Confessions of a Middle Eastern Whore

by Safira

  She gave a little clap of excitement. "Okay, don't scare her off. Remember—-"

  "I know what I'm doing," he said.

  She turned to me. "Remember what I told you, sweetheart. And enjoy yourself." She stretched to give me a kiss on the forehead and left, closing the door behind her.

  I was extremely aware that I was alone with a man, an awareness that I had never had before. He touched my cheek with the back of his hand and moved in close. He ran his hand through my hair.

  "Kiss me," he said.

  "No, I should go."

  He grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me, open mouth. I closed my eyes. I felt his exploring tongue inside me; he gently bit my bottom lip. He softly kissed and nibbled my neck, working his way from the left to the right.

  "Remember this moment," he said. “There’s a before and an after. This is the before.”

  "This was a mistake. I should go."

  He kissed the base of my neck. I let out a slight involuntary moan. He unbuttoned to top button of my blouse. He kissed where the bottom used to be. He worked his way down, button by button until he was kissing my stomach. My blouse of fully unbuttoned now, exposing my blue bra.

  "I can't get over it," he said. "The body of 18 year olds."

  "I'm 19"

  He slipped my blouse off. I'm standing in front of a man without a shirt, I thought, a man I met 10 minutes ago. He took off his own shirt, holding eye contact with me while he did so. He came close and wrapped his arms around me. It took a second for me to realize it wasn't a hug but he was unbuttoning my bra. I could feel our bare torsos touch. His lips where near my ear. He used the opportunity to whisper to me.

  "I’m going to touch every inch of you."

  When he ended the embrace, my bra was unhooked and it fell to the floor. He stared. I was shaking.

  "Turn around," he said.

  "I should go."

  He grabbed my shoulders and gently turned me around. He stepped close, I could feel his chest on my back, his breath on my ear. He reached around, one hand on my left breast, the other resting on my stomach. He slowly kneaded both breasts, took turns cupping them.

  "You're the first man that has done this to me," I said, shocked that I had said it out loud.

  "There's going to be lots of firsts," he said.

  The hand on my stomach slowly worked its way down until it was on the button of my jeans. To my parents, the society I came from, a man seeing my bare breasts, feeling them, was the worst it could get, I thought. No point in stopping him now, I thought at the time, naively.

  He unbuttoned my jeans. Slowly, very slowly, he unzipped. I was shaking harder now.

  No, we haven't done anything yet, I thought. It's not too late to tell him to stop. He slipped his hand inside my panties. Now it's too late.

  "You're wet, good girl," he said, "and you're waxed, again good girl," he said and kissed my cheek.

  I could feel him rub up and down the lips of my vagina. A wave of pleasure flowed out from where he was rubbing me. He slid a finger inside me. He let out a soft moan and so did I. "My god," he whispered. "Yes, we definitely have to charge more for you." He removed his finger and softly grabbed my clit between his fingers and slowly rubbed it. The waves got steeper. He continued; I could feel his breath on my ear, his chest on my back. I could feel my orgasm approaching. A man I just met is going to give me an orgasm, I thought. I was familiar with orgasms, but it had always been my hand that had caused them, on my back in my bed as I rubbed myself. When the orgasm came I let out a shudder and grabbed his hand and held it tight to my crotch.

  "Good girl," he said.

  He took my hand and led me to the bed and sat me down. He's seen me have an orgasm, I thought, just keep going. As if reading my mind, he said, "Remember, just enjoy it." He gently pushed me back so I was lying on my back. I raised my hip to help him remove my jeans. He stood over me, looked down at me in my white panties with little blue lilacs on them as my breasts swelled up and down with my heavy breathing.

  "Sit back up," he said.

  "Make up your mind," I said, as I sat up.

  “Look at that smile," he said. Was this flirting?

  “Unzip me," he said, holding eye contact. I lay back on the bed again and looked up at the high ceiling, allowing the desire and anxiety and fear to wash over me.

  "Okay. I’ll do it myself. I forget you're not trained yet." he said. No, this isn't flirting, I thought. I could hear him unclasp his belt and slip off his pants as I continued to stare at the ceiling, trying to get a grasp of my emotions, trying to determine whether the fear and desire where connected or separate. I could feel him staring at me.

  "You can leave anytime you want."

  I shook my head slowly.

  "Then look," he said.

