A story inspired by the start of the flat racing season in UK, and the attitude and arrogance of Middle-Eastern men and their wives? in UK
10am Saturday 29th April 2017 A small shop in Bath, England
“I need to have it designed and made to my specification,” the goatee bearded, bespectacled handsome, extremely rich man firmly stated, holding up a garment to Ruth Mountjoy, a pretty, young, auburn short haired dressmaker with her own small business in Bath.
“But it’s perfect in every way sir,” she told him with a puzzled frown. “I know the establishment it came from and have made several adjustment ... ahem personal, to them yes, but I get the impression you are suggesting something completely different ... I mean you can’t get better than this.” Ruth declared equally firm but politely, expertly fondling the pale beige. “The fabric, the work, the trimmings, just perfect...”
“I have four needing the same, does that help?” Sheikh Mansour-el-Babbon, delving into a large bag opening it wide and displaying the garments, watching Ruth’s hazel eyes widen, accompanying her lush pink tongue which was rolling hungrily across her sweet full lips. The deal, from which she plucked a figure from the hazy July heat, a cash deposit was made, they exchanged some details and contact information. He left the shop, his white Thawb and gold trimmed Bisht catching the breeze before he slid into his double parked British Racing Green Bentley Continental and drove away, flinging the parking ticket that had been lodged under the windscreen wiper onto the tarmac.
The offer and acceptance of half a million Euros sponsoship had been forgotten some weeks back. Janet Rose the chubby blonde, highly educated and well respected Norland College principal still thinks about when in certain situations. The money was banked, bolstering the accounts which weren’t exactly struggling. Neither was her libido, at least any more, since Sheikh Babbon had approached her by appointment bringing his wife. The Saudi minor royal spoke poor English, with a ubiquitous useless America accent. Useless in that it was affected on a language he couldn’t be arsed to master when educated at Harvard. Money would get him everything. Call me Manny, he told friends and acquaintances – not his four hundred plus employers at various grand mansions in London, Cheltenham, New York, Melbourne and Riyadh.
Princess Ameerih bint Widan bin Nayed Al-Toweel Al-Babbon his 33year old wife, known as Ame, amongst her jet setting, nightclub loving and fashion buying friends, didn’t give a shit for what people called her. The tall, slender, beautiful, with jet black hair, almond eyes and olive skin, elegant, scorned as a firebrand, rebellious and too powerful woman in Manny’s family, had sensed something during the discussions with Janet. Later as he drove angrily home, jumping at least two red lights, she had got pissed off with her husband’s moaning about British regulations and such, but mostly about the strict regime Norland upheld.
11.30am, 30 th April 2017 Longshaft Stud Farm, Kemble, UK
“We want four nannies, they’re going to be Norlands darling,” she stated as they sauntered past twenty one thoroughbred horses heads at their stable and racehorse breeding establishment. “And they must wear the uniform.”
“Yes yes, I realise. It’s very attractive too,” her husband agreed with relish. The gorgeous English maidens – were they? looked stunning in the Lauren Cope design, crisp, pale beige, knee length dresses with cute white collars, tan tights, and those cool sort of top hats in dark brown with a turned up brim. There were several girls in the college that had modelled the uniform - he might buy some of them too.
A young stable lad busy washing down a stallion, a hand stuck up inside the nag’s sheath, trying to grasp and clean the animal’s smeggy cock, leaned out from the black beast’s haunches and admired the undulating haunch of his boss’s wife. It was clad in skin tight cream pants, with no visible panty line to spoil the smooth surfaces disappearing along the row. He imagined a thong, an expensive thong way up in her crack, collecting juice and smells, he would so like to savour.
“The uniform is a major part of the college’s culture and reputation.”
“I know that Ameerih, it’s just that Rose woman – so intransigent.”
“Leave it to me next time, we’ve got lots of time – I’ll handle it. You go on, I’m going to spend more time down here, I’ll walk home across the paddock.”
Mansour strolled off, not bothering or thinking about whether to check her footwear on the crisp green grass. Her usual stilettos would have been murdered in it. She wore beige flatties, but whatever - she would have plenty of shoes or would have bought more pairs. She doubled back, to where she’d spotted the stable lad. He was wiping his hands having washed them and rinsing the various cloths and brushes he’d used in grooming the magnificent racehorse.
