Hackerlife

In late 2023, the Houthi‐rebels in Yemen began threatening shipping in the southern Red Sea, attacking, hijacking or firing on ships in Bab Al Mandeb. International shipping was in trouble, so the US, UK and others targeted the Houthi with bombs and missiles in January 2024. That's just by way of introduction, because it should help you understand what I'm going to say below. But now to the main character of the whole thing.

I'm a simple merchant in Cairo, nothing big, just me and my wife Jana. I married her 4 years ago, although she's a good 25 years older, but she brought a 10 square meter place in the Grand Bazaar with her, so that's something. She's not yet 50, but her looks, the elasticity of her skin and the rest of her are already getting close to old‐timers. She still awaits me every night with open arms and there's no reason not to fuck her old, wrinkled hole. I'm not 30 yet, I just need a hole to squirt my seed into every night. That's not going so badly in itself. In the first two months, I completely turned the place upside down. I got rid of all the Chinese junk that hardly interested any tourists. I only offered first‐class Egyptian handicraft products, copper, leather and glass. And I only took things that I had seen in European magazines. It didn't take long for the store to do extremely well.

I bought a maid for around 350 American dollars, because Jana was grateful for the help around the house. Nima, a good 21‐year‐old Ethiopian, slim, jet‐black and with a small chest, spoke our Egyptian Arabic sufficiently and gave Jana a hand from day one; she couldn't complain. I had heated debates with Jana for three days because Nima had to sleep on a few dirty blankets in the storeroom. I prevailed and Nima now sleeps between Jana and me in the double bed.

Of course, you had to be careful not to be taken in by anyone on the illegal slave market. The slave trader realized immediately that I wasn't going to be cheated. "There are only two for you," he said with a connoisseur's look. The first one wasn't. She was in her early 20s, from Sudan, friendly and with a certificate from a housekeeping and cooking school. She spoke a terrible dialect and she would love to cook, for sure. She definitely didn't want to go to a brothel and that made me wonder. I took off her dress and saw the mess. She had been genitally mutilated, the labia majora had been cut away, leaving two ugly scars. The visible part of her clitoris had also been cut away. She rarely masturbated because it hurt like hell. I pressed a five‐pound‐note into her hand and shook my head, no, that wasn't it.

With a flash in his eyes, the slaver said I could test‐fuck the other one for 15 pounds, but I declined, of course. The other one, he said, was worth every penny, so she cost 500 American. It was Nima, was slim and looked very good. "I don't want a mutilated one," I reminded him. He took her cloth off, she wasn't mutilated and I looked at it very closely. I had to haggle for a while, but I got Nima for 350. On the way home I went to a friend in the bazaar and bought 4 shirts and two galabiyas, the friend burned the slave trader's rags. Nima told me her story: she was an orphan and had been a sex object for the locals from a young age, and now the head of the village had sold her to the slave trader.

Nima was very quiet and didn't disturb us while we were fucking, but Jana couldn't get used to it yet. She was very surprised that Nima masturbated openly and uninhibitedly before falling asleep. Jana had grown up as a Muslim and had learned to only masturbate in secret. Nima was Coptic, i.e. Christian, and we didn't know what the attitude was in faraway Ethiopia. I stroked Nima's young, velvety skin while she masturbated. She didn't mind at all, but Jana was quite venomous the other day. We even got into a very emotional discussion because I suspected that Nima could fuck much more passionately than she did, the old bitch. I wouldn't have been so provocative if my thoughts hadn't been constantly revolving around fucking Nima. I hadn't spoken a word to Nima about it or done more than just caress her soft, wonderful skin.

