The reason I was out of touch for a while recently was because I was on holiday. I went, with some of my family, to a hotel on the Red Sea for a week. The others were content to laze round the hotel swimming-pool all day, but I don't think you go all the way to Egypt to do that, so I signed up for a few trips - visits to Cairo and Luxor, and a 'safari' into the mountains.

The city visits were in air-conditioned buses, holding about 50 of us, but the safari was in a fairly ancient Land Cruiser, with a driver and guide in the front, and eight passengers in the back, on bench seats, facing each other.

A brief rundown on the personnel, my darling, as you'll need to know some of this stuff. I'm not certain of all the names, but I've guessed where necessary.

The driver and guide were, of course, Egyptian. The guide was in his early thirties, I think - a university graduate, he said, in Egyptology. He looked a little like an old film star called Peter Lorre - small, bulging eyes. The driver was a bit older - about 40 - much more typically Egyptian, with the obligatory fierce black moustache and very dark eyes; high cheekbones; and long straight nose. The guide's English was pretty good, if not fluent - the driver didn't speak English, as far as I could tell. I also doubt whether he ever passed a driving test, but that's neither here nor there!

I was sitting directly behind the driver (on the left, of course). Opposite me was a honeymoon couple from Nottinghamshire. He was 64, bald, fat, with a moustache, a funny white hat, ill-fitting shorts and an incurable habit of addressing all and sundry as 'my friend'. The less said about his blushing bride the better - my old Mum used to talk about 'mutton dressed as lamb'...

The other five passengers were a family from Croydon - Mum, Dad, Rebecca (14), Sam (12) and Jacob (10). Mum was a bit 'mumsy', but not at all unattractive - a bit like Brenda Blethyn would have been in her late thirties, I imagine - definitely worth shagging!

Dad, I think, would be regarded as good-looking, in a serious, earnest kind of way. Slim, not too tall - good head of hair, with iron-grey streaks. I'm sure he is a conscientious husband and father, but I shouldn't be the least surprised to learn that he has a secretary who loves him madly, and who he can't resist fucking at least two or three times a week. His name was Stephen and his wife was Miriam. Were they Jewish? - I really don't know - it wasn't obvious from their appearance, although they were all dark, as opposed to fair-skinned.

The older boy - Sam - was very good-looking - brown hair and eyes - eyes well set apart on a straight nose - a direct way of looking at you - candid, honest. I couldn't help noticing his mouth (I think this is your fault!) - really quite sensuous for a boy. Actually, his whole face conforms to a pattern - a 'formula' -, which isn't unusual in some middle-class English kids.

Jacob was quite a different kettle of fish - not attractive at all, really. He had a very olive complexion, which Miriam explained was down to her Italian roots (yes - Italian!). Also, his mouth was too full of teeth, giving him a ratlike appearance, with his thin face.

Rebecca - well, she was 14, and the truth is that I fell hopelessly in love with her the first time I saw her smile. I was halfway there already, anyway. She had short hair, a floppy white hat, a shoulderless pink top, a short skirt, long slim legs to die for, and the dearest pair of developing breasts, thrusting proudly against the material of her top. I was half in love with her as I watched her sleeping in the jeep, leaning against her father's arm and I fell, completely, when she smiled at the Notts honeymooner for looking after her camera while she negotiated a tricky section of a hill pass. (When I eventually got her to smile at me, I nearly passed out on the spot!)

Well, the general idea of this 'safari' was that we travelled to a nearby (i.e. anything under 100 miles) town for a bit of lunch and retail therapy (the guides make a bit of commission if you buy their bloody papyruses or stuffed camels, I think) then repaired into the mountains for a hike through a massive canyon, followed by a meal at a Bedouin hill village, then back home to bed.

Everything went well - apart from that bloody woman from Notts, who griped about everything, especially the heat! Why on earth she came to Egypt in August if she didn't like heat is beyond me ... Ho hum!

Anyway, as I was saying - everything went well - until we got to the Bedouin village, when the Land Cruiser coughed its last. It's not worth going into all the details of the associated complications, but suffice to say that lack of adequate transport, and the absence of proper passport visas for all but the 'honeymooners' meant that they were the only ones who could actually make it back to the hotel that night.

Actually, the rest of us were not over-disappointed to have to put up in the Bedouin village overnight. I'll try anything once, and the Croydon family were really pretty well-travelled - they had roughed it a bit in Vietnam, it seems, so they were up for a bit of local culture, too!

So, there we were, the six of us, plus Ahmed, the guide, and Abdul, the driver. The first thing we noticed was that none of the Bedouin women made any sort of appearance. At first, there were plenty men and boys - and girls - about, but the youngsters soon disappeared when the sun went down, and we sat down to dinner with eight Bedouin men - none aged under 40, I would guess, and a couple who were quite old. They were dressed in robes, with these things on their heads - not quite tea towels, but you know what I mean!

