My Loss to Arabia

Nisan 15, 2024 Yazar admin 0

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“There is an exciting Club I wish to introduce you to,” he told me.

“Oh Janet will enjoy that,” I said.

“Oh no, it is not that sort of club.” Abdul continued. “You wouldn’t want her to go there.”


“Well it is a sort of Arabic night club. Not the sort of place to take your wife,” he laughed.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “That sounds interesting. How is it that you always find these places?”

“Well I have lots of Arab friends and… well… we sort of get around!”

Abdul was a tall, suave, good looking, dark skinned Arab from Kuwait. Like many of his countrymen he was somewhat darker than most Arabs, having evolved from African stock. He was an absolute charmer, with a happy easy going manner. We worked together and had been friends for about a year. We were having coffee together, taking a break from work.

Three days later Abdul and I were in the club enjoying a beer after work. The room was large with a dance floor in the middle currently occupied by two European girls gyrating sexily. They wore little clothing.

It was early in evening with only four other men at the bar. All four were obviously of Middle East extraction. Two were in Arab robes. As we drank our beer Abdul explained that he was a member and often came here for a “bit of excitement.” He explained that his Arab friends enjoyed the Club as they could meet European girls discretely. It was a well known attraction for better off Arabs in London. He pointed out the dark partially hidden booths around the room where one could have “a bit of fun” without being obvious.

“Come and see this,” he said as he got up. I followed. We went through a door and out into a corridor. There were two doors one on either side. “I am sure that they will not be occupied this early in the evening,” he said as he knocked on the first door on the left which was numbered “one”. He opened the door and we went in. It was a well decorated furnished bedroom with a big double bed, a sofa and several comfortable looking chairs, and with the walls and ceiling supporting lots of mirrors. The lights were low and seductive. It looked luxurious. “Ideal for entertaining a lady,” he told me.

“Now for something different,” he explained. We left the room, crossed the corridor and Abdul knocked on room two on the right of the passageway. He opened the door and we both went in. With the exception of the mirrors, this room was entirely different. It was a bare room with a minimum of furniture. In the middle of the room was a padded bench. This had two leg rests at a lower level and the bench sloped down at the head. There were several straps on it. On one wall there were hanging from hooks several punishment instruments, whips, canes and floggers. Against the end wall there was a St Andrew’s Cross with straps at the positions for wrists and ankles. “Wow!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, I thought that would interest you,” said Abdul. “Have you seen the Camel Stick?” he asked me.

I replied that I had not. Abdul went to wall with hanging implements and extracted a whippy stick. It was over a metre long and had a silver head at the end. The other end was tapered. Abdul gave it to me and I bent it in my hands. It was incredibly pliable. Much more so than a cane of similar size. “That could seriously hurt,” I told him as I gave it back to him. He swished it through the air.

“Yes, it is very popular in Arabia. Many men carry one,” he told me. I could tell from the vicious strikes he made through the air that this was not new to him.

We left the room, went back to the bar and finished our beers. Abdul turned and said: “Room one on the left for luxurious sex and room two the right for punishing someone, and for other more sadistic activities. What more could anyone want?”

It was time for me to get home so I thanked Abdul for showing me the Club and agreed with him that we should return there one evening together for some fun.

It was Sunday. We had just made love. It had been a leisurely, protracted but frantic lovemaking and after twenty minutes or so we had both achieved intense orgasms. What had made the experience so intense was the discussion during our lovemaking. I had goaded her into imagining that it was not me making love to her but one of our Arab friends. She in turn had suggested to me that she expected me to be watching as her “lover” took her. The banter between us called on our imaginations. It was extremely erotic, bringing each of us to a major orgasm as I made the hard strong final thrusts.

Janet had been my wife for five years. She was a tall beautiful blond girl with long hair and a good firm figure. She had a lovely face with a mischievous smile and the most wonderful, full, well supported breasts. Her bottom was well rounded and full. We had had a great time over those five years and were well compatible, particularly as far as sex was involved. She liked being “taken” and I liked forcing myself on her; she liked being submissive, and I enjoyed being the dom. Occasionally she said that I was too small for her and that she would like a bigger cock. So we sometimes used a big black edirne escort dildo for her to enjoy. But it was not the real thing she explained.

