Lesli Part 11
Todd and I became close friends, and lovers, over the course of the next week. The Ahmeds were gone the entire week, and Todd and I relieved the boredoom and sexual tension by sneaking into each other's bed when Mansour was asleep. When he wasn't in the apartment, we were bolder, and did it , literally, anywhere and everywhere. It was like two children had been let loose in a candy store, with no spending limit. By the end of the week we were both sated, but still managed to do it four times a day.
The beginning of the second week brought a trip to the passport photo office, where we submitted applications for our passports. I had to list my sex as 'male' even though the passport photo clearly showed a girl.
Todd left for London as soon as his passport was issued, three days. He was meeting Achmed, who was in London for an extended business meeting. Actually, 'meeting' was just a little polite for what was happening. Apparently Achmed was horny for Todd, and money being no object, had called Mansour and told him that the private jet would arrive to pick him up. I wished Todd luck, surprised at how sad I was to see him go. I mean, he was homosexual, and that type didn't usually turn me on. Perhaps it was the friendship thing.
Now life was back to extremely dull, sleeping til noon, television, a little shopping, television...blah, blah. I started to miss the club, Rufus, all the girls, all the sex hungry men. But I knew I couldn't go back there. Rufus would kill me for deserting him, right at the time when I was finally making good money for him. No, I couldn't go back to Rufus.
Amanda picked up on the third ring.
"What the hell?" she said when she recognized my voice "haven't I made it clear that I have nothing to say to you as long as you're aligned with that nigger pimp?"
"Wait, wait, wait" I hurried, afraid she would hang up before I had a chance to explain "I'm not with Rufus."
"Oh..well, that's better. But I'm still mad as hell at you for what you did."
"Look" I tried to explain "we'll talk about that sometime, but now I just want you to know where I am and that I'm alright." I explained the situation and what how I was being treated. I don't think she entirely believed me, so I challenged her to come over and see for herself. Mansour had already told me that I could have visitors, when the Ahmeds were out of town, but absolutely no overnight guests. And no sex.
When I explained that Amanda was a transexual, Mansour agreed to send the limo to pick her up.
"Jeezzzzeee...." she exclaimed as she stood in the doorway, surveying the broad expanse of the entrance to the penthouse "holy...holy..shit, Lesli, who died and gave you this?"
"Well" I tried to calm her "it's not mine..I mean, I just stay here..you know..kept?"
"Whatever" she sighed, stepping into the foyer to get a better look around. Her eyes scanned the whole entrance, taking in every piece of art, every piece of furniture, every rug.
She was as impressed as I was on first seeing the obvious trappings of extreme wealth. I knew the reaction..and I was slightly satisfied at her reaction. She had disapproved of my alignment with Rufus, and now I was getting back at her a bit. She had always known best, from her experience. But now, I had grown past that, I had gone to a place that even Amanda hadn't been. We had shared the street, I her willing student. But now.now.sweet now, I was showing Amanda something else. And she was drinking it in like I had never seen her before. She liked this..that much was certain.
We spent the afternoon talking, drinking wine, smoking..relaxing, as I explained, in detail, the arrangement that had brought me here. She recoiled at the mention of the dog. I wasn't in a mood to argue for or against, so I let it pass quickly and got on to a vivid description of Todd and our encounters of the past week.
Amanda is so very like me. Our tastes in clothes, men, and what constitutes fun seem to parallel if not completely mesh. She was as comfortable with an arrangement like this as I was. She saw the logic in every bit of it. Every requirement of the Ahmeds seemed as reasonable to her as it was to me.
"She-boy whore to the Arabs" she exclaimed, the slightest wine induced slur evident in her voice.
"Concubine" I corrected her.
"Concusucker" she belched.
"I am their concubine" I explained, trying to put this in a respectable frame of reference. But, it was no use, neither of us could take this any more seriously than the joke it was. We both broke out in uncontrolable laughter at the words.
This was no different than the situation I had found myself in on the streets. And both Amanda and I knew it. This was nothing more than men wanting, and getting, off. Girls like Amanda and me made it easy for them because we always gave them what they wanted. And, because of the way we looked, they could do it to us without the shame or self guilt they would feel doing it to a man who looked like a man. We were convenient for them. We were cheap. And, with a little twist of the imagination, they could forget that it was a man's mouth, or asshole, wrapped around their penis, giving them so much pleasure.
