The Arab

Chapter 2.-3

I sit down to eat fruit and fiddle with my phone to check my e-mails and stock-market news. I see the weather forecast first, so I get bored quickly. Weather forecast in Saudi Arabia? Hot of course, what else? Okay, it’s only 35 degrees Celsius now, not 40. That is considered mild, as we often have 45–48 degrees Celsius in the summer. Even October is hot there. December gets cooler, but even then it is not always the case. Sometimes it’s only 20 degrees, but over 30 is also a possibility. Same goes for January and February. And with March the heat starts again. I mean extreme heat.

I hear an uncertain knock on the door and look at my watch. It’s quarter to nine. I drop the phone and walk to the door. I open it, and my blonde, Sarah, is looking at me with sultry eyes.

Dear Steve, there goes your tip!

How could he forget to tell me she was here before sending her up?

He always tells me if I have visitors, and waits for my permission to send them up.

“Hi!”

She greets me casually, killing any little admiration I had for her in the café, where I appreciated her respectfully formal tone.

What do I want anyway?

I asked her here for s*x after all…

“Hi,” I reply, and I feel ashamed of myself for being so American.

I step aside to let her in, and she doesn’t hesitate. She stomps past me, quite literally, her high heels echo on the hard marble floor and I wonder why she is so nervous. She gets to the living room and steps on the carpet. Her heels don’t make a sound now. She is lucky this is a hotel, because I would kick her for stepping on the carpets with her shoes if she was in my home.

She stands with her back to me for a while, giving me time to ogle her ass. Poor girl thinks this will turn me on, but she hasn’t got an ass I’d want to f**k.

She is wearing a figure-hugging, blue dress, which goes well with her hair color, but it’s too short. I don’t like slutty clothes. She is showing off her figure, which she thinks is perfect. I almost laugh out when I think of Americans and how superior they feel. Yet Arab women can make my d**k stand by simply walking past in their niqabs and looking at me. This girl shows everything and fails to turn me on. Of course we know very well what’s hiding under niqabs and abayas. An abaya is a floor-length overdress which doesn’t cover the face, hands and feet. There are many variations, but in the kingdom only black, loose ones are allowed. It’s a sort of robe. Women wear colorful abayas in many countries, which is very eye-catching. Some wear tight ones, so really daring ladies can show a bit more of themselves. Not in Saudi Arabia, of course. We only allow variations in the fabric. Abayas are most often made of soft, floaty silk, which feels cool in the heat. The niqab is a veil that covers the face. There is nothing more exciting than a pair of alluring eyes watching a man. It shows so little, yet so much. Our women wear sexy stockings, garters and lace and silk underwear just like Western women, it’s just that they don’t show themselves off to the world. But we know what we know. They apply eye make-up so skillfully that they could make me come simply by kneeling before me, faces veiled, those eyes gazing up at me. An American w***e could never do that.

She drops her cheap, fake leather bag and coyly turns to me. She watches me and likes what she sees. She can’t hide her desire and I can hardly hide the lack of mine. She holds my gaze and finally inspires some dirty thoughts.

She doesn’t wait for me to offer her a seat or anything. She walks to the fruit basket, takes a banana, peels it and starts sucking on it.

Shouldn’t have done that. It doesn’t turn me on. Very cheap.

I should get this party started, so I walk to the dresser and take the money I intend to give her. Her eyes light up. And she wants me too, so it’s not a bad deal for her. I will give her a disappointment nonetheless. She probably imagines that I will hold her tight and make love to her, but I have absolutely no such intention.

She walks up to me and bats her eyelashes. She’s got nice eyes. She caresses my arm. The closeness of her skin makes me cringe even through the fabric of my shirt. I step aside and command her strictly.

“Go, take a shower and shave your body.”

She looks a bit surprised, but she doesn’t let her mood deflate. She stands in front of me, flashes her teeth and argues. “I’ve just had a shower, and believe me, I am hairless everywhere.”

Okay, sweetheart.

“Do you see the money on the dresser?” Her eyes dart toward the banknotes, then back to me. She nods. “That’s yours, but not for your pretty face. You do what I say, and I ‘ve told you to go, take a shower and shave your body.”

What the f**k is so difficult to understand?

She seems confused. I’ve heard jokes about blonde women, but I would assume she is not actually stupid, she simply has no idea what to expect. I don’t feel pity for her; I raise my brows and wait for her reaction.

Her superior smile disappears; she turns and hurries to the shower.

That’s right. Time to wake up, honey!

I shout before she closes the door. “Be naked when you come out.”

She doesn’t respond, just bangs the door shut.

What was she expecting? Did she think I would profess my undying love, or start sweet-talking her?