We were holding each other tightly, breathing deeply and gently perspiring after expending so much energy.

“So you would like an Arab to make love to you?” I asked.

“Well, darling,” she paused. “You do have a small cock and it would be interesting to have something larger. So maybe, … . Maybe if I was to have one … or maybe even two other men?” She laughed and stroked my cock which was beginning to respond again. “I have always fantasised about some dark handsome men in flowing Arab dress taking me wildly. The Arabs are so romantic but they do not stand for any nonsense either.”

My heart was racing. “I read somewhere that Arab men like taking their women from behind.” I told her in a faltering voice. “If you think about it, that is the most natural way. They sit in the desert on their haunches, with knees pointing forward and their legs under them pointing backwards. It is disrespectful for an Arab to point his feet at anyone.” I explained. “So from kneeling on their haunches it is not much effort to get into a submissive posture with the head on the ground and buttocks in the air.”

“Oh, that sounds sexy.”

“In any case the phrase “missionary position” is not appropriate for an Arab.” I added. “They expect their women to be submissive and prefer them in a submissive position.” I said. We kissed. I took a hold of one of her breasts.

Her hand was more forceful on me. By this time I was fully hard again. My fingers went to her clitoris. She was wet, but that was to be expected after I had recently ejaculated into her.

“You would have to wear a yac-mash,” I whispered in her ear.

“Why,” she asked as she continued rubbing my cock.

“Because then he would not be able to recognise you.”


“Why Abdul of course.”

Abdul had met Janet several times and they had both hit it off well together. Abdul was forever the tall romantic who made girls swoon. And my wife, Janet, was besotted by him.

“So you would let Abdul make love to me?”

We kissed and caressed each other. “You are a very naughty girl,” I told her as I moved up the bed into a sitting position and dragged her over my lap. I removed the nightdress covering and started to spank her lovely pert buttocks with my hand. After about twenty slaps her bottom was hot and pink. She was raising her bottom up and down on me so I felt her vagina again. Yes, she was very wet and ready for more. I left her face down on the bed and retrieved the belt from my trousers. I doubled it up. “Ten strokes with the belt, my darling,” I told her. “I may have a small cock but I can still beat you.”

She turned towards me, looked me in the eye and stuck her bottom up in the air in subjection. She looked lovely.

I then beat her hard with the belt. After ten strokes she was writhing in agony and crying gently. My cock was up solid. I threw the belt down and entered her hard from behind. She came again within minutes. Spanking often brought her on more quickly.

I left to get us both a coffee. Janet curled up in bed and smiled at me.

We drank our coffee sitting in bed. “You enjoyed that spanking,” I told her.

“Oh, it did so excite me.” She agreed. “I feel so naughty when you punish me.”

“Do you like it?”

“Mmmm.” She murmured as she squirmed on the bed. “I want you to punish me severely when I am bad. It excites me to think about it”

“And if you were taken by an Arab would I have to punish you?” I thought of the room with the spanking bench and the Camel’s cane in Abdul’s club. I wondered what her reaction would be if she had to visit there.

Her arms went around my neck and she kissed me hungrily. “Would you mind if an Arab man made love to me…” She paused. “Or perhaps several Arab men with you watching?”

My cock rose up at he thought. “Well, we will have to see.”

“Then you could beat me,” she said.

“Abdul,” I ventured as we were having coffee at work one day. “I would like to join you in the club one evening to have some fun.”

“Well, that would be a great idea,” he replied.

“There is one other thing that I need to ask though.”


“Well I would Ike to bring a lady friend with me.” I told him.

Abdul looked at me quite shocked. “Oh no,” he said. “You certainly do not want to bring any lady there.” He paused as he sipped his coffee. “The only girls in there are lap dancers or “good time” girls. It certainly is not the place to take a lady friend. Who is this girl anyway?”

I carefully considered my reply. “Well, you do not know her. She is a cousin of mine who is half British and half Saudi.”

“No, it would not be suitable. The Club is a place where men pick up women for a quick shag, or perhaps other activities, as you can imagine having seen the place.”

“Yes, I understand that. But this girl is very flighty and would enjoy the experience that the club has to offer.” I told him.