When I say we 'sat down to dinner', we did, literally, sit down on the sand, cross-legged, around a very low sort of table thing. The food was fine - it seemed to consist, mainly of some sort of spicy minced meat of some description, and various vegetables, plus fruits, and some kind of local hooch to drink - a kind of wine, I imagine - I'm no expert on anything other than single malt whiskies!

I was fortunate enough to squat beside Miriam, who turned out to be really talkative, especially once she had finished her first glass of wine! I've found, in the past, that women seem to confide in me quite readily, and I wasn't too surprised when Miriam confessed that she found she found some of the Arab men - particularly our driver, Abdul - a little bit frightening, because of the very direct way they looked at her.

I explained that it was probably because Western women covered up less than their own women, and the Egyptians regarded that as an invitation to have a good look at what was 'on offer', so to speak! I also added that, if anything, that applied even more to her daughter, Rebecca.

Rebecca was sitting between her two brothers, who, in turn, were flanked by her father, Stephen, and the guide, Ahmed. Abdul was sitting beside Ahmed, and Miriam was on Stephen's left, with me beside her. The Bedouin, and Abdul, were maintaining an incessant flow of conversation among themselves, but even I was aware of their dark eyes constantly settling on the exposed arms and legs of the two women - well, the woman and the girl - in our party.

What Miriam wasn't aware of was the conversation I had had with Ahmed after lunch, when we were waiting for the family to return to the jeep, when he had told me that Abdul had adjusted his driver's mirror so that he could watch Miriam in it, while he was driving. She was wearing a sort of 'peasant' skirt - very long, but with a slit in it - and, apparently, Abdul had had a few flashes of thigh right up to panty level, which had really aroused his ardour!

Anyway, Miriam got quite agitated when I mentioned Rebecca.

"Do you really think she's old enough to get that sort of attention, Mr. Rogan?" she said.

"Well," I said, "I know she's only 14, but I have to admit she's caught my eye - and I don't think they have the same rules about 'age of consent' and so on, here. I think their view is that, if she's big enough, she's old enough, and you can't deny that your 'little' girl has a really seductive figure - especially the way she's dressed just now"

"Do you mean that?" she asked me. "You mean - someone like you looks at Becca and - well - thinks of her 'that' way..."

Her voice trailed off, but I could see, from her eyes, that our conversation was exciting her. It was exciting me, too, so I responded - "I'm only human, Miriam - and I'm a normal man - so it's inevitable that I watched her in the jeep and conjectured about what her tight little breasts would look like - and her bum..."

Then I laughed, and added - " ... but only when I wasn't thinking about yours!"

Only then did Miriam's eyes flicker sideways to her husband, Stephen. His eyes seemed to be focused on the mountains, which formed an impressive backdrop to the desert scene, but they were glittering, and Miriam whispered to me — "You've just made his night!"

I looked at her. It occurred to me that she wasn't quite sober, and her black eyes did look a little glazed, but she returned my gaze, and smiled a sort of twisted smile.

"Stephen likes to think about me with other men," she murmured.

Well, this was 'meat and drink' to me, of course, and my cock was stiffening rapidly. I guessed I was getting a green light, at least in terms of dialogue, and I asked her — "You mean — he gets turned on by the thought of someone else feeling your breasts — and putting his hand between your legs?"

"Yes," she breathed, "and more. He fantasizes about going 'dogging' with me — about men watching through the car window while he feels my breasts, then exposes them — then one of them reaches inside and..."

"Have you ever done it — dogging, I mean?" I asked, my cock hard with arousal.

"No," she said. "I think it's just a fantasy for him — I don't think he'd really do it..."

"But how about you?" I asked, and she turned to me again, her eyes thoughtful, but bright with excitement.

"Oh," she said. "I can imagine — if everything was OK — and safe — it could really turn me on ... yes, I think I could do it ... I'm not sure about — you know — how far..."

My imagination was working overtime — I was seeing Miriam hesitantly leaving the protection of the front seat of the car, her generous breasts bare, being fondled and pulled by the hands of two different men — they positioned her over the bonnet, her tits squashed against the warm metal...

" ... I can just see you, bent over the car bonnet," I whispered. "Two guys — one of them a Pakistani — lifting your skirt and pulling down your panties, while Stephen watches through the window ... He's got his cock in his hand — it's rock-hard from seeing these two men playing with your naked breasts — but now he's nearly frantic with arousal because they've spread your legs and they're taking out their pricks..."

" ... you bastard!" Miriam interrupted me. For a second, I thought I had gone too far, but her eyes were dancing... "Are you a bloody mind-reader?" she went on. "How did you know about the Pakistani?"

I grinned at her.

"Does he get to do you first?" I asked, and she nodded, her eyes glazed over, and she whispered — "But I don't want to be facing away from him — can they turn me over so that I'm on my back, looking at him as he sticks it into me... ?"

" ... haven't you had a brown cock up you before?"

Her hand thrust down hard into her crotch.

"Mmmmmmmm," she groaned.

I ratcheted up the pressure.

"How about Abdul?" I breathed. "Wouldn't you like to feel his hands on you?"

