Power Trip

Power Trip

by

Little Dan

I grew up in the Kingdom of Kahara. My father was the head of the Kahara-America Export Co., an international energy conglomerate. I guess one's personality, and to some extent one's desires are shaped by the childhood and adolescent years.

I remember walking the seductive streets of Amsada, Kahara's capital city, when I was around 12 or 13 years old. I remember the dangerous looking dark men, in their robes, capes and hoods. You could always see those coal black eyes staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you. And the women. Those magnificent women with their fascinating almond eyes, also staring out at you, measuring you, perhaps even desiring you.

And you had to imagine the beauty of the woman underneath all those covering, draping garments. Because all you saw were their fascinating almond eyes. Their robes covered them from the top of their head down to their delicate feet. And somewhere, face level, was a small peek-through opening, which displayed two magnificent oblong black eyes.

Those women were each and every one of them incredibly beautiful. They were beautiful in the way that actual flesh cannot be beautiful, but only the soaring vistas of the imagination can be beautiful. So was every woman I saw flawless and beyond compare.

I began to sexualize my desires at a very early age. I would lie in my bed at night and stroke my still-hairless penis to erection, and then to orgasm. I began to orgasm at a very young age. Those incredible covered women. What mysteries lay under all that flowing fabric? I wanted to expose them. I wanted to hold them, I wanted to kiss them, I wanted to let my hands and lips explore the secret body, the secret mouth, the secret lovetunnel.

I wanted to have those women. To make love to them, to possess them, to conquer them. I wanted the triumph of making them give up everything for me. Because for a woman in Kahara, if you were deflowered before marriage, your life was over. No man would ever marry you. You were spoiled goods. A whore. Consigned to life-long solitude and shame.

Unfortunately, in Kahara, due to the sexual taboos, I remained a virgin for a very long time. My fantasies were beyond incredible. My experiences were nil.

One day, walking through a local bazaar, I saw a breathtaking young girl accompanied by her three women-servants. I could see only her coverings, but I just knew she was breathtaking. She had to be. I immediately had to conceal an enormous erection in my western style trousers. Often when I was walking the streets, I would spy a forbidden female, and become erect. I was always embarrassed. How envious I was of the dark Kaharan men, who were able to conceal their lust under caftans.

I did not have that luxury. I would have to dangle my hands in front of my body, and hurry home as soon as possible, in order to whip out my peter and whack it, until a torrent of hot white cream shot out from the large smooth head. Only then was I able to take a good deep breath. Only then did I feel relief.

But this day I did not hurry home. I could not bring myself to break away from this fantastic feminine creature. I had to meet her. I had to get to know her. I had to get to fuck her. I was driven.

I followed her, along with her three women-servants through the bazaar, as she examined and smelled luscious fruits and heady spices. Once she approved an item, she pointed, and the women-servants purchased it, and carried it.

At a pomegranate stall, she turned slightly and her almond-eyes caught mine, and seared themselves into my retina. I saw emotion in those eyes. She had noticed me. She had found me attractive. What joy.

At each stall, she turned slightly. Her eyes told me that they again saw me. I think her eyes were telling me that they liked what they saw. At the persimmon stall, I bowed slightly. I could swear that she tilted her head. I was getting somewhere.

I followed them through the bazaar for more than a half hour. At that time, they got into a large Rolls Royce. The maiden looked back at me, as if begging me to find some way to follow her. I did. I saw a taxi and jumped in. I had him follow the Rolls Royce until it pulled into the driveway of what could only be described as a small palace. This lady was royalty. A princess, probably. How much sweeter it would be to seduce a royal princess into becoming my whore. My disgraced slut.

More than sex, I wanted power. I wanted mastery.

Armed with her address, over the next few days I was able to do some detective work. I learned that she was indeed a princess. The Princess Salima Al Habbar. Daughter of the wealthy Prince Sulim Al Habbar. I learned that she had two older brothers, Turku and Mugar. It was said that they loved their sister dearly and were very protective of her. How would I get to meet her?

As luck would have it, one day when I was prowling the streets of Amsada, ogling all the covered cuties, I saw the family limousine pulling up before a coffee house. Two richly robed young men got out and entered the coffee house. Those had to be her brothers, Turku and Mugar.

I entered the coffee house. They were lounging on pillows in one corner of the room, drinking from little cups on a low table. There were empty pillows on the floor very near them, before another low table. I sat on the pillows and ordered my coffee.

I was trying to think how to get into a conversation with them, when I noticed an extremely large ruby ring on the hand of one of them.

"I say, that's a lovely ring," I observed.

The robed man at the next table turned his eyes toward me. So did his brother. They both stared at the blonde-haired western man at the next table. Who was this foreigner who had dared to address them? Me.

"You like the ring," he asked me, holding out his hand and admiring it himself.

"It's magnificent," I said. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Yes. It is an old family heirloom. It has been handed down for many generations." Fortunately he spoke English. I had gone to the English school, and my Kaharan was not the best.

We started to chat. I learned that he was the older of the two brothers, Turku. He was tall and skinny, and he had a black moustache, and a short black beard. He had a mean and dangerous look, but there was something exciting about him. Something sexual. Now I was really mad to meet his sister.