“Well you would have to warn her what she is letting herself in for. Some of my fellow countrymen are quite brutal with their women. A western girl would not understand them or their desires.”

“Oh, yes, I know several British girls who have married Arab men and they seem to like the domination that you guys always impose.”

“Well, we will have to be careful with your little protégé.”

So it was that Abdul and I arranged to meet at the Club the following Friday evening.

I have a proposition for you,” I told her.

She looked at me curiously. “Oh?” She exclaimed enquiringly.

“I do not want to go into the detail but on Friday I plan that you should have some fun. I have agreed with Abdul that we will join him at his club. It is a somewhat unusual place and you will have to do precisely as I tell you and trust me. Do you understand?”

She licked her lips and looked at me. Suddenly she gave a slight shiver and said. “Abdul? Oh yes he is super. I would love to go to his club.” She asked a lot of questions about the place and asked what she should wear. I told her that she would have to wait and see.

We were both on tender hooks for the rest of the week. Although we kissed and held each other we did not engage in any sex. I explained to her that we needed to save ourselves for Friday.

At last Friday evening came. We were in our bedroom getting ready and I had laid out the clothes I had bought for her for the evening. She came out of the shower with just a towel around her. I sat on the bed and watched her. She dropped the towel and was naked in front of me waiting. I noticed that she had trimmed her pubic hairs as I had told her to. I stood up, held her naked shoulders and kissed her. “Are you sure that you want to go through with this?” I asked. She turned and sat in front of the mirror of her dressing table. She picked up the hairbrush and started brushing her hair.

“I do not know what you have planned.” She said.

“Well I wish to fulfil one of your fantasies,” I told her as I massaged her shoulders from behind. My cock was hard pressed through my trousers against her back.

She stopped brushing her hair and looked at the hair brush then looked at me in the mirror. “I trust you. Whatever it is you want of me I will willingly do.” I leaned over and kissed her and gently moved my hands down to cover her breasts. She sighed deeply.

I picked up the pants I had bought for her from the bed. These were not ordinary knickers though. They were tight pure white boxer shorts and made from the very finest of soft silk. They were pretty well transparent. She slipped them on. They fitted her snugly with the crutch pulled up into her crease and accentuating her lovely shapely bottom. She turned around for me to see. I could see her pubic hairs through the material. “That looks lovely darling,” I told her.

“They are so comfortable and sexy,” she replied.

Next I stood up with the black chiffon abaya. This was a front opening long cloak with long sleeves designed to cover the whole body from neck to ankle and wrists. Janet smiled as she saw it. “Oh! That looks different,” she smiled at me.

She fingered the chiffon material. “Oh, it is lovely and soft,” she purred. “Wow it is see through!” She exclaimed. I held it open for her to put on. “But surely Arab ladies wear a bra and other clothes under their abayas? She asked.

“Yes, they do. But not for you tonight. No bra tonight.” I told her.

“Oh! But that material is translucent,” she said. “I will be very exposed.”

“Yes, I know,” I said. She slipped the abaya on and I went on my knees to button up the six buttons at the front. It fitted snugly, hugging her body accentuating her figure, including her naked breasts. Her nipples were clearly visible through the material. I gave them a tweak to see how they stood out. She looked lovely. I then left her to apply her make up and do her hair, telling her as I left the room to ensure that she removed her wedding ring.

On my return to the bedroom there was one more item of dress to put on; the niqab. This is a veil that covers the whole head and face except for a slip for the eyes. “Why this?” Janet asked.

“Well I do not want any of my friends to know that you are a European, nor to recognise you as my wife,” I told her. In any case I think that it will be erotic, I told her.

Once this was on her head she was completely covered in black, other than her eyes, wrist and ankles. But as she moved the movement of her body through the chiffon was discernable. Her nipples were clear to see and the white of her boxer shorts could just be seen. She looked tantalizingly lovely.

The taxi arrived. The driver thought nothing of me, a European, escorting an obviously Arab lady out for the evening. But then taxi drivers see many strange partnerships in London.

During the taxi ride I lifted the veil of the niqab and kissed her. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. I touched her full free breasts through the material.

“I feel so excited,” she replied. I slipped my hand into the folds of the material and my fingers found her vagina protected by the pants. The pants were soaking.