In short, we wanted it as much as they did..something that wasn't happening at home..it was a convenient substitute for what they thought they would be getting when they married the 'little woman'. We were the whore, while the wife or girlfriend stayed the lady.
In our cups now, Amanda and I regained the friendship that had been broken when I drifted into Rufus' world. We drank two bottles of white wine in the course of the afternoon, and before we knew it, the clock was showing 7 pm.
"So it's dinner" I exclaimed. I asked Mansour to arrange carry in Chinese, which he did, and the three of us enjoyed a delightful dinner of chicken, pork, and wine. I might have detected just the slightest bit of flirting going on between Amanda and Mansour. A mental note to explore this further.
After dinner, and more drinks, and then more drinks, Mansour and I escourted Amanda home in the limo. Kissing goodnight, we promised to get together again very soon.
Richard's eyes were cutting as he starred at me in the rear view mirror. Apparently the free blow job he had coaxed from me had cost him a lot more than he wanted to pay.
My turn came three days later, Monsour announcing that I had to be packed for the trip which would begin tomorrow.
"Where?" I tried to ask, as he strode out of the room. No answer. I decided that I couldn't possibly choose a proper wardrobe if I didn't know where I was going, so I didn't pack a thing. Mansour was furious, but my logic eventually wore him down, and he returned to my room late that night.
"Home" he said simply "Dubai."
So I was being summoned to the Ahmeds where they lived. Not in London, or Paris, where they maintained their lifestyle oblivious to the mores of their homeland. But, in that very land, near their father, mother, family that they sought to escape for their carnal pleasures. How could this be? How could they do this, right under the nose of their family, their wives?
"Mansour" I complained, with a line so overused by women everywhere "I don't have a thing to wear in Dubai". Disgusted, he rummaged thru my wardrobe and threw a few summer dresses on the bed. He picked three pair of flat strap and thong sandals.
"Nothing provocative" he warned "just look the tourist and everything will be fine.
"I don't think they want me there to model clothes anyway" I said, only half jokingly.
"You must look like a woman to please them. But you must be a man to prove to their father that they are obeying his will. That shouldn't be too hard for someone.....like you." The tone was condescending and I wasn't sure I liked it. Oh, I didn't like it, but what I didn't know was if I was offended by it. Nothing seemed to offend me anymore. I really seemed to be losing my sense of self esteem.
As I lay in bed, trying to find sleep, my mind couldn't rest. I replayed the events of the past few months out in exteme detail. I had gone from a shy, not so good looking, high school student, to what I was today - a full blown, completely passable, pre operative transexual. I had dressed at first, had deceived boys and men. Now, I lived the life, 24/7, there was no deception, I was what I was. And that was the big difference. I wasn't between two worlds anymore. I was firmly and, in my mind at least, unreversibly a woman. I walked the walk, talked the talk, lived the life, so to speak.
And now, I was more than that. Now I was a mistress to two (or three maybe) rich Arabs who kept me in this life style that I had enjoyed for the past few weeks. I had been paid for sex since my days on the street, but now I was being rewarded for what I did. More precisely, I realized, for what I was. That was the key. While I didn't feel between two worlds, I was - clinically speaking - a man. Oh, the hormones, the breast implants, the hair perms, the body lotions, they all gave the opposite impression. But I was - and this was the point that kept the Ahmeds paying money - officially a man. The passport said so....how could it say any different? For all my looks, my body, there was still that dangling issue between my legs. While they never used it sexually, the Ahmeds sure used it to their advantage.
And, more than anything else, I was being rewarded for that. 'She-boy' was what Amanda had called me today. And the realization of that truth sank to the pit of my stomach and lay there like a rock. For the first time in a long time I questioned my sexuality. I had fucked Todd, several times, during our week of debauchery. He had fucked me, many more times, but the point was I had fucked him. I had been aroused enough to fuck him. Did that mean I liked playing both the female and male role? Did it mean I had male feelings? I couldn't imagine, after all the time and effort that had gone into my transformation this past year, that I would still have these feelings.
How could I test myself now? Todd or Achmed would let me fuck them, that's for sure, but they weren't here. They were in London, probably fucking the shit out of each other day and night. Amanda? Sure, I had fucked her on the couch, that fateful weekend when she introduced me to the wonderful world of being a TV hooker. But Mansour had said no overnighters, and as I glanced at the clock it read 2:30. No, I wouldn't know that easily. This would have to linger until I had the proper time to test myself, to determine if I wanted to be a real girl, a mixture, or - and I shuddered at the thought - a boy. I consoled myself in the belief that if I did want to be a boy, I would be a queer. A sissy. A faggot. At least I knew that much. And with visions of my lips wrapped firmly around an Arab cock, I finally slipped into a fitfull sleep.