He introduced me to his brother, Mugar. Mugar was a little shorter and a little heavier, but with the same facial hair. His eyes were searing. When he looked at me, I couldn't hold the gaze. I had to turn away. My legs started to tremble a little. I was frightened of him. Why should that be? He was perfectly pleasant. They were both perfectly pleasant. They told me about their royal family and questioned me about mine.

I told them about my father and the Kahara-America Export Co. They knew who he was, though they had never met him. They told me where they lived, (though I already knew.) And that they lived there with their parents and their beautiful sister, Salima, and their many servants.

When they told me the address of their palace, I exclaimed, "Yes, I know that place. I've passed it. It's really beautiful. I always wondered how the inside of that magnificent estate would look."

"But you must see it," said Mugar, impetuously.

"Yes," agreed Turku. "You will come back with us. We shall show you our home."

This was going better than I could have possibly imagined. When we left the coffee house, I climbed into the back of the Rolls Royce, between the two bearded brothers, and the driver drove us back to the family palace. Turku entered the house while Mugar and I waited outside. He had to tell his sister that they had a visitor, and she would therefore have to cover her face. After a few minutes, Turku came back to the door, and Mugar and I entered.

Every room was spacious, airy, sunlit. There was a central courtyard open to the sky and we crossed it to enter the family sitting room. There was the beautiful Salima, sitting on a satin, striped divan. They introduced me to her. She held out her hand, and I raised it to my lips. Her face was heavily veiled, but I gazed through the open space and stared into her liquid almond eyes. They recognized me. They smiled.

The women-servants brought in hot cups of coffee on a tray. We drank. We chatted. I could see that Salima was charmed with me. Her eyes were dancing. I was desperate to know what she looked like underneath her peach colored veils.

I had to become a regular visitor in this house. But how? But how?

I began to spin out an elaborate (but ridiculous) scheme to Turku, wherein he, in partnership with the Kahara-America Export Co. could become even more insanely wealthy than he already was. He tilted his head at an oblique angle, as he listened to me. He was interested. The words flew from my mouth as if I knew what I was talking about. Hans Christian Anderson couldn't have spun a better tale. At the end of our chat, it was agreed that I would return in a week and bring charts. I kissed Salima's hand and departed. I went home to invent charts, and looked forward to my next meeting with the beauteous princess.

Each week I would return with more charts, but I always found a way to forestall an actual contract. If my father ever found out what I was doing in the name of the home-office, he would have had me shot. With every meeting, Salima was becoming more entranced with me. With my blonde wavy hair, my blue eyes, my neat trim build etc. etc., how could she not?

After the sixth meeting in the Al Habbar palace, I made my move. I secretly slipped Salima a small folded note, as I was kissing her hand. Turku, Mugar, and I hashed out the business details of a non-existent deal, and at eight p.m., I left the house.

I did not, however, walk down the long path to the road. In the darkness, I circled the house and found my way into the back garden. At around 8:30, I heard the creak of a door opening, and I could see the delicate Salima slipping outside. I motioned to her from the far side of the garden. She came over to me, and stood facing me.

"My darling Salima," I said, kissing her hand and holding it tenderly in my own. "How happy I am that you came."

"But I shouldn't be here. What if my father finds out? What if my brothers find out?"

"I don't care. We love each other. We have to be together," I said firmly.

"But, I'm afraid," she said in her accented English.

All the time, I was holding her hand. Then I began to run my fingers lightly up her arm, tickling, tickling. I could see she was getting turned on. She tried to pull her hand back, but I held on to it. I swept my other arm around her waist and drew her close to me in an embrace.

"No. No. We can't," she protested.

"Let me see your face," I insisted. "Let me see your beautiful face." As she was shaking her head `no', I started lifting her facial veils. She struggled against me, but nothing would stop me now. I was so excited with the seduction that I was becoming erect in my western suit again. But now I didn't care. I wanted to be erect. I wanted her to see my erection. I wanted her to take my erection inside her lovely mouth, inside her lovely body. OOOOOFFF, I was getting too damned excited. I was about to shoot a hot load into my tight western underpants. I stood back a second and drew a few deep breaths. "Calm down. Calm down. Nice and easy," I told myself.

I continued to lift the gauzy mask. There was her beautiful, sculptured chin. There were her perfect heart-shaped lips, her delicate small nose, and now the eyes, those almond eyes, but not peeking through an opening. The eyes were part of a lovely face. Oh, those perfect heart-shaped lips. I wanted to kiss them. I had to kiss them. I tightened my embrace and I kissed them. Her lips opened to mine, and she was lost in a wave of heady passion. Her arms circled my head and drew me close to her. I felt the rigid, horizontal palm tree, in my crotch, pressing my western trousers out obscenely, as it poked against her feminine thighs. I lifted a hand to her breast and began to tickle and pat, tickle and pat.

In between kisses, her breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. "No. No. You mustn't. You mustn't. This is forbidden. You must stop."

I didn't answer. I just kept kissing her as I worked my hand inside her costume and felt her naked breast. I ping-ed her nipple back and forth. She gave a little cry and moved her waist so that her most intimate spot rubbed against my palm tree. It was a coconut palm, and my two large coconuts were bursting with milk. I longed to give her my coconut milk.

I eased the cloth off her shoulders, and moved my lips down to the hard little points of her breasts. I licked. I sucked. I lapped. She was lost. Her waist was hammering against me, totally out of control.

