Chapter 4: The Return

Meanwhile in the Embassy, the ex-Ambassador's wife was appalled to find that she was locked in a small bare room, and her tongue had indeed been bound tight with string and that the string was getting tighter as it got damper. Her daughter was in the Ambassador's study with the Acting Ambassador, Khalid Hourani, and was not enjoying the experience.

"Strip," he ordered her.

"Why?" she whined, "What is happening?"

"You heard His Magnificence, the Emir Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, say that I was to protect you personally until a new Ambassador arrives. Well I shall do that. His Magnificence also said you needed training and that is the first thing I shall do. Now strip as you were instructed."

When she had, reluctantly, taken off her Western dress and the brassière and knickers it concealed he roughly pulled her to the desk. Sweeping the papers on to the floor, he pressed her face down on to it. Holding her in position with one hand he started her training.

SLAP!

His free hand came down hard on her bare buttock, leaving a beautiful red imprint where it had landed and making her sob. As she sobbed her buttocks quivered invitingly. Khalid Hourani was not slow to accept that invitation.

SLAP!

The white buttock changed colour to match its fellow. Khalid Hourani could not contain his lust any longer. Beating this girl would not be as good as fucking her, especially if she were truly a virgin. He mother was fit only for beating and that pleasure awaited him.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked the still sobbing girl.

"Yes, Master," she replied, hoping that this might save her.

Actually it was true, just. One of her boyfriends at college had fingered her to orgasm and she had given him blow-jobs, but she had always managed to put off full intercourse, although he had wanted it.

"Not for much longer," said her temporary Master, freeing his engorged weapon from his shalwar, "Were you oiled for the Emir?"

"Y-yes, Master. Oh please don't ... Please!" she begged.

"Please don't what?" he inquired, "If I am not to do something, I need to know what it is."

"Please don't ... don't ... do me," she managed.

"Do you? Be more specific. Be exactly precise, if you want me not to do something," he was enjoying this.

"Please," her voice was higher now as she became more agitated, "Please don't fuck me."

"What is 'fuck'?" asked her tormentor, "I don't know this word."

She realised exactly what he wanted, and knew her pleas were in vain, but on she went, "Please don't put your thing in my belly."

"What thing?"

"Your ... your penis."

"You mean like this?" he asked as he thrust it into her vagina to the hilt.

She screamed as her hymen burst and she felt an invasion for the first time in her life. And yet, and yet, there was something satisfying about it.

"Sorry," he said, "I slipped."

He pulled out of her vagina and adjusted his aim, driving the head into the narrower, darker passage and causing her to scream much louder.

"Hold still, or it really will hurt," he warned.

Pushing hard he managed to get most of his penis into the narrow hot tunnel which felt so delightful. And this was the bitch who wouldn't even speak to him most of the time.

"That's nice," he said, as though remarking on the flavour of a cream cake, "I shall enjoy this regularly, I think."

He pumped in and out for a little while and she calmed down a bit, though it still hurt and she was sure he had torn her sphincter. Then he withdrew and plunged again into her cunt. That was so much less painful that she found herself quite enjoying it, and as he reached under her and played with her clitoris, she had a small orgasm in spite of the pain still smarting in her rectum. The two spanks on her arse cheeks had been forgotten, but not by Khalid Hourani.

Eventually she felt his penis expand and judder inside her as he came. When he withdrew his cock was covered in pink-tinged semen and she was oozing a mixture of blood, oil and natural fluids from both entrances. Then came the final indignity.

Pushing her to the floor he commanded, "Lick it clean."

She tried, she really tried, but the smell and taste were just too much and as he thrust himself into her mouth she gagged and threw up her lunch all over his kameez and the carpet. He looked at her with disgust and marched out, leaving the Embassy guards to deal with her, and her mess. Seeing that she was naked, and that no orders as to her protection had been given, the two guards assumed she was on offer to all and sundry. They availed themselves of her torn orifices for quite some time before putting her into the next confinement room to her mother.

On the aircraft the Emir turned to Hajji Kofi Natsheh and asked, "Are all of my Embassies as badly run as that one?"

The old diplomat took a deep breath; he had been dreading this moment. He could easily suffer the same fate as the Ambassador, or worse, he could be turned out into thin air at thirty-eight thousand feet, rather than merely finding himself penniless and stateless on the streets of London.

"Master," he said, "I admit my fault in this matter. I will appoint an older man who is a traditionalist to London, and I will inspect all the other Embassies personally."

"Correction," said the Emir, "I will appoint my Ambassador to London as the Emir has always done. You have only ever given advice on the matter. Whom do you suggest for the post?"

"Master, I must consult my files in Kobek to select the right man for the job."

"May I put in a small suggestion?" asked the Emir sweetly, "May I suggest that you yourself are perhaps the only man I could trust to correct the situation there?"