  I turned my head and looked at him, standing naked over the bed, his erection looking aggressive. A quick sharp wave of pleasure raced from my groin outward; a pang of heavy nervousness followed. Detached thoughts ran through my head: how do men carry that around with them all the time?; what does it feel like to the touch exactly? It seemed improbably straight, it seemed somehow separate from the rest of his body, as if it had been added as an afterthought. I thought about sitting up and getting a closer look. It would be a good idea to follow Miss R____'s advice: just enjoy it. This dread, this fear, was a product of my conservative culture, my society's fear of a sexually liberated woman. 'Just let go,' I thought, 'just enjoy it.'

  I was on the verge of sitting up when he lowered himself on top of me and kissed my mouth. I felt his chest press down on my breasts. He raised his head and softly caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. I looked into his eyes, the man who I had met just minutes before, who was twice my age, who I was going to have sex with.. He kissed my right shoulder and worked his way down, landing little kisses until he almost reached my breast. He raised his head again and brought his lips down on my right breast and held it there for a second. He slowly kissed and licked and occasionally gave little bites to sections of my chest, traversing all around, moving from one to the other but avoiding my nipples. He cupped both breasts and buried his head between them and sucked hard in the spot he found there. I moaned and rested my hand on top of his head, caressing his hair. I felt myself growing wetter.

  When he finally let go I looked down and saw my breasts wet and glistening with his saliva. A small red 'O' marked the spot where he had sucked. I was excruciatingly aware that he had skipped my nipples, I had a quick thought to guide his head there and press down to force his mouth on them. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched, but with an intensity I hadn't known before. But he went back to my breasts on his own, avoiding the same two spots, taking little chunks into his mouth and softly nibbling.

  And then, then he went for it, he put my left nipple, all of it, into his mouth. My back arched dramatically against my will. The tingling that had been pulsating in my clit for the last few minutes severely increased. I had an orgasm, with no touching of my crotch area. I didn't know this was possible. He continued sucking as little shudders shook my body. He switched to the right nipple and my back arched again. The little currents moving through me were reenergized before dying down. He looked up at me.

  "That was...good," was all I could manage to blurt out.

  "Look at you with your cheeks flushed,” he said.

  He put his head down again and resumed exploring my flesh with his lips. He was moving below my breasts now, working his way down. When he reached just below my navel he again sucked hard. My back arched again. This was new for me, this involuntary arching of my back; it disturbed me slightly that he could induce such dramatic involuntary motion from my body. He kept moving down. I thought—for the fifth or sixth time— that I was again on the verge of reaching a point from which there would be no point in saying no, he would take off the last remaining piece of my clothing--my white lilac-covered panties-- and start exploring close-up, he'd explore it with his fingers and lips.
He had already penetrated me with his fingers, he'd seen me have an orgasm, his saliva covered my torso, from my breasts to just above my panties, but the removal of this small piece of cloth would be the moment when he officially 'had' me, where I’d be officially 'fucked,' I thought.

  But no, he passed over my panties and went to my thighs, kissing them, slowing down in speed. He bent my knees so my legs made a v-shape and pressed his cheek to my inner thigh. I could feel his slight stubble against the smoothness there. He picked a spot high up, near where my right leg jutted out from my panties, on the inside of my thigh, and again sucked, softly at first, but slowly increasing the pressure. Again my back arched, again I could feel an orgasm coming. I chastised myself for being so easy to please, I thought I would seem more experienced if I were more nonchalant, but the orgasm wiped away the thought—wiped away all thoughts really. When it subsided I remember thinking how strange it was that these orgasms with no stimulation of my clit or vagina felt different, how they were somehow deeper.

  When I returned from my reverie I looked up to find him sitting on the bed. He lifted my legs and draped them across his lap and softly caressed my calves.

  "This part you have to do yourself," he said.

  I was confused, but didn't want to let on I didn't know what 'this part' meant.

  "I do?"

  "Yes, it's policy."

  "Policy?"

  "Yes"

  I lay my head back on the bed. Get up, put your clothes on, tell him you changed your mind, and go, I thought. But I didn't move.

  "What's it gonna be, kid?" he said, his hands now caressing my thighs.

  Kid. I gave up trying to feign experience. "What's the next part?"

  "Your little girl panties there are cute, but you have to take them off. You have to take them off yourself, beautiful, with no help from me, to avoid any...confusion. To make things clear."

  I was an Arab girl, still living with her parents, not an Egyptian or Lebanese one, but a full-blooded emirate girl. He would get in unthinkable trouble—as would I— just by talking to me or seeing my hair, let alone fucking me. The amount of laws and taboos we were breaking were too many to contemplate, and yet he was following some 'policy' that only I could remove my panties.