"No. This is for a husband only," she said.

"This is for me," I said. "And this," I unzipped my fly and reaching in, I pushed my jockeys down. I pulled my hard dick out through the unzipped opening. "And this," I repeated, grabbing her hand, and placing it on my naked hard flesh, "this is for you."

Centuries of propriety and custom are no match for the feel of a hard cock. A big, pulsing hard cock. Like steel, but warm and alive. She moved her hand around it, and held it in a firm grip. She began to stroke it, as I forced my tongue into her mouth once again.

I began to unwrap all the layers that surrounded her. I lay them on the ground and made a bed for us. Finally I stripped off my own clothing. The two of us were as naked as Adam and Eve before they ate the forbidden apple. I was ready to taste that apple. I pulled Salima down onto our bed. I climbed over her. I positioned my palm tree in the center of her oasis, and pressed forward. My tree was thirsty. It needed to drink.

I felt her labia opening around my cock. I was sliding into her. Until....Until... That pesky virginal membrane stopped me. Well sooner or later it had to go. So now, I slammed in. She screamed. I pressed myself against her and waited for the wave of pain to pass. All the while, I was stroking her clitoris. Rub, Rub. Stroke. Stroke. That was really getting to her. She started moving her lower body against me in need. Now I knew it was time. I began to plunge in and out. In and out. I was fucking. I was fucking the beautiful forbidden princess Salima.

"Salima," I said. "I'm fucking you with my big cock. Do you like my big cock fucking your hot virgin pussy, Salima? Tell me how much you like my big cock sliding in and out of your hot juicy cunt, cunt."

"AAAAGGGHHHH," she moaned. "She was too far gone to hold a conversation in English, or even in Kaharan. She just wanted to get fucked now. She knew now that this was what she had been born for. She had been born to be a hot wet cunt that would pleasure a big, stiff, hard, plunging, male member. This was what she was. A princess, but a whore. A princess, but a cunt.

"AAAGGGGHHHH. AAAAGGGHHHH. AAAAAGGGGHHHH." She was a passionate girl, all right. I felt the milk boiling in my coconuts. But first, the impossible happened. She orgasmed. Her first fuck and she orgasmed. Was I that good? No woman orgasms the first time she gets fucked. It was like a miracle. Her pussy was twitching and quivering all around my cock, as she shuddered against me. This was such a turn-on that I couldn't hold back any longer. Vesuvius erupted. My hot lava just shot out into her wet love channel, and scorched her internal flesh.

I pulled out of her and lay back. I felt completely satisfied. Self-satisfied. A tiny smile played around the corners of my lips. I had done it. I had seduced her. I had conquered her. I had made her do the most forbidden things. I had uncovered her. I had put my cock into her. I had made her my slave.

"Suck my cock, Salima," I said, playing with it. My triumph wasn't quite complete yet. I needed to totally debase her.

"No, please," she protested.

"Suck my cock," I ordered, and began pulling her head down to my waist. "You know you want it. You want to feel my big thick jeesh in your mouth. You want to lick it. You want to taste it. You want to suck on my two big heavy zombers. Go ahead. Do it. Do it." I pressed her head forward, and fed my dick into her mouth. It was pliable at first, but little by little it rigidified.

"TTTCCCHHHAAA, TTTCCCHHHAAA, TTTTCCCHHHAAA," went the wet sucking sounds, as her lips and tongue moved over my dick. She was totally my slave. What a power trip. I knew then that this was what I needed. It wasn't the sex. It was the seduction of an unwilling. The domination of another human being. That was what got me off. The corruption of an innocent. The naked power. That's what I would always need.

"Salima!" A nearby voice said, angrily. I turned my head, and saw Turku standing not ten feet from us. I felt my wet cock fall from Salima's mouth.

She put the back of her hand before her lips and screamed.

"What have you done, Salima?"

She began to cry.

"It's all right, Salima. He will marry you," said Turku. "Won't you?" he asked me.

"Yeah, sure," I said. I wasn't going to tell him that she'd just had my cock in her mouth, and that she was a whore and a slut, and I wasn't going to marry any whore. I kept my thoughts to myself. I had to get out of that garden, alive. Now.

"Sure, we'll get married. Then you and I will really be brothers," I conned him.

The next morning I took a cab to the airport and got the hell out of Kahara fast. I knew if I stayed there I'd end up with a scimitar up my ass. But it had been such a grand diversion. It was almost worth it. I had totally dominated her. I had made her my slave. I had made her flout her family, her history, her religion. This was heady stuff. It had been a real power trip.

Back in New York, I stayed in a hotel for a few days, and then I rented an apartment. Now that I had tasted sex, now that I had tasted power, I needed more. Much much more. I needed to duplicate the experience, as quickly as possible. This would be my thing. To seduce an unwilling partner. To dominate. To enslave.

Thank god for nepotism. I got myself a cushy job in the North American division of the Kahara-America Export Company. I was all set for life in the big city.

There was this girl at work. A secretary. Her name was Annie, and she was very shy and easily intimidated. I thought she might be a good candidate for my next seduction. I could imagine her crying, and protesting and begging, and hitting her fists against my chest, trying to get out of my tight grip. Afraid of the large rod she felt prodding her from deep inside my underpants. I decided to ask her out to dinner. She lowered her eyelids and demurely accepted my invitation.

