern of fiery red wheals across my white flesh, and the audience was becoming noticeably more animated with each stroke. As the last one fell on me, and Asif retrieved the crop, he came up behind me, and I felt his hand probe the wet warmth of my eager cunt, stroking me closer to thee orgasm which was waiting to engulf me, since the very first stroke of the crop – or even before it. He spoke at length to the audience in Arabic, and I thought –is he never going to fuck me?Then a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen came up on to the stage with another bucket, from which first Asif, then Nikolai, drew a ticket.

Asif read out the number on his, and a whoop went up from a corner I couldn't see. Nikolai gave Asif his ticket to read out – another yell greeted the announcement. Two Arabs came up onto the stage, one, a big, bearded guy of about fifty, stopping just in front of me, his waist level with my head. The boy fetched a stool for him to stand on, and slid it down in front of me, helping the burly man up onto it, amid cheers from the audience. Then the boy hoisted the Arab's pristine white dish-dash up to his waist, revealing a thick, erect cock. He had won a lottery to be given a blow-job. By me! Before I could even begin to think about protesting, he had seized my hair by the handful, and jammed his shaft roughly between my lips. Not being able to help with my hands was an experience totally alien to me. Simultaneously, I felt Asif easing his body between my legs, and his rod was slipping into the very depths of my cunt with amazing ease. I came almost immediately, the result of my whipping more than anything, just waiting to be released in a mighty orgasm. It surely showed as I closed my eyes, and my whole body shuddered in the tightness of my bonds.

Then I opened myself to the Arab's cock in my mouth, and I had the wonderful sensation of being invaded by two huge pricks at once, as he thrust himself right into my throat, and I sucked him as hard as I could, knowing instinctively that he couldn't last long.

Asif was another thing altogether. Far from being satisfied with bringing me to my first climax, he pulled out, and I felt him start to thrust his huge organ into my offered arsehole, its tightness irresistible to him. I groaned as he invaded my sphincter, the agony of impalement far worse than the whipping I had endured only minutes before. But then he had driven his whole length way into me, and my agony spurred the Arab whose cock was in my mouth to frantic strokes. He pulsed in and out in short jabs, and then spurted, jetting huge gobs of hot spunk straight down my throat, so that I could hardly breathe. And I needed all the breath I could summon to cope with Asif's pounding of my tender anus, as he swiftly brought me to another mounting orgasm, matched, I was dimly aware, by my friend Alicia, whose scream rent the air as Nikolai sodomised her too, his massive young weapon spearing her lovely dark arsehole. It wasn't long before Asif could keep it up no longer, and withdrew, then shot his load of creamy spunk all over my wounded back, rubbing it soothingly into my wheals with a tender touch.

The stage topped revolving, the 'prizewinners' were led off-stage, and loud and long applause filled the auditorium, before a curtain descended all around the stage, and Arab music played. The show was over, we were released from our stocks, and slipped back into our gowns.

After the audience had gone, we were escorted back to the dressing-room, then we were whisked back to our apartment as efficiently as we had arrived.

'I feel fucked,' I announced, to nobody in particular, when I found it very uncomfortable to sit down.

'I think that probably says it,' agreed Alicia, from the kitchen, where she was making coffee, and just then, there was a jangle from the doorbell.

'Who is it?' demanded Asif, down the entryphone, and a discussion in Arabic followed, before he buzzed someone up. It was a well-dressed youth, who presented Asif with an envelope. He handed it to me, and I opened it nervously. Gold-embossed paper was enclosed, with an impressive letter-heading, and I read the letter:-

Dear Vanessa,

You will no doubt be surprised to receive a letter. I ask you to read it carefully, and consider my proposal, which could be mutually beneficial, and of considerable assistance to others, as you will see.

I have spoken with Señor de la Fuente, whom I regard as a personal friend, and, subject to your agreement, we have arrived at an arrangement.