  I must have been smiling at the absurdity because he said, "Yes, you should be happy."

  I raised my hips and slipped my panties down. I became aware of how much like an invitation it felt, an invitation from me to him. Policy or not, it was savvy on his part to have me do it. I had to raise my legs to get them off; I let it dangle from my fingertips for a second, felt its dampness, and flicked it to the ground. Invitation complete. He was looking in my eyes while I did it.

  "Sit up," he said.

  When I sat up our faces were inches apart and I immediately leaned in and kissed him. I myself was more shocked that I had done that than he was. It was the first real act I had initiated, induced by some need to respark the currents that had flowed during the orgasms he had given me. The kiss was long and primal. He pushed me back on the bed before the kiss had properly finished and lay on top of me. I had no memory that I had parted my legs, but I apparently had and he was in between, stroking the hair off my forehead and looking into my eyes. I raised my head a little and gave him a peck on the mouth. He grabbed hold of my left hand and guided it down. My hand brushed his cock and I instinctively recoiled.

  "Grab it, beautiful," he said and kissed my cheek.

  I gingerly touched it a few times and then wrapped my fingers around it. It was warmer and harder and smoother than I had anticipated. It felt unnaturally large around my fingers. I could sense the currents starting up again; I was wetter than I had ever been. I used my free hand to feel his bicep. "This is what a man feels like," I thought. The shame and fear and anxiety were gone. I gave him another peck.

  "Your hands are cold," he said.

  "Your penis is warm."

  "Call it a cock."

  "I like how it feel, your cock."

  "Guide it in."

  This time I knew what he wanted. But I shook my head. "I want you to do it."

  I let go of his cock. He immediately gathered up both my hands by the wrists and pinned them over my head, over my hair sprawled out on the white sheets. I felt him rubbing his cock up and down the lips of my vagina. I was expecting it but it was still a shock when I felt the head of his cock slip inside me. And I was more shocked when he kept going, I expected him to pause and enter incrementally. But no, I could feel myself be spread open, my walls making way as his cock slid in deeper, and then close in again to press tight against his cock. The feeling of being filled by him took hold of my entire body. How foolish I was before, I thought; up until now we had done nothing, him inside me was far beyond his tongue in my mouth or his face on my breasts. My body pushed up again in the involuntary act of arching my back but he was pressed down on top of me so that the effect was my torso, my breasts, pushing up hard against his chest. He went deeper than I thought I had room for. When he was in completely I breathed out for the first time in what seemed a long time.

  I became aware of a pulsating of my vagina; it would make a quick tight squeeze of his cock and then let go. Each pulse would add to a store of immense pressure, a reservoir that I could sense was on the verge of bursting. He sunk his head down and kissed my neck and abruptly lifted his hips, almost completely removing his cock. The sudden absence added to the reservoir. And when he again inserted his cock fully inside me and sunk his head lower to put my left nipple inside his mouth the reservoir burst open and spread to every nerve-ending of my body. Everything vanished except the feeling of him filling me up and then releasing me, with each iteration renewing the flow of the excruciating pleasure. This was something far beyond the orgasms I had earlier, far beyond any orgasm I had ever had. I couldn't have fathomed before this moment that any physical sensation could bring such sudden ecstasy.

  My hands were now on his back, urging him back down when he would lift up. I lost count of how many iterations we had gone through, the orgasm—if that was what this was—was on the verge of ebbing and other sensations came back to me. I felt the muscles of his back as I ran my hands over them; I felt him take my bottom lip into his mouth and gently bite it. He sunk his head down, his chin on my shoulder, gave a thrust that penetrated me deeper than he had before and stayed there. My back started to arched again but he pressed down on me. He moaned and I felt a warmness filling me that for a few moments relit the dying embers of my orgasm. I could feel him tense, as if his body had turned into a single muscle. The warmness continued to flow from him, I could feel it quickly filling my already crowded vagina, crowded with his cock and now this warm, almost hot fluid.

  When it stopped flowing he collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing heavily, our sweat comingling. I stroked his hair. I had a feeling close to gratitude and affection. He rolled off and lay on his back. He pulled me towards him and put my head on his chest. He softly stroked my hair as my head was gently raised and lowered on his chest.

  "Body’s like yours make life worth living,” he said.

  I turned my head slightly and kissed his chest.

  "What else would anyone spend their money on," he added.

  I didn't know how to respond to that. I looked up at him and smiled. "Are we going to do this again tomorrow? She said I have two days with you."

  He continued to stroke my hair gently.

  "Tomorrow I train you to be a whore."