We had a marvelous but expensive meal at Le Beauregard. The latest great new restaurant. It was hard to get a reservation. But not for someone from the Kahara-America Export Co.

I did not order drinks or wine with the meal. I wanted Annie to be absolutely sober when I forced my will upon her. I wanted to feel her terror. I wanted to enjoy her shame. The check came and I charged it to my credit card.

We took a taxi to her apartment building. Yes. I was being a gentleman. I was escorting the lady home.

"Would you like to come up for another cup of coffee?" she asked. I smiled.

"Yes. That would be very nice," I said.

I paid the taxi driver and we got out and went into the building. We took the elevator up to her apartment. She got out her key and opened the door, closing it behind us. I grabbed her and kissed her harshly, and began mauling her breasts. "Fuck the coffee," I thought. This was as good a time as any to overpower her.

Suddenly her arms flew around my neck. Her lips pressed against mine. She began moaning and grinding her crotch against my stiff dick. I was so surprised my dick started to destiffen. No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. I was supposed to take her against her will. This was just disgusting. These western girls were nothing but tramps. She was even more aggressive than I had planned on being.

"Come on, baby. Let's go into the bedroom," she said. She took my hand and began to drag me into the bedroom. I should have just left, but I couldn't. I was in shock.

Immediately she began to tear at my clothes. She even ripped off a shirt button. Before I knew it, she had unzipped me and was down on her knees sucking the whole length of my long dick. No. No. No. This had not been the plan.

Despite myself, my dick started getting hard again. I may have been repulsed, but my dick liked blowjobs and was getting off on this. She was making all kind of obscene noises as she fed on my prick. At the same time she was stripping off her own clothes. After she had denuded the two of us, she pulled me down on the bed, on top of her. "Come on, honey. Give me your cock. I want to feel your cock inside me." She was squeezing it and moving it between her pussylips. The Slut.

Psychologically this was all wrong for me, but a fuck is a fuck. And as she rolled around and screamed under me like a total maniac, I could only respond. I followed her request and began slamming my cock into her. It felt good.

"Fuck me, baby. Fuck me. Massage the cushiony walls of my pretty pussy. You like it? You like it? You like my pussy?"

"I love your pussy," I lied. I was a gentleman after all. I couldn't tell her she disgusted me. But my cock wasn't as disgusted as I was. It seemed to have a mind of it's own, and almost against my will I began to feel it burn and tingle. My hot seed was going to go shooting out into her. She sensed it too, and redoubled her passion, grinding her pussy lips against my pubic hairs, and wailing.

Once I was dressed, I stumbled out onto the street and hailed a cab. My stomach was doing revolutions and I was having trouble keeping my dinner down. Was this an example of an American girl? A slut? A tramp? A sex-mad maniac? Where was that innate female diffidence? How could I triumph by seducing a cock-mad trollop? I hadn't overcome her reluctance. She had overcome mine. I saw immediately that I would never be able to act out my dreams of masculine domination with a western female. They were not pure and virginal and seducible. They were brazen, ferocious and dick-crazy.

What was going to happen to me? I was young and handsome and desirable. But the kind of woman I needed to make me feel like a man didn't exist here. They existed in Kahara, and I couldn't go back to Kahara. Back in Kahara, I was literally a dead man. Was I doomed to a life of celibacy? No. No. I couldn't accept that fate. That was worse than death. What could I do to satisfy my lust for sex and my lust for power? I pondered and pondered.

I pondered for weeks. I started drinking. My life had taken an ugly turn. I was sitting in O'Malley's Bar and actually crying into my beer, when a guy sat down next to me.

"Come on, fella," he said. "It can't be that bad."

"It is," I protested. "It is. You don't know."

"What is it? Some cunt?"

"Exactly," I exclaimed, downing the rest of my beer.

"Don't let it get to you," He advised me. "Women. Real ballbusters. I've had problems myself."

We started talking. He was a nice guy. His name, it turned out, was Archie Callahan, and he was a cop in the neighborhood. He had just gotten off duty and had stopped in for a few glasses. He said he liked the camaraderie of bars. Getting away from the dames and just chewing the fat with other guys. He told me all about his girlfriend, Gladys. About how she was always bitching and complaining.

I totally made up a whole story about my beautiful girlfriend, Annie, and how I had loved her so much, and wanted to marry her, but she had turned me down, and eloped with my best friend, Olaf. He squeezed my shoulder compassionately. He completely understood. As he squeezed my shoulder in friendship, I studied him, and an idea began creeping into my tortured brain.

"Why don't you come over to my place? I have lots of cold beer in my refrigerator. Why should we pay the bartender? We can go over to my place and continue our discussion," I suggested.

He weighed the idea, and it seemed reasonable. "Sure. Why not?" He agreed.

We each paid our tabs and headed toward the door, chatting. I had to look up as we walked side by side. He was about six inches taller than I. Muscular and toned. With thick black hair. A real alpha male. I had never thought about the conquest of a man. But why not? It was obvious that this guy was straight. And as opposed to most women, he wasn't already dick crazy. So if I got him to take my dick, it would be a conquest. Right?

When we got to my apartment, I sat him down on the couch and went into the kitchen. I took two beers out of the fridge, and pulled the tabs. I walked back and sat down on the couch next to him, handing him one beer, and putting mine on the coffee table in front of the couch. He took a swallow, and made a sound of appreciation. How was I going to do this?"