Mansour picked my outfit for the flight to Dubai, laying out a pair of jeans, white tennis shoes, and a loose fitting tee top over which I wore a light blue blouse, open like a jacket. I wore thong bikini panties, but no bra. I had come to the freedom and the feeling as my tight, young breasts pressed against the cotton of my tee. My nipples stayed erect most all the time now.
I went light on the make up, and pulled my hair back into a tight pony tail.
The large dark sunglasses served to hide the ravages of a nearly sleepless night. Mansour approved. 'The tourist look' he dubbed it.
"Just do everything as you are told" he instructed as we sat in the back of the limo on the ride to the airport "Do not, and I warn you very seriously Lesli, do not give them any reason to doubt your submission to them. And, even more importantly, do not ever have sex .... or even give them the impression you want to have sex .... with anyone, or anything other than who they might want you to have sex with. This cannot be overstressed. If they have the slightest idea that you've had sex with Richard......or Todd.....well, the results won't be very pleasing to you."
The realization that Mansour knew about Todd and I hit like a ton of bricks.
My face went red at the mention of his name, but I don't think Mansour needed this as a sign that he was right. He had his sources, he knew, and nothing I could think of to say would change that. "Understood" I whispered.
The plane was waiting at the general aviation terminal. Customs were completed there and I was ushered on board by a male flight attendant, pausing at the top of the steps to wave goodbye to Mansour..and Richard..before ducking inside the sumpuosly apppointed cabin. It was a Jetstream, outfitted with the luxury that I'm sure the Ahmeds demanded in everything....a couch, three seats, a bar, a TV, a video, stereo...the works. The flight attendant helped me with my seat belt, and brought me a glass of champagne as the plane taxi'd and quickly took off, pressing me back in my seat in the process.
The champaign quickly went were the sleep wasn't, and I was soon napping as we cleared the east coast and headed out across the wide expanse of the North Atlantic.
I don't know how long I was out, the first signs of coming back to life seemed to be sunlight streaming across the white blanket of clouds outside the small window to the left of my seat. I was in that fog, too, it seemed, and it took me the longest time to adjust to my surroundings.
"What can I bring you?" The voice of the flight attendant came from behind me. Turning, I let my eyes play over him, from the tips of his highly polished shoes, up the long legs, pausing at the crotch - my practiced eye looking for any sign of a bulge - finding none, continuing up past the belt buckle, the powerful neck, the square chin, and coming to rest in his beautiful green eyes. I held the gaze for a long time, passion stirring in me, until he broke it, averting his eyes in what appeared to be embarrassment. But he had looked. He had shown interest.
Champaign, then another, then dinner, with Champaign, then another. I was feeling alright now, my short nap and the Champaign having rejuvinated me. Another Champaign, please. It seemed he was there for anything I wanted.
Why not? He was good looking, young, and obviously available. I mean, he worked for these people, and I knew what working for them meant. Submission, right? It seemed only natural, and my elbow found it's way gently into his crotch as he stood beside me and poured champaign in to my glass. I was surprised as he backed slightly away from my probing elbow. I pushed back farther, again making contact. He didn't back away this time, in fact, if anything, I could swear I felt him lean into my elbow, making firm contact.
Taking this as a sign of interest, I swivled in my seat and brought my left hand around across me to bury it in his crotch, rubbing his penis. He was big, and from the feel I got, he wasn't completely hard yet. What would he be like at full length? Eager to find out, I moved quickly to pull down his zipper and snaked my hand inside. The cool metal of his zipper sent chills running down my arm. He made no move to pull away and I plowed onward, my fingers finding the opening in his boxers and slipping inside to claim my prize. And a prize it was indeed! I would estimate 6 or 7 inches of partially erect penis, uncircumsized for sure, with the slightest tapering from the thin shaft to a thinner yet head buried in the folds of foreskin. He was coming alive now as I let my fingers tighten ever so gently around the shaft and pulled and fished him out. The sight of his dark manhood set me on fire, and I continued to gaze at it as my hand moved, quicker now, along the entire length and I pulled him closer to me. My seat swiveled around until I was sitting facing him. Instinctively he stepped closer, letting me bring him to my open lips which I locked securely around the unexposed head and pulled him inside my mouth. The taste was to die for, and the aroma of his manhood filled my nostrils with a delightful smell, sending my senses reeling in passionate abandon. We both gave ourselves up to the moment, as he buried the entire length of his organ in me, the head coming out from underneath the foreskin and invading my waiting mouth and then finally my throat as I expertly deepthroated him.