The argument got deep under Jana's skin and she seemed to want to refuse to fuck for the first time. Because of what. I didn't say a word, I put my hand haltingly on Nima's masturbating hand and lay gently on top of her. Her eyes smiled, she grabbed my cock and forcefully inserted it into her pussy hole. I was surprised at how tight and firm her pussy was inside, I only knew Jana's pussy, she was my first wife. We fucked for quite a long time, I could feel her excitement rising and she felt for her clit. I nodded in agreement, "go ahead, Nima, it's okay for me." I felt masturbating "from the inside" for the first time, it felt exciting. Jana told me once that she of course masturbated, but she never did it in my presence. I was fucking to my final spurt when I felt Nima's race to orgasm. I fucked her hard in her orgasm and squirted afterwards. I lay next to her gasping for breath, we were panting after the exertion and gradually calming down. Jana demonstratively turned her back to both of us and switched off the light. She didn't talk about it and neither did I. I fucked Nima every night and once a week I fucked Jana before fucking Nima when she took the initiative. The two women quickly became close, caressing and kissing each other. I didn't know that about Jana either, how strong her lesbian tendencies were. I was triggered by their wild kissing and clitrubbing, it was a good arrangement for the three of us. That's all said, let's move on to the main topic.

As a good Muslim, I didn't drink wine, because that's what it says in the Koran. I asked the Imam what the Koran says about cognac? He knew the scripture by heart and replied, not a single word about cognac. I didn't ask any further, I had my answer. After 3 cognacs my tongue loosened and I told anecdotes and purrs, after another 3 cognacs I even told government secrets, which of course our barber knew. After another 3 cognacs, I even tell how my mother sacrificially threw herself in front of my little sister Ayla because I was threatening to fuck the screaming 9‐year‐old.

Of course, my father knew that I was fucking his wife, because, of course, she had told him straight away, but he just shook his head when she pulled me by the sleeve into the marriage bed and fucked me in front of him — that didn't happen in his days. Even the scriptures didn't help him, they often talked about husband and wife, what they were allowed to do and what not. But mother and son? Not a single word. I didn't know that back then as a boy, I enjoyed fucking with great satisfaction and gratitude. My little sister sat sulking next to me, yellow with envy and tearing at her clit because her big brother was already allowed to fuck and she wasn't yet. But to be honest, she was never a desirable fucking object. I always watched her with lust when she masturbated and she watched me and sometimes she was allowed to rub my cock while I squirted. She tasted my semen once with the tip of her tongue, "mhh, that tastes good!" and from then on she masturbated me right in front of her lips and squirted my semen into her mouth. The bigger she got, the bigger her grin was when she swallowed my semen. The little one masturbated diligently when we big ones fucked, but she turned demonstratively to the wall and turned her back to us when she gave herself the rest.

I had cleverly arranged it, clever as 13‐year‐olds are. I instructed my little sister very precisely, I stuck my cock deep into the 9‐year‐old's pussyhole, who then hadn't been a virgin since a long time and she grinned because it didn't hurt and it tickled so much when I squirted inside without any fucking, which the little girl loved very much. Ayla had put my cock inside her hole and masturbated wildly, and when she had her orgasm, it triggered my squirting immediately without fucking. We had been doing this squirting without fucking for quite a while because we both enjoyed it. But now I had a plan, but Ayla, my sister, was quite sure that my stupid plan wouldn't work with our mother. But Ayla went along with it and screamed like a spit, grinning. She called for help and my mother rushed into the nursery in alarm and pulled my cock out of the little girl. She shooed the little one away, threw herself on the bed and spread her legs. "Come on, you wildling!" she shouted with a wild grin and I was allowed to fuck her straight away and squirt until I had emptied my seed. She said that was okay for her, but I wasn't allowed to fuck the sister, ever! I nodded, my plan was working better than I had hoped. I was allowed to fuck her every day, she no longer had a period and could no longer have a baby. And it was just training, she insisted, we were only fucking so that I was prepared for marriage, understand? I nodded and the arrangement lasted 12 years until my father was able to set me up with Jana.

I graduated from British school with honors, father had invested well in me. I just couldn't find a job, dad threw the correspondence in the bin. "I didn't send you to the best school in the country to get you a job as an elevator boy!" he shouted at the wastepaper basket. I stayed at home, read thousands of books and usually I fucked her hard three times every afternoon. Dad only looked up from his papers for a moment. He could have watched the fucking, but he got bored of it in the long run.