"Women are really a bitch," I said, restarting our previous conversation.

"Yeah," he nodded in affirmation.

"But what are you going to do? I mean you've got to have a chick if you want to get your rocks off. And god. I love getting my rocks off."

"Yeah," he nodded in affirmation.

"You like getting your rocks off?" I asked naively.

He looked at me like I was stupid. "Of course," he answered. "Who doesn't like getting their rocks off?"

Yeah," I said. "Who doesn't?" and I sort of automatically started rubbing my cock and balls through my pants, as if he couldn't see what I was doing. I was pretending I was in a reverie, and didn't realize that he was watching my cock get hard inside my pants. I gave a quick look down at his groin, and saw I was having a little effect on him. There was definitely something growing.

"Man. What I wouldn't give now to have some chick here, pulling down my zipper, reaching into my pants, pulling out my cock, going down on it." I was half talking to him, half talking to myself with my eyes half shut. I was fingering my cock and balls. I shot a glance. He was too.

"Just think about a pair of luscious lips, sucking on a big, thick, meaty cock, with a smooth angry red head. Hard, and red and angry."

"Yeah." He was letting his imagination go wild. His eyes were glazing over.

I knew what I was going to do, now. I was going to make this big, tall, handsome heterosexual policeman my pussy bitch. I was going to make him service me and beg for my cock. I could seduce him. I could conquer him. I knew it. This would be my new power trip. I would get straight white men to go down on me, to take my cock up their virgin asses. To beg me to let them be my pussyslaves. This was even more exciting than corrupting Salima had been.

"Oh, I'm touching my big hard thick angry red cock. Big hard thick angry red cock. Big hard thick angry red cock," I repeated over and over. The words seemed to be hypnotic. He couldn't tear his eyes away from my lap. I began to lower my zipper. I reached in and dragged it out. My eyes were closed, as I was stroking and stroking. I tried to keep the smile from playing around the corners of my lips. This was serious stuff. This was sex. This was cock.

"Ohh," I moaned. "I wish someone would suck on my cock. I wish someone would suck on my big hard thick angry red cock. Big hard thick angry red cock. Big hard thick angry red cock." I kept my voice low and hypnotic. I peeked out of the corner of my left eye. He was stroking his own dick, and he was starting to bend forward a little. Yes. He was lowering his head toward my cock. His handsome lips could no longer resist the big hard thick angry red cock.

When his face was about six inches away, I wrapped my hand in his black curly hair, and pushed down. "Suck it," I ordered. "Suck my big hard thick angry red cock. It wants your sweet mouth around it so bad. It wants your sweet soft wet mouth. Suck it, man. Suck it." He did.

I think the first contact of prick-mouth startled him a little. I felt him jump back slightly at the feel of something unfamiliar. But then I just urged his head down with my hand, and finally he had it in his mouth. He was giving another man head. I bet he never imagined in a million years that he would ever do that.

"Oh, yeah. That feels so good. Suck my dick, guy. Suck my big thick dick. Get it all nice and wet and slippery. How do you like that dick? You like it, Archie? You like sucking on my big dick?"

"Uh huh," he affirmed wetly, slobbering away.

"I knew you would," I said. "I knew you'd dig sucking on my dick. But I've got something you're going to like even better."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"I'll show you. Take off your fucking clothes. Take `em off," I ordered in a harsh voice. He seemed to respond to the treatment. My authoritative behavior was actually turning him on. He stood up and began peeling off his clothes. I did the same. My dick stood straight out. And it was very wet. When we were both naked, I threw him face down on the couch, and mounted his high buttocks. My cock was still a slippery, but I added some spit. I also spit on my fingers and began working them into his hole.

"No. No. No," he protested. "Not that. I don't want to get fucked up the ass."

"You have to get fucked up the ass," I said. "You need to."

"No. No. No," he sobbed. He was really saying "yes, yes, yes.' He just didn't know it. And besides, `no, no, no' was what I wanted to hear. And also, he hadn't socked me. He was just whimpering a little, hoping I would force him to accept the feminine role.

"Take my big dick inside your pussycuntass." I shoved it in. It was a little tight but it went in. He screamed and started tossing around. I guess it hurt, but I didn't care. I just continued to slam away, riding on his firm round bubbles.

""AAAGGHHH. AAAAGGGHHH. No. It hurts. Take it out. Take it out," he sobbed. But he wasn't trying to throw me off his back.

"Ride my cock, you fucking pussybitch. You cuntwhore. Take it like a man. Take it like a woman. Take it like the woman you are."

He was now taking it. He was raising his ass up onto it and making disgusting mewling sounds. Such a cunt. But I had done it. I had made him my slave, my woman, my bitch, my whore. I had dominated him completely. A tall, handsome, straight, masculine, New York policeman. This was a good power trip.

I hammered his fleshy ass with my hip bones, and when my Doric column was at it's very deepest inside his lost city of Pompeii, Vesuvius erupted, pouring out scorching lava which flooded though his internal streets and temples. Pompeii would never be the same. From now on it would be a tourist attraction.

I withdrew my dick and stood up. He slowly turned on the couch and looked up at me, smiling shyly. "That was pretty good," he said. "Pretty unexpected, but pretty good. Did you like it?"