“Oh my God. You certainly are,” I whispered as I kissed her again.

“God, I feel so sexy,” she said.

We arrived at the club and Janet followed a couple of paces behind me into the rather austere, drab building, like a good Arab wife would. At the entrance we were expected and were quickly escorted to our table in a discrete booth in the corner of the room.

I sat with Janet beside me. A waiter appeared and I ordered lemonade for Janet (an Arab woman would not be allowed to drink alcohol) and a whisky and water for me. We looked around the room. There were three scantily clad European women dancing on the dance floor in the centre of the room. A couple of other tables were occupied by men and there were a group of five men in their traditional dish-dash robes and their shumagg headdress at the bar. Shortly we were joined by Abdul who was also in Arab dress.

I introduced Abdul to “my cousin” Laylah (which appropriately means night in Arabic.) (To save confusion I will refer to her as Laylah from now on.) Abdul and I consumed our drinks as we had a general discussion on London and the number of Arabs in our capital. Laylah was left out of the conversation and sat beside me with her hand unseen holding mine under the table. After half an hour Abdul turned to Laylah and said: “You know this is not the sort of place that a good Arab girl should come to. Most of the men here want only one thing.”

Laylah, squeezed my hand. “Yes, I know,” she said quietly.

“So you are happy to go with one of these men?” he asked pointing to the bar.

Laylah sighed and fidgeted. She did not reply. The squeeze of my hand was very tight.

Abdul continued: “Of course many of my countrymen would prefer to go with an Arab lady such as you as we do not think that English girls are so pure.”

The three of us were silent and looked at each other for a moment. “Yes,” I said to Abdul, “she wants to go through with it. But the niqab stays on throughout.” I added.

Abdul got up from the table. “As you wish,” he said as he went across to the bar. We watched as he talked to a couple of men there. The three of them looked across at us. They continued talking.

“He smells so wonderful,” Janet told me. “Arab men always wear cologne and that is so much more romantic than European men.”

After a while Abdul returned. “I was talking to a very influential Prince from Quatar, called Hamed.,” he explained to Laylah. “He is a very rich and important man and he would very much like to meet you. But before he commits himself he would like to see more of you. I have explained that the niqab must stay on, but he suggested that perhaps you could walk across the room to visit the ladies’ room and he will get an idea from your posture of your age and figure.”

“What, now,” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “It is just over there.”

Laylah, squeezed my hand again and started to get up. As she did so Abdul could clearly see her breasts. He put out a hand to help her up. Laylah looked stunning. She stood tall thrusting out her breasts which strained against the material. Her nipples were on full display as she walked slowly and purposely across the room disappearing from view behind a door. Every eye was upon her as she walked. “She is beautiful,” Abdul sighed. He then left me to join Hamed and his friend at the bar where they were soon in deep conversation. We waited. After a couple of minutes the door opened and Laylah returned. She walked with her head held high, her breasts swinging gently, with great self confidence. There was silence in the club as everyone watched. To see my wife flaunt herself to these men was very exciting. My cock rose as I watched her display.

She sat down beside me. She was shaking. She grabbed my hand. “God,” she said. “My God,” she repeated. “That was unnerving. I felt like a cow in a cattle market the way everyone was looking at me.” I placed her hand on my cock. “Wow,” she said.

“Are you wet?” I asked her.

“Oh yes,” she sighed.

Abdul shortly returned. “By your stature I can tell that you are truly a beautiful girl. Hamed is very happy,” he smiled. “In fact the other man was also keen to pleasure you!”

Both of Laylah’s hands gripped my cock hard. She came as close to me as possible continuing to shiver. She was breathing hard.

Abdul continued; “We have booked a private room.” I looked at Abdul but he continued to address Laylah. “Hamed has some instructions.” Laylah looked at him. “When I have finished talking you are to go through the door over there and into room number one on the left.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I did not think that the S&M catered for in room two would be suitable … well… Perhaps not yet. “You will see a bed. You are to kneel on the edge of the bed with your back facing the sofa. You will unbutton your abaya so that your breasts are available, kneel with your legs apart and with your head down in a subjective posture on the bed with your abya up over your back and with your bottom completely exposed. You will remain completely silent and you will wait like that until told to move. Do you understand?”

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