She fucked in a way all her own. She placed her fingers on her labia, both thumbs pressing on her clitoris from the side, rubbing hard up and down. Her body trembled and shook, she swallowed the orgasm in passing and only her thumbs held still for a moment before she continued. "I'm ready, you can go!" she whispered softly. Before I squirted inside, she pulled her labia completely apart and opened her hole wide with her index fingers. She explained to me that this was the only way she could physically enjoy the squirting jets. Of course, I always realized that all the talk about training was just chatter.

She just loved fucking and her husband agreed, "she doesn't fuck everyone in town like a whore, does she?" the father smiled, "that's quite all right, you can have my wife now, no problem. I fuck her in the evening when my old bone is itching and I don't think you'll mind, I'm happy to share her with you, son. She's a damn good teacher and you can learn a lot from her. And at night, when we're both asleep, she masturbates greedily like a 14‐year‐old, you and I don't even realize that. But you won't get my fortune until I'm dead and buried." I thanked him with a smile because the deal was very advantageous for both of us, probably all three of us. I could see how much she liked coming to training and how closely she paid attention to whether I was ready to dance again, even if it was the fifth dance of the afternoon. Wanking was for losers.

After fucking on the marriage bed in the hot afternoon, I usually sat down next to my father on the small wooden bench behind his little table and we both watched her masturbate when she wasn't finished yet or when she was already finished and dozing with her legs open. He almost always ended the silence with the same words when she was finished and dozing a little, "Isn't she a beautiful woman, my son?" and I nodded in agreement, but I didn't say a word, because he usually took off his glasses, put an arm around my shoulder and talked about the old days.

"I was born in my parents' marital bed and remained there," my father began his tale, "my father had already stopped fucking my mother during her pregnancy. He was a real sheikh and already an old man when he fathered me. My mother was a very God‐fearing, faithful and chaste girl in those days and I never saw her do anything other than masturbate my father with her hand and let him squirt in her mouth. I thought it was "normal married life" back then, when I was young. She crawled over me to my father, did him quickly and crawled back over me. As long as I couldn't squirt, she stopped above me, pressed her pussy on my stiff cock and wiggled a little back and forth. By the time I could squirt, she was confused every time I squirted and she stopped making me squirt like that after some weeks. When she was sure that father and I were asleep, she would masturbate quietly, furtively and hastily every night, because that was yuck! Even as a 5‐year‐old I knew exactly how she masturbated at night, but I didn't say a word. Sometimes my dick would get hard and she would stroke my chest and face until the stiffness was gone. She crawled to my father less and less often, he was getting older and older. Me too, I wanted to masturbate, but she wrestled with me vigorously. Sometimes I was stronger, she would stare at my masturbating right in front of her face, then she would take over and made me squirt on my belly. She scolded very quietly so as not to wake the father, then she licked my semen off my stomach and licked my cock clean. If it was still stiff, she rubbed it like my father's and let the semen squirt directly into her mouth. The bigger and stronger I got, the more often she wanted to rub my cock and make me squirt in her mouth.

She must have talked it out with father at some point, because one night when we had gone to bed, he said with the gravitas of the sheikh, that he had heard that I was going around with a gang of ragamuffins and fucking young women in packs. I had to confess everything to him, the young women were widows who lured us into the house with glowing, greedy eyes and let the whole pack fuck them, one after the other, until we could take no more. Sometimes we forced young girls to let the whole pack fuck her and we didn't care that she cried because we had dishonored her. We only fucked her and didn't dishonor her, I assured my father. He looked rather cross and said his son would never be a ragamuffin, we were a decent and respectable family! So he had decided that I should never go to the ragamuffins again and that if I got an urge or if there was any seed pressure, which was quite normal at my age, then I should let my mother teach me how to fuck and train me until I got married. He turned to the wall and fell asleep. He was already in his late 70s at the time and my mother was much younger, maybe 35.