I scowled at him. This was my moment of triumph. "Come on. Put your clothes on and get out of here, you pussyass queer. You girlieman. You're disgusting. You fag."

His jaw dropped and I saw his hand curl into a fist. He was about to punch me out.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," I cautioned. "I might have to call the police and tell them you got mad at me after you let me fuck your cop ass. That it was sort of like a lover's quarrel."

His hand dropped to his side. He was dumbstruck. He had never encountered this kind of behavior before. He sneered and me, and began getting dressed. I sat in an armchair and lazily played with my cock, as I smirked.

"I'll get you one of these days," he threatened me, as I let him out the door. I just smiled.

The only trouble was, how was I ever going to top this? I kept going around to different bars, but the right opportunity just didn't present itself. I needed someone big, masculine, heterosexual....etc. etc. There were a lot of qualifications that my next serial rape victim would have to possess. It wasn't easy.

One night, as I was walking home from a bar, I thought I heard footsteps following me. I looked around, but nothing. I kept walking. There they were again. Strange. Strange. I wondered if it maybe could be Archie, planning a little revenge. I would have to watch my ass.

Footsteps. Shadows. Feelings. All the time. What was it? What could it be? I didn't see anything. Was I becoming paranoid?

This went on for several days. At one point I turned a corner and instead of walking, I threw my back against a building. Stealthily, I sneaked a peek into the street I had just turned off of. My blood froze. About thirty feet back, now walking quickly, dressed in a brown business suit, but with shining black head and facial hair was slim, dangerous looking Turku. Oh, my god. He had followed me to New York. What was I going to do? Was he going to kill me? A shiver of fear ran down my back. I had been so cocky before. But now....but now, I felt a small wave of panic. I should have run, but I needed to take another look. I peeked around the corner again. Turku was advancing quickly. It was then that I glanced across the street and saw Mugar. He was in a blue suit.

Mugar had a wider angle of vision to where I was pressed against the building around the corner. In another couple of seconds he would be able to see me. My face broke out in a sweat. I didn't know what to do.

I ran and I ran. I didn't dare turn around, but I could hear running footsteps behind me. I knew both Turku and Mugar were chasing me. Where could I go? What could I do? Should I duck into a store? But I would be trapped......What could I do?

Suddenly I knew I was saved. "Thank God. Thank God," I babbled. Right in front of me now was the broad blue-shirted back of a wonderful New York City Policeman. "Officer. Officer," I screamed, grabbing his arm. "You've got to help me. There are two men who are trying to kill me. Help me. Please, help me. Take me to the police station." I begged and I pulled at his arm.

When he turned around to face me, my heart sank. Oh, my god. Oh, no. It was Archie.

"What's your problem, sir?" He asked formally and coldly.

"There are two men behind me trying to kill me. You've got to help me."

He looked over my shoulder. "I don't see anyone, sir. It must be your imagination."

"It's not. It's not. They're going to kill me." I started to cry.

"I think maybe you ought to see a psychiatrist, sir. There's nobody there. You'd better move along now."

"No, please." I grabbed at his arms. He roughly pulled them from my grip. "I think you'd better move along now, sir," He said humorlessly and coldly. And then he walked away. I watched his back fade off into the distance. I was lost. And then I heard the footsteps again. I started to run. Now I heard running footsteps. Getting closer. A hand grabbed my left arm. A hand grabbed my right arm. They pulled me to a halt.

"We know where you live. We shall go to your apartment." That was the one on my left, Turku.

"You left us so suddenly. Without even saying goodbye." That was Mugar on my right. They clasped my arms tightly and I had no choice but to walk between them. We were going to my apartment.

Mugar released my right arm and grabbed me roughly by the neck and shoulders, so that I could use my right hand to fish my keys out of my pants pocket. Once in the door, they scouted the place and dragged me into the bedroom. They tore my clothes off, and used some of my beautiful expensive shirts that had been hanging in my closet, to tie my arms and legs to the bedposts. Turku took his open palm and began beating me across my face in both directions. "Western Pig," he shouted. "Energy company dog." He continued slapping. I knew my cheeks must be red, and my eyes were tearing.

"I'm sorry," I said, probably not too convincingly. And also it was a little late to apologize.

"You made a whore out of our beautiful sister. No man would ever have her if they knew. Thank goodness we were able to find a good surgeon in another country to restore her precious hymen. She is a virgin once again. But you will pay for what you did to Salima," uttered Turku. "You will pay for the rest of your life."

Now I was really afraid. For the rest of my life? What did that mean? Turku began taking off his clothes and folding them neatly on the armchair in my bedroom. Mugar used the desk chair for his. Before long I had two dark naked men approaching the bed to which I was strapped.

Their penises were not erect, but dangled over their orange-size balls at already more than five inches. Both members seemed to be unusually thick. Perhaps Mugar, even more than Turku.

They climbed on the bed in kneeling position. Turku on my right, and Mugar on my left. Turku began faceslapping me again. I tried to get out of harm's way, but my hands were tied. "Pigdog," shouted Turku at me, lifting his big matched set in his left hand. "Filthy Pigdog. Suck my jeesh. Suck my big jeesh." He crawled up to my mouth and forced his big jeesh between my trembling dry lips. I sucked. It was getting stiffer. And longer. And stiffer. And longer. The head of it was now pushing against my tender uvula. Then past it. I coughed. I sputtered. I phlegmed. I choked. It kept coming. "Suck it, Pigdog. Suck it."