“Hello Benny, you finished already? It’s Magnum isn’t it?” gesturing to the animal.
The lad gulped and nodded, speechless and stunned when the gorgeous mistress of the house wandered into the stall to his side and spoke. Her perfume was rich and exotic, her hair loose like an ink stained river over her shoulders, her light, off white cashmere jacket hung casually over her bare shoulders. She was not bosomy, but she revealed slight cleavage in the low cut black silk shirt neckline. A classic pearl necklace and ear rings, plus several exclusive adornments on her fingers and wrists completed her appearance.
“Yes’m maam, all done. He is a lad this one, fights me all the time and I only want to to give him a wash,” Benny grinned, staggered that she knew his and the horse’s name. He patted Magnum’s gleaming rump which towered over him.
Ame strolled to Magnum’s head and nuzzled her delicate featured chin against the horse’s lower jaw, blowing in his nostrils. Magnum whinnied shrilly and stamped. Benny stared in amazement. He knew of her affinity with the stable occupants and her fondness for racing and attendances at Goodwood, Sandown and Newmarket, especially the latter as that’s where she and Mansour purchased racehorses. To see her what looked like kissing Magnum -wow!.
Benny saw movement below Magnum’s belly and watched him drop a few inches of smeg free penis, it’s pink and black skin wobbling, making the lad step sideways as if to hide something he was sure the Saudi princess would be embarrassed about.
“Tell me – it’s silly - I should know these things Benny, but when my husband and I passed earlier, you had your hand buried, well - hidden somehow ... you know ... up his er willy,”Ame simpered, smiling a most beguiling smile, stroking Magnum’s handsome neck, trails of her lush silky hair caught on the horse’s nose. “What was that ... what were you doing?” she feigned ignorance – she knew Fuck me, what the hell, what the fuck ... Benny pondered.
She pierced the young lad with her ebony eyes, questioning, but not demanding as Mansour would.
“Er, I have to clean all of him maam and his ... er you know ... er penis gets dirty...” Benny told her, has acne covered face bright red blushed, glancing at Magnum’s lengthening drop. “It’s part of me job – like.”
“Ah! so you were trying to get it out, I see,” Ame giggled, noticing Benny’s glance.
“Yes Mmaaam,” he stuttered, shuffling to get his young wiry body to where she wouldn’t see – but too late.
“Maybe he wants you to wash it again,”Ame snickered nodding, using her eyes. “I bet he enjoys it, having it washed I mean. Let me see...”
She flung off her trailing jacket clutching it to her belly and squatted, daring her trousers to do anything else but tightly sheath her pampered butt, then grasped the two foot long stallion donger, feeling it’s girth, it’s soft texture, it’s surprising pliancy. Was that a tremor of power that surged through, by her touching it?
“Has he serviced anything lately?”
“Yesm maam, only yesterday, a Balding chesnut filly ... Ginger Cake.”
Ame nodded knowing the famous stable.
Benny was alarmed for her safety under Magnum’s fidgeting bulk, but couldn’t resist glancing and being disappointed as her black shirt and cream slacks had not parted company round her back and showing him inches of her skin and underwear, just like Babs in the yard. The chubby eighteen year old wore her breeches low and slack, and usually there was the give away triangle of a thong cutting across the flesh. Never mind Benny, you’ll see plenty of that tonight, but Babs would expect four pints of cider and a packet of cheese and onion crisps beforehand.
Magnum’s flare was a big soft flange when flaccid, which Ame knew and Benny knew, grew enormously to about four inches diameter when he was seeding a mare or filly. She peered at it, the penis easily curving upwards, cradled in her manicured fingers and saw it’s dark pink inner tube, the wide spout, where his jism would erupt from. Ame wanted to lick and taste it’s powerful flavour, thinking about the animals she had loved in her youth back in a Bedouin village many years back. Magnum whinnied more shrilly and shuffled, nearly knocking the princess over but being young and agile she merely swayed on her flat heels and didn’t fall flat on her bum. She knew she couldn’t betray her common, as in not royal, upbringing, to the mere simple country youth that was staring at her. Maybe she had already done that.
.... There is more of this story ...