"He frightens me," she responded, apprehensively. "I think he would be ... rough."

"Would that be bad?"

"I don't know. Stephen's very — gentle. It's what I'm used to."

"Wouldn't you enjoy Abdul's strong dark hands squeezing your tits like a couple of oranges? Pushing your legs open and thrusting his fingers under your panties? Pulling out his thick hard... ?

"Oh, Christ, Mr. Rogan," she moaned. "Stop! Please stop!"

Then, our attention was diverted by a small commotion further down the table. There was the sound of a slap, then raised children's' voices, and Miriam gave a resigned sigh.

"That's bloody Jacob and Rebecca again!"

"Oh?" I enquired, politely.

"Yes," she went on. "He's always trying to embarrass her — you know, flipping her skirt up so that people can see her panties — that sort of thing."

I leaned forward so that I could see what was going on, down the table. I could hear Rebecca's voice, raised in protest, and I was more than surprised — and delighted! — to see her top had been pulled down, over her taut little breasts and bra.

But, contrary to her mother's comments, it was the older of her two brothers, Sam — not Jacob — who seemed to be the main perpetrator. Sam was kneeling behind his sister, holding her wrists behind her back, so that she couldn't cover herself up again, and conversation had suddenly stopped all around the low table as all eyes focused on the girl's bare shoulders and the creamy tops of her firm young breasts, showing provocatively above her fairly flimsy white bra.

For the moment, from my angle, I couldn't actually see Jacob, the younger brother — then I realized why Rebecca's protests were becoming increasingly vociferous, when I caught sight of Jacob, also behind his sister, his fingers working furiously at the catches of her brassiere.

Automatically, I looked at the girl's father, and realized that on his face was the same expression as that on all the other attentive masculine faces round the table — a wolfish, hungry anticipation as they watched the two young boys tormenting their elder sister.

All eyes were on the young girl as she struggled helplessly with her two brothers — and then there was a collective sigh of pleasure as the tension in the girl's bra-straps suddenly relaxed, at the same time as Jacob let out a yelp of triumph — and Rebecca's brassiere slid gracefully downwards, revealing its precious cargo.

Her breasts were lovely — fully rounded, without, yet, the slightest hint of sag, with delightful pink nipples which, for the moment, seemed to be soft and dormant. As her bra slid away, Rebecca's eyes lifted, and flitted, in horror, round the table, taking in the rapt, almost hungry expressions on the faces of the men — especially the dark, Arab men — who surrounded her.

Instinctively, she renewed her struggle with Sam, to release her wrists, so that she could cover herself with her hands, but this made her firm little tits shake gently, and evoked a low murmur of appreciation from her admiring audience...

It was then that I became aware of Miriam again, hearing her sharp intake of breath, not at the exposure of her daughter's breasts, but at the hungry male reaction to their involuntary movement.

"God," she breathed. "You're right, Quinn — they want her, don't they? Every man round this table wants to fuck my daughter — to feel her tits and give her a good seeing-to..."

... and that was when I realized that this realization, far from alarming Miriam, was arousing her, almost beyond endurance — and that was when I reached out my hand to hold hers. She grasped at it and clasped it as though she were drowning, then plunged it down between her thighs and pressed it hard against her pussy.

"Oh, Jesus, Quinn," she grunted. "I can't let them fuck her — she's too young."

I pushed my hand in the split of her peasant skirt and felt the soft flesh of her inner thighs — it was damp, and she had to part them to allow me access to her panty-covered pussy. I could feel, immediately, that the gusset of her panties was soaking. I pressed my middle finger against her crack, and she groaned.

"Oh, fuck, Quinn — for Christ's sake, stick a couple of fingers in — it's going to have to be me, isn't it? There's no-one else — they're all going to have to fuck me, aren't they?"

I slid a finger round the material of Miriam's moist knickers. God, she had such a growth of bush hair there — and the moisture was practically running out of her! I arrowed my finger up her quivering twat. She gasped, and groaned again.

"Oh, Christ," she muttered — "I can't do it — I can't — not all of them."

Somehow, I thought, she was protesting just a little too much — I wasn't at all sure it was going to be a huge hardship for Miriam to spread her plump thighs for such a succession of taut erections...

"I guess you'll have to," I said. "I think they'll leave Rebecca — well, leave her unfucked, that is — if they get to do you instead. The only thing is, "I went on, "I want to fuck you, too — and I want to be first!"

She pushed her pussy hard down on my hand.

"You'd better do it quick, then," she gasped, "or you might find Abdul's in there before you!"

I looked over to where Abdul was sitting. Sure enough, his eyes were firmly fixed on Miriam. I realized he hadn't twigged what my hand was up to, though, although he had to be aware that she was more than a little turned on ... He looked as though he was going to rise up at any moment.

"Come over on to my lap!" I commanded Miriam, and, without hesitation, she lifted her buttocks and, before sliding over to me, quickly seized her panties and pushed them down her thighs. I reached down and pulled them over her ankles as she shifted sideways and sank on to my crotch.