"Aggghhhhhh" he let out a gutteral moan as he thrust his rock hard member inside me, my nose coming to rest in his dark kinky pubic hair.
"Ummmmhhhhhh" I cooed as I began working him in and out, slowly sucking him deep. We were in a rythm now, and it was obvious to me that he had some practice at this as he expertly grasped my head in his hands, face fucking me.
The champaign and the sex worked in unison, and I soon found myself lost in this wonderful boy standing in front of me. My senses, my attentions, were all focused on the task at hand, nothing else mattered or entered my mind. I was truly and completely engrossed in the act of oral sex. It seemed to happen a lot lately, this act, and I become aware of the growing abandon with which I performed it. Nothing else seemed to matter, no fear, no embarrasement, no feelings of guilt. The only thing I seemed to focus on was in my mouth.
He fought me back when I tried to unbuckle his belt and I sensed more fear in him than in me. Never one to be discouraged by token resistance, I moved my hands up between his legs, feeling then caressing his swollen ball sack thru the rough fabric of his trousers. He moaned again and pulled my face into his crotch with urgency as I felt the first strong spurts of cum coat my throat. I tightened my lips around the shaft and sucked with all my might as the full force of his ejaculation nearly choked me. But I took it all, never breaking stride, and soon my throat was completely full of his jism. Trying to time my breathing to keep from gagging, I managed to swallow his load, the slimy, warm liquid draining from his cock head and sliding down my throat to my stomach. It was heavenly, and soon the taste was replaced by the strong aroma of the cum which was still trapped in my mouth. Straining to focus on the shaft so close to my face, I saw the remnants of his ejaculate clingling to him, mixed with the oral lubricant of my saliva. I pulled away to lick his shaft clean of the white, creamy reward. His cum was strong, filling my nostrils with the heady aroma of spent man sex.
I couldn't get enough of it as I continued to lick and suck at him. The message was clear - I would suck him for as long as he would let me - I was his for whatever he wanted from me. No embarassment, no morals, no decency. Just pure animal lust for this young man and his delightful prick. I was his cock sucking slut, available for his use, with nothing asked in return except for the opportunity to serve him. It was the very definition of submission, willing to be used for whatever pleasure he wanted.
Apparently this was great adventure for him, to have a beautiful woman, the property of his masters, pay him the ultimate compliment of sucking him off, and he stood before me, looking down on me as I continued to hold his cock in my mouth, returning the gaze thru half open eyes.
But just as fast as it started, it ended, and he pulled out, wiping his wet cock across my face before putting it back in his pants and zipping up. Without a word, he made his way back into the galley as I slumped, still on a sexual high into my seat.
'God, what takes hold of me at times like these?' I questioned myself. I mean, here I was winging my way across the Atlantic, away from home, out of my country for the first time in my life, being taken to a country so far and different from anything I had even imagined. Mansour had warned me to keep my hands to myself, to avoid even the hint of impropriety in my sex life. To obey my new employers as masters. And how did I act on that warning? By seducing the hired help the first chance I had. He hadn't made a pass at me, I made a pass at him. I seduced him and had sex with him, right here on their plane. What if they had cameras? What was I risking in all this?
It slowly dawned on me that my self control had slipped as low as my morals.
I tried to take stock, but the realization kept creeping back in my mind that I was out of control. I couldn't resist playing the role of a whore. I had sex with Richard when he asked. I had sex with Todd when he asked. I had sex with the flight attendant because he was there, and because he let me. I was completely obsessed with men and for the last few weeks I had pursued them like it was going out of style. Any man, any time, anywhere seemed to be my creed. It occurred to me that I was dangerous, not only to myself, but to any man who came near me. The thought of sucking off a man, any man, kept me horny all the time now. Was I going to get better, or worse?
I tried to settle down and get some rest, but the picture of the handsome flight attendant standing in front of me, his dick lodged in my throat, kept crowding out every concious thought in my head. I was obsessed, I admitted it to myself for the first time in my short life. If there was ever a person completely at ease with their role in life, it seemed to be me.