She had not fucked anyone but my father since she had received me, never, but I suspected she missed it very much, because I saw her every night masturbate secretly. She stroked my stiff cock and whispered, "I'll show you how to fuck and we'll practice daily until you get married, that's what the sheikh has decided. And it goes like this. I make your cock really hard with my lips and tongue. Then you insert it slowly and gently into my fuckhole, but you only fuck gently and without violent thrusting. I do it to myself with both thumbs and when I'm done, you can fuck me hard and powerfully. When I realize that you like to squirt, I spread my labia completely apart and make my hole big, so you can squirt into it and I can feel the hot jets squirting inside. Okay?" My father, the sheikh, put his glasses and book aside. "Oh, you're starting now, that's good!" He turned to the wall, he wasn't a voyeur.

I nodded, because I'd been quite adept at fucking since I was a ragamuffin, so I did it right from the first time. I could feel how finely she licked and sucked me with her lips and tongue. It was the first time I had experienced this and it was wonderful. I fucked very slowly and lightly, watching her thumbs rubbing up and down the side of her clit. Lightly at first, then faster and then harder. Her breathing became shallow and she held her breath as the orgasm flashed across her face like lightning. She expelled the air and breathed, "I'm done, you can go now!" I fucked quickly and powerfully, she smiled and enjoyed being fucked. All at once she pulled her labia wide apart, her index fingers hooked left and right into her fuckhole and she widened her hole. It triggered my squirting, I squirted jet after jet with all my strength and a radiant smile spread across her face. "Wow, that was nice!" she breathed and put her index finger over her lips. "Please don't look at me now, it really turned me on and I have to do it right away!" I nodded and lay down so that I could see everything clearly. She really loved being fucked by me and I often pulled her onto the bed to fuck during the day. The sheikh nodded very contentedly when we fucked two or three times during the night. She put her index finger over her lips, when she wanted to masturbate after fucking, because she masturbated every night before falling asleep. I married your mother when I was 28 and I continued to fuck her daily with your mother's consent for a good 10 years after our wedding. That's pretty much my story, my son!"

It was a few weeks later he told me my mother's story too. Her grandfather, my great‐grandfather, had taken her virginity before she was even 12, he couldn't wait. She had to fuck him every night until his loins went limp. She was immediately passed on to her father, my grandfather, and she had to fuck him every night too, as often he could. It was normal for her, she felt neither shame nor remorse, she just did what the wise, older men had taught her. I was allowed to marry her when she was 17, because our fathers knew each other from the Grand Council of the Sheikhs. Just as I lay with my mother every day, she lay with her father until his manhood waned and dried up. When you were old enough to approach your little sister indecently, it was clear to both of us that she had to train you in fucking and keep you off the streets. I wasn't ungrateful, she's 11 years younger than me and still needs it badly, even if my strength is fading. I'm glad that you don't fuck around like the dishonorable ragamuffin boys and that you give my wife great sexual pleasure, she says that to me again and again. It was important to me that you know the causes and the story of how it came about, because you not only have exuberant loin power, but also an alert mind."

One day I asked my mother what she did about masturbating? She looked at my father, who had fallen asleep over his books. "We have to be quiet, my son, he doesn't know anything about it! Shortly after the wedding I told him that my pussy was buzzing and humming like a beehive after I'd been fucked. He smiled and said, "you need an orgasm, my lovely heart!" I didn't know what an orgasm was at the time. He explained it to me. "When we fuck, you press a finger really hard on your clit and I fuck you really hard. You'll then feel the bumblebees buzzing and when they make their way in an explosion, press on the clit a few times and release the bumblebees!" I nodded and then we did it just like that. He's a good fucker, your Dad, and he gave me an orgasm or two every week. That's how I learned what an orgasm was.

My first lesbian experience was with Leyla. I asked her what she was doing to me and she smiled, "I'm going to masturbate you until you have an orgasm!" I was almost dying of pleasure, I can tell you that! Then she dived down, her tongue searching for my clit, and I asked what she was doing now? She laughed. "I'm going to lick your clit until you orgasm!" I'd never been licked before and I died in a thousand pleasures, I can tell you that! I learned it very quickly and licked her too. It was one of the hottest weeks of my life.