I hear the water running. I imagine her under the shower and for a moment I consider following her. But I eat some more grapes instead and I sit down in the armchair and wait. She finishes quickly. Ten minutes later she opens the door and walks out of the bathroom in black, lacy underwear.

I can’t believe it! How can she be such a stupid b***h? Naked means naked! Is it different in America?

She walks up to me and pushes out her ridiculously narrow hips. She thinks she is irresistibly sexy but she is not. I am getting bored of her games, so I reprimand her.

“Do you remember what I told you before you closed the door?”

“You told me to shower and shave my body.”

She lifts her leg. Does she want to sit on my lap? I shift in the armchair to stop her. She thinks I’m playing.

“I also said something else.”

“You told me to come out naked,” she replies uncertainly. She is starting to recognize her mistakes.

I look at her underwear, indicating that she is not naked at all. She angrily strips off her bra and panties. This is her first reaction that actually turns me on. She is not pretending—she really is irritated and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

She really is hairless and her p***y is skinny like a little girl’s. Her breasts are perfectly round and huge for her frame. They’re plastic but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m used to surgically enhanced figures. Luxury whores usually go under the knife for a perfect body.

She wiggles her hips again, prompting me. I stare at her for a while, thinking what to do. I could make her lie on her stomach and f**k her ass. Or take her p***y and tug her hair while I f**k her. But no matter what I plan, somehow it doesn’t feel right, it just doesn’t appeal. Her scrawny ass turns me off, and I’m not very interested in her p***y either.

She seems almost perplexed, so I stand up. She is standing in front of me and I look down. She is short without her heels and this is kind of a turn-on. She stares at me with her blue eyes again.

Okay, I’m hard enough now.

She reaches for my shirt to unbutton it, but I grab her hand. She instinctively tilts her chin up to offer her lips for a kiss.

No way! Let’s make this clear.

“I hope you’re not trying to kiss me.”

She stiffens as much as I should down below. She looks really shaken, but that’s none of my business. I didn’t mislead her in the first place. I don’t want to make love; I want a w***e to do as I say. I paid in advance so I have no reason to feel bad.

Kissing is the most intimate act. Much more intimate than s*x. I think I’ve f****d a lot more women than I’ve kissed. I could never kiss a stranger. I never have. I have kissed Arab women and a Brazilian too, but never an American.

I lean back as far as the armchair allows and I look deep in her eyes. She is beginning to get my drift and she is bitterly disappointed.

Why do I always get stupid bitches?

This is one of the reasons why I like professionals. They want nothing more than their money. Of course all women hope for a miracle deep in their hearts, but these amateur girls are the worst.

“I think you know what to do,” I say quietly because she looks so embarrassed I don’t want to humiliate her any further.

I remember our flight tomorrow, and I know I have to pack, which makes me even more impatient. Her eyes are brimming with tears. That’s just too much.

“Get on your knees.”

She doesn’t obey, perhaps she is still hoping for that miracle. I feel sorry for her for a moment; she really must have fancied me. Then again, most women do. In Europe and America they consider my skin tone and my style exotic; back home my eyes attract them. And my wealth of course... all of them love that.

Okay...

Well, I like what I see too, but why would a woman want to let me know how much she desires me?

I grab her chin. She smiles faintly as I tilt her face up. She thinks I’m going to be gentle, but I just want to get her to understand what I want.

“Listen, baby. You will give me a blow job. Then you dress up, get your money and walk out the door. It’s not difficult. If you’re good, it won’t take ten minutes.”

Her face shows how much I offended her, but what else can I do? I want something. I paid for it. I explained it. What else does she want me to do?

Fucking hell, get on with the blow job you stupid b***h!

As if she could hear my thoughts she obediently gets down on her knees. She unbuttons my jeans and takes out my c**k to suck it. I hear her sniffle and I close my eyes so at least I won’t see her.

How stupid can I be? I pay her three thousand dollars and she is weeping while she is sucking my d**k!

Her technique is, how shall I say… unsatisfactory. She doesn’t change her rhythm all through. I like it to start gently and end with passionate nibbles. I eventually grab her head to guide her. I keep my eyes closed because I know the sight would instantly turn me off. I am thinking about my flight, but I still manage to come in a few minutes.

She stands up and shyly wipes her mouth. I’m not sure what she is expecting, as I have already told her everything.

Does she expect me to go down on her now, or what? She must be kidding.

I nod toward the money but she just stands there, so I go and get the wad of cash myself. I walk back to her and put three thousand dollars in her hand. She starts crying again.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom now. Be gone by the time I get out!”

I say nothing more because I feel like yelling at her for crying. What the f**k is so bad about earning a pile of money in ten minutes? I haven’t even hurt her!

I see her clothes in the bathroom. I throw them out. I close the door and take a shower. By the time I come out she is gone.

At last!