The look of relief on Hajji Kofi Natsheh's face was hilarious. He was so obviously relieved that all he had suffered was demotion that the Emir nearly laughed aloud.

Pressing the button to summon another stewardess, also naked and who made deep obeisance, he said, "Go and ask the pilot to put us down as soon as possible. Hajji Kofi Natsheh has to return to London immediately. If Heathrow or Stansted is at all convenient, he is to go to one of those."

As she rose gracefully and scampered off he turned again to the ex-Foreign Advisor and said, "You won't miss the women at home, will you? After all you have just inherited the harem of the ex-Ambassador, though I expect that even as we speak the Acting Ambassador is deflowering the tasty daughter."

By way of reassurance, the Emir continued, "I will give you a little while before your Embassy is inspected. General Mustapha will be inspecting all of them for protocol, and the new Foreign Advisor will inspect separately for diplomatic propriety. She will be visiting you quite early in her tour."

Hardly believing his ears, the Hajji was almost apoplectic as he blurted out, "She? You can't appoint a woman. Nobody will pay any attention to her."

"Oh, I think they will. There are many women in high places in the world, and this one has impeccable royal connections. The Princess Zubeydeh will serve me well enough in that rôle, I think."

Then he retired to his stateroom to join Arin and started to play with her body, and her mind. He wondered aloud how she might fit in at the Golden Palace and whether it might not be a better idea to keep her in the aircrew for his flights. When she was thoroughly miserable and he was enjoying her attempts to keep him happy in spite of her own foreboding, there was a knock at the door and Kamal Qumsiyeh's head appeared round it.

"What is it?" asked the Emir in an annoyed tone.

"I thought my Master would wish to know that we are about to land at Stansted to allow the new Ambassador to disembark," said the Head of Protocol.

The Emir's voice positively dripped sarcasm, "Do you really think I need to intervene personally to assist the Captain with this onerous matter?"

Then a thought struck him, inspired by the abject trembling of the girl beside him.

"How much delay would it involve to get another virgin on board? For me, I mean."

"Moments, Master, no more than a minute," came the startling reply.

"You mean there's one waiting?"

"Whenever we land, there is always a complete in-flight crew standing by to take over if the Master wishes it," replied Kamal Qumsiyeh.

"Does that include a replacement Head of Protocol?"

The Emir was enjoying this. It was fun buggering about with the minds of his closest staff.

"If necessary, Master. At least, my deputy here in London will be at the airport and could act in that capacity if, by this intrusion, I have offended my Master so much."

The Emir paused as though considering this option. Arin had calmed a little; time to wind her up again.

"Have the virgin loaded on board and bring her straight to me. Then we go back home."

This was too much for Arin. She burst into tears, though she quickly controlled this.

Turning to the now sobbing woman kneeling on the bed beside him he said, "Stay exactly where you are."

Within five minutes of the aeroplane stopping at the terminal building it was moving off again. The air traffic control chaos caused by an unscheduled diversion and landing of a royal flight, with its Purple Air Lane priority, and its immediate departure again, took hours to sort out, but Emirs do not concern themselves with such things. As the 747 began to roll, the stateroom door opened and another naked beautiful Arab girl entered and made deep obeisance.

"Stand up," he said, "and go to the whipping bench please."

As soon as she had draped herself over the bench a whip came down.

CRACK!!

He had tried to vent some of his anger on her by striking viciously almost along the line of her backbone with the end of the whip curling between her arse cheeks and landing on her cunt. All her training was forgotten and a genuine scream echoed round the room as the excruciating pain bit home.

CRACK!!

The next blow was at right angles to the first and caught the sensitive crease between her buttocks and her thighs. More screams until she had no more breath to scream and was gasping for air.

CRACK!!

The third blow was across her ribcage and hard enough to draw blood. The end of the whip curled viciously on to her hanging breast, catching the nipple. Her gasps for air became more violent as her face started to turn blue. Arin stared at the colleague whom she knew quite well. This could as easily have been her, choking to death with the pain of a thrashing. They had been warned that the Emir was in a bad mood, but she had never envisaged this. Grabbing the woman up from the whipping bench by her hair, the Emir slapped her across the face and it had the desired effect; she immediately drew breath and screamed again. He threw her on the bed and lifted her legs high and wide.

Turning to Arin he said, "Guide my prick into her."

Arin moved quickly, shaking with fear. She grasped the Emir's iron-hard prick and pointed it at the labia of the still half-hysterical virgin. One mighty heave and he was in her cunt, tearing through the defences as though they were tissue paper. A couple of thrusts and he withdrew, blood following his prick as it came out, and dripping on to the bed covers. The Emir hit a bell push beside the bed and then grabbed Arin and threw her face down on the whipping bench. She was glad she had been fully oiled earlier as the Emir thrust uncaringly into her narrow arse and started pumping enthusiastically, holding her hips to control her.