Mugar waited his turn like a gentleman. For about three minutes. Then he gently edged his brother aside and crawled over my chest in front of my face. His cock was stiff now. And it was thicker than Turku's, though maybe a half-inch shorter. He did not, however, stick his thickness in my mouth. He raised his heavy oranges over my lips. "Suck on my zombers," he ordered. "Lick my round heavy zombers, bitchcunt."

I mouthed his hairy zombers, but I really didn't like that `bitchcunt' appellation. Up until now, everyone else had been the bitchcunt. I had always been the supreme master. That was how I had planned my life. And now suddenly I was the bitchcunt? How had this happened to me?

After he had had enough tongue on his zombers, Mugar moved up over my face. "Stick your tongue in my ass, bitchcunt," he ordered.

"No," I said.

"No?" He couldn't believe I was refusing to do it.

"No," I insisted. "That's disgusting." Suddenly with both hands he was whacking my face. It was like he was in a frenzy. I couldn't take much more of this. Gingerly, I stuck out my tongue and began licking his asshole. It was clean, but I still didn't like the idea. He pulled his asscheeks apart, and basically sat on my open mouth as I tonguetickled his aperture.

"Yes. Yes, bitchcunt. You do that well. Keep doing it. You must practice. You will be doing this for the rest of your life."

Again, this `rest of your life' shit. I had to admit I was a little worried.

Now, Turku touched Mugar's shoulder, and Mugar crawled aside as Turku took his place. It was like ballroom dancing. Turku had cut in on his brother. Whatever it was, I now had my tongue up Turku's hot ass. It was pretty much the same as his brother's. No better. No worse. But my cock was starting to get a little stiff. How could it? My own body was bent on betraying me. No. No. No," I said to myself. But it did little good.

Finally Turku lifted his ass off my tongue, and plunged his long cock down my throat once again. Mugar crawled down on the bed, and positioned himself, kneeling, in between my thighs. Suddenly my legs were being upraised, and I felt the blunt tip of Mugar's dark instrument, pushing at my anal opening. He hadn't even spat on his cock. It was never going to go in. I thought I was safe. Inwardly I was laughing. But then. "Yeeeeooooowww," I screamed.

I had been wrong. He had rammed it in. I was in excruciating pain. I would probably need a doctor. "Yooowww. Yoooowww. Yoooowww," I crooned, sobbing. He just shoved the rest of it in, and began plowing his hips backward and forward, tearing my delicate internal flesh. "Yoooowwww. Yoooowwww. Yooowwww," I screamed.

"Take my big cock, bitchcunt. I want to feel your ladypussy milking my mancock. Milk it." He began spanking my upraised asscheeks. Now I was hurting inside and outside. Meanwhile, Turku forced his plunger further down my throat, and I was gagging like crazy.

I squeezed my torn ass tight around his pistoning rod, and milked it as best as I could.

"That's it, cunt. That's it. That's so good. You are the best fuck. The best fuck. Everyone is going to love you. Turku. You have to feel this. You just have to."

"As soon as you are finished, my brother," said Turku, hammering my pharynx.

Mugar nodded. He started to go into the short shoves. He would have loved to have stretched this out all night long, but he felt compelled to give Turku a crack at my asscrack.

""AAAGGGHHH. AAAAGGHHHH. AAAGGGHHH," sighed Mugar happily as he dumped his cum deep inside me. "Such a good fuck. Such a good fuck," he repeated in appreciation. Even now I was feeling little squirts of liquid shooting out into me. When it was finally over, he moved aside and rested, as Turku slammed his long prick into me. At least I was wet now. Wet and open. So it wasn't hurting so much. Turku pulled my asscheeks up toward the base of his prick and began hunching into me.

"Oh. You are right, brother. This bitch has such a nice hot pussy. And you have gotten it so nice and slick for me. My cock is just floating in and out of this nice tight cunt. So smoothly. So easily." Turku was a better fucker than Mugar, I guess, because it didn't seem to bother me so much now.

"Milk my cock, bitchcunt," he ordered, and I again tightened my channel around his pistoning rod. If I hadn't been tied to the bedposts, I would have wanted to raise my legs up and hold his hot masculine body into me. I would have wanted to fold my arms around them and press his insistent asscheeks, as he fucked my own. But I couldn't. My hands were tied. My legs were tied. I tried to move my mouth in front of his, so that he could plunge his tongue into it. He saw what I was trying to do, and he laughed. "Not today, bitchcunt. Not today." And he spat into my mouth.

But now he was moving a little faster. His asshunches were tighter. He was going to add his cum to his brother's. I was now the official Al Habbar family cumdump. I continued to milk his cock, even as the milk spilled into me.

"You were right, brother," said Turku. "This one is the best. Truly a great bitchcunt. `Now'," said Turku.

I didn't know what `now' meant. But Mugar got up from the bed and went over to his clothes on the desk chair. He took something out of a pocket. A small, hinged, leather case. He approached the bed. I was still lying lazily under Turku, enjoying the feeling of his softening dick up my ass. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mugar opening the hinged case. He took out something. It was a hypodermic needle. Before I could react, I felt a sharp sting in my upper arm, and.................

I was in a warm rosy darkness. A totally pain-free, thought-free blissful state. Everything was so beautiful. So. Beautiful. It was like I was flying. Just like I was flying. Then my mind started to become a little more aware. I was flying. I was on a plane. I opened my left eye. I was on a plane. A very small plane. A private plane. I was lying on a red silk sofa. The silk was smooth against my cheek. Across from me were Turku and Mugar, once again in flowing caftans, sitting in lounge chairs, drinking tall glasses of whiskey on the rocks. My mouth was so dry. That wonderful warm floating feeling was fleeing. I started to move my tongue around my dry mouth and even attempted to sit up. Turku looked at Mugar. Mugar looked at Turku.

Mugar got up. He picked up the hinged case, which was sitting on a table atop a stack of western girlie magazine. He crossed to a small refrigerator, and took out a small vial from between the many bottles of champagne. He shook it. He withdrew the hypodermic from the hinged case and stuck it through the cork of the vial. He pulled out the plunger. The next dose of my narcotic was now in the needle. He crossed over to me and bent down. He lifted the hem of my caftan.....I was in a caftan too???---He lifted the hem of my caftan and stuck the needle into my left buttcheek. He pressed the plunger. The rosy darkness arose to swallow me. So warm, so thought-free, so pain-free, so blissful. I could easily get addicted.

I was on a plane trip. Not a power trip. And during the trip I must have come out of my stupor around five more times, and been redrugged. One time, I came awake, to find Turku's cock, plunging up and down in my upraised ass. I couldn't blame Turku. My ass was there. It was available. Why not use it? If I had started to get into getting fucked, when they first raped me, imagine how fantastic it felt, now that I was all drugged up. You can't imagine. Or maybe you can.

Both our caftans were raised and his warm zombers rested on my asscheeks, as his jeesh worked in and out of me. I couldn't help but respond. My asshole started to tighten itself around his sweet jeesh. He turned his head and looked at Mugar. Mugar smiled. I guess they were smiling at each other. They knew I was awake and loving it. Eventually the thick white Turkujuice shot out into the opening between my cheeks. This liquid was also addictive. I was getting to need it. As the large thick Turku needle withdrew from me, the fine steel needle in Mugar's hand went into my right buttcheek. Again the rosy darkness. But before it claimed me totally, I felt Mugar's hairy zombers against my now motionless, receptive globes.

Once when I came awake, I realized we were no longer on the plane. I was being bounced along on the back of a camel. Mugar was behind me, holding the reins with one hand, his other hand around my waist, supporting me against him. The camel's hump was pressing into my balls. It was slightly painful.

He knew in a second when I started to come out of the coma. I began to raise my lolling head only to see Turku ride up beside us on another camel. The hinged case was conveniently in the same hand, which held the reins.

This time the needle went into my arm and I was back in my rosy glow.

I don't know how many days we traveled over the desert. Several, I think. Occasionally when I woke, they fed me dates and water. It was blisteringly hot, and I probably would have died without refreshment. But eventually they always put me back to sleep. I don't know why. I wasn't going anywhere? I was in the middle of the desert on the back of a camel? Was I going to escape? But they just kept drugging me. I liked the drugs. So warm, so rosy, so pain-free, so-thought-free, so blissful. I wished that I would never have to wake up. I had a habit now, and I loved it.

After a long time, I came awake in a tent. First I was lying on the sand, and many dark bearded men were taking off my sweaty caftan. They carried me to a pool of water that was actually inside the tent. A small desert oasis. They lowered me into the warm water and began bathing me with scented oils. My hair, my skin.....They got inside all my little openings and crevices. I felt wonderfully clean. I looked around for Turku and Mugar, but they were gone. Obviously they had sold me to this desert tribe. I saw only men there. No women. There were two pools in the tent. One for drinking and one for bathing. One of the men filled a cup from the other pool and brought it to my mouth. I gulped it gratefully. They fed me small pieces of dates and coconuts. Sweet dates. Sweet coconut. Sweet water.

Several of the men lifted me out of my bath. They dried me tenderly with bits of shiny multi-colored fabric. Then they brought over a large hookah. A water pipe. They filled it from the drinking-water pool, and added some thick brown paste into the pipe bowl and lit it. Now there was a verbal buzz. A commotion. They passed the pipe from one to the other and each took a puff or two. All the while, they seemed to be praying. It was like a religious ceremony of some kind.

Eventually it was my turn. I took a puff. They made me take another. And another. And another. Finally I was semi-insensible. I felt many hands turn me over on a silky mat spread across the sand. I was naked. My ass was in the air. I could barely interpret what was happening, but it seemed as if all the many men---maybe fifty, maybe sixty, were stripping off their rough desert robes. There were many, many naked men around me now. All with large stiff cocks. I felt someone crawl over me and feed his cock into my hole. I barely felt anything, being in such a drugged stupor. But what I felt, felt delicious. I felt the cock shoot hot milk into my ass, only to be replaced by another cock. And another. And another.

There would be no more power trips. I was now, forever, the bitchcunt pussy slave of a tribe of male desert nomads, who would fuck me endlessly from now until the end of time. I was a living cumbucket. But they were keeping me clean, and giving me food, and drink, and drugs, and cock. Lots of drugs. Lots of cock. Life was good. Life was very, very good.