I have recently had problems with two of the girls in my harem, who have let me down badly, in ways I prefer not to detail. Suffice it to say that, under Islamic law, I should have them put to death, either by stoning, or beheading. But I am a lenient man, and have offered the following solution:-

I propose to give the two girls to Señor de la Fuente, in return for a month of your services in my palace. I had heard of your reputation after your show in New York, and only awaited the chance to see you at first hand before speaking to my friend about you.

If this arrangement is suitable to you, you will receive twice your usual annual fee upon your return to Madrid, plus a new vehicle of your choice.

I should appreciate your reply by return

Yours sincerely

Sheikh Ben Ibn Gul-Mahmoud

'Fuck!' I said, when I had read the letter, and showed it to Alicia and Asif, who looked from the letter to me and back again disbelievingly.

'Sounds too good to miss,' commented Alicia.

'I don't know,' I said, 'I might not come out of it alive!'

'Ring Rafael,' suggested Asif, and I thought that sounded like a sound idea. Asking the courier to sit down and have a coffee, I picked up the phone and soon got through to Rafael, who seemed unsurprised that I had called him, and chuckled when I asked him about the Sheikh.

'He's an old desert goat,' he said, 'but He's fairly harmless, very generous, and you'd be doing me a favour as well. I've seen photos of the two girls he wants to send me, and they're not half bad. Anyway, you wouldn't want them stoned to death, would you?'

That seemed to be an end of it, and the upshot was that I agreed, and scribbled a note to that effect to go back with the courier, then spent a restless night worrying that I had made a stupid decision.

Next morning, I was to be picked up, wearing a fullburkahat eleven, with instructions to bring nothing – everything I needed would be provided. At ten, the two girls, Leila and Yasmina, appeared, complete with their exit visas, wearing sombre western clothes – trouser-suits and flat shoes – but they couldn't disguise two pretty little things, with trim bodies and attractive oval faces. Leila had long black hair, whilst Yasmina's was cropped short. I knew Rafael would be able to do something with them.

When the Sheikh's driver came, punctually at eleven, I was shrouded in the requisite navy blue garment that Asif had fetched for me, covered completely save for a tiny slit for my eyes. Alicia delighted in making jokes about it, but when the time came for me to go, and the rest of them were almost ready to leave for the airport, with the two excited Arab girls, we had a tearful farewell – Alicia and I had become firm friends – occasional lovers too - and knew we should miss each other. I let the awfulburkahsettle back around me, then followed the driver down to the waiting Rolls Royce, and sank back into the leather upholstery.

It was quite a long way to the Sheikh's palace, and I couldn't have followed the route, even had I tried, but I just resigned myself to contemplating the next month and its tribulations. I had so much enjoyed the regime at Casa Fontana, that the thought of a change was unwelcome, but it was all so intriguing, and anyway, for Rafael de la Fuente, anything.............!

We arrived after about half an hour's sedate drive, and pulled up outside a vast pile of a place, all in blinding white marble, with immaculate lawns, palm-trees and fragrant shrubs, being sprinkled upon by sprays of doubtless precious water. I was unnecessarily helped out by the driver, and walked up two or three wide steps to a great pillared portico, where a double door was opened as we approached, and two young guys in some sort of quasi-military uniform stood aside to let us pass. Each carried an ugly-looking firearm. My heels clicked on the marble floor, making the only sound to break the utter silence as I was shown through a massive entrance hall, and out to the back, across a courtyard, and into another ornate pair of double doors, which were closed behind me, leaving me alone.

But I had scarcely time to look about me, before I heard two female voices chatting. Then they were with me, two girls of my own age, both olive-skinned Arab types, wearing, I was delighted to see, miniskirts and blouses.

Their English was obviously limited, and one of them – I afterwards found out she was called Soraya – said 'This – take off!' and tugged at my horrid envelopingburkah. I was only too glad to oblige, and the girls giggled as if it were some private joke when they saw that I was dressed like they were underneath it, but they fell to admiring my shoes – I was wearing my usual very high stilettos, which they may well not have found easy to obtain.