We got talking about masturbating and she almost couldn't believe that I couldn't masturbate yet. Leyla said that she masturbated in two different ways, while fucking and when she did it alone at night. "I'll show you," she said and went out naked and brought in her 12‐year‐old son. Malek had a little boy cock, but he was already allowed to fuck Leyla. She ordered me to spread Malek's legs apart and pay close attention to how they were doing it. My heart was pounding because I'd never seen anyone fuck before.

Malek's cock thrust and thrust and I watched Leyla masturbate the side of her clit with both thumbs. It was fantastic. They did it three times in a row and Malek had to go. The next afternoon I was supposed to try it. I told Malek not to fuck me properly, just to pretend. I barely felt his cock and concentrated on my thumbs, it worked! The orgasm was only a very small and light one, but when it was finished I noticed how little Malek was straining. I felt him cum and pulled out his little cock. Keep rubbing, Leyla ordered, and I rubbed the little one until he had finished squirting.

Leyla reprimanded me, saying I shouldn't rip his cock out so brutally, it would hurt him. I nodded and we practiced three or four times every afternoon. I soon became very adept at triggering my light orgasms with my thumbs and when Malek started to squirt, I pulled his cock out very carefully. Pull out more slowly, Leyla commanded. I pulled his cock out very slowly and let him squirt while I pulled his cock out very slowly, it didn't matter."

I wasn't quite satisfied yet and tormented her, I really wanted to know what the other masturbation, the one at night, was like. I begged and tormented her a lot, she looked at my father, but he was asleep. She looked at me with cat eyes and nodded. "It's my secret thing, son! First I have to wake the bumblebees," she said, "I'll stroke the clit from underneath, like I'm stroking the cats throat." I watched and she said after a while, "Now the bumblebees are buzzing, so I'll tease them until they almost go crazy!" and she rubbed and tugged very hard on her clit for a long while. "And now, and now, now I'll let them fly, the bumblebees!" she breathed very softly, "now you mustn't disturb me in any way!" Now she started, and how! I held my breath, she worked her clit like crazy and let the bumblebees fly!

I laughed freely and hugged her after her orgasm. She asked why I was laughing and I replied, "because you do it just like Ayla, only not as fast." Now she sat up and I had to confess everything. How I had to push my cock into Ayla as far as it could go, how she masturbated fast, furiously fast and her orgasm started my squirting without fucking her, because her mother had strictly forbidden that! Yes, we did it for a few weeks, a few months perhaps.

The mother laughed uproariously and put her hand over her mouth so as not to wake my father. "The little beast was no longer a virgin," she said, "I caught her in the garden letting Faruk, who was about 12, fuck her. I pulled Faruk off her, I put him over my knees, pulled his pants all the way down and spanked his ass. I could feel his hard‐on hitting my pussy with every stroke, and in the end the stupid guy squirted all over my pussy! I was outraged, but the two of them provoked me the very next day. I put the cheeky guy over my lap, pulled up my skirt and slapped him hard on the ass. He kept trying to push his cock into my hole with every stroke, and in the end he succeeded and squirted cheekily inside. So it went on day after day, I pounded his ass and he cheekily stuck his cock in my hole to squirt inside with a cheeky grin. Yes, I first let him penetrate my hole deeply and he grinned cheekily and slyly, then I slapped his ass really hard with my flat hand and felt how each stroke was transferred from his cock to my hole. He started moaning when he cummed and then finished cumming. Damn, we both enjoyed it! I finished as one day Ayla danced around in circles clapping her hands, "he squirted inside, he squirted inside!"

So, one more cognac and I'll get to the main topic. Of course, you'll have to think of something new, because the Suez Canal thing is already over.

1. The banks. The first step was to set up an account with several banks, which forwarded each incoming payment to the next. From the Egyptian to the Swiss, to the Caribbean and back to Egypt. I tested the process several times, with small amounts of around 100 Egyptian pounds. That worked.

2. The donors. A German tourist had left a PM‐magazine in my store months ago. The special edition was for travelers to Egypt and also contained information about the Suez Canal. From the addresses given there, I scoured the Internet until I had about 40 contacts. I now worked on them specifically, I was a well‐informed group of business people that I could name from my list who had good contacts in Yemen. It was possible to bribe the Yemenis with a good handful of dollars so that they would stop attacking shipping under pressure from the Americans, and of course they would officially continue to spread the propaganda. I researched on the internet how many nice dollars a single day of Suez Canal downtime cost when a Taiwanese freighter was stuck in the canal for weeks. In comparison, it was a very cheap and quick solution, I said emphatically. There was no time to lose. I kept detailed logs of my conversations in case there were any queries, but there were none. I relied on them phoning each other to find out that they and everyone else in the "group" had been asked for hefty donations. So everyone knew one, two and more who were considering the donations. The whole thing was plausible and exactly how business is done in this country.

3. Pushing. I called several medium‐sized ones, where is the money? The Yemenis and the Americans had exchanged more missile strikes, so I was able to push through pressure and urgency. The big ones found out that some had already donated. I saw the money arriving and called the big guys. It's urgent, the money won't be enough, please top it up!

4. Failures. I wrote off those small and medium‐sized companies that didn't donate. Because there is definitely no third call. The second call is called "pushing" in Arabic, the third "despair". It showed me again the fine art of Arab traders, who already knew this when their letters were still being carried from town to town on camelback.

5. The investigation. The Egyptian authorities are, of course, equipped with the latest technology, but they still have the civil servants from before, so they're on their backs. Of course, they soon found out that I had been on the phone to the people concerned. However, I had wisely invited a French couple who were planning to sail around the world to dinner twice and peppered them with questions about the Suez Canal that they would not forget. I should perhaps have included it under point 1a, but you don't give away all your tricks straight away. The investigators called the people on the ship, who anchored at the Gamasa peninsula north of Hurghada and waited to see how things developed at Bab Al Mandeb. They were able to confirm to the investigators, two dinners and only Suez and the Suez Canal. They had received a lot of information from me, yes. The French wanted to know what it was all about, but that was an investigative secret. I was excused, vindicated and innocent, I knew it!

5a. The banking secrecy. I had quite rightly assumed that the Swiss banks did not disclose banking secrecy. When the Americans called, they did — but Egypt wasn't anywhere near the US. This is where the thread ended. Whether it was because every senior apparatchik in Egypt was storing their black money in Switzerland, I don't know and I didn't care, but someone higher up didn't want a war with the Swiss banks. The thread broke at the first breaking point, the Caribbean Bank was just an additional breaking point, just in case. Conclusion: the money could be traced all the way to Switzerland, but that was the end of it. The policeman, whom I knew well from his wedding, let me buy him a few drinks at the Sheraton and lamented to me how unreasonable the Swiss were.

5b. The hereditary uncle. I had already thought about how I would answer when the criminologists asked me one fine day where I had gotten the money? This was the shakiest part of my plan, but it was better than nothing. I had a distant uncle in the south, in the town of Sohag. I had to phone him several times until the net was cast. He had a brother who had emigrated to Australia 30 years ago and who had been missing ever since. He was supposed to have died by now and he had left me, his favorite nephew, his fortune. I gave the uncle in Sohag 75,000 American dollars, which he used to buy three townhouses. And it was clear why he didn't inherit anything from his brother, they had fallen out over a girl. The girl let them both fuck her and took all the money out of their noses. I called him several times until I could be sure that he believed the story himself. He would tell everyone at the regulars' table, that was also very good. And the fact that the police might question him didn't scare him in the slightest.

6. The watering can. I had set up a dozen accounts at the banks in Cairo via randomly selected straw men, I was listed as the sole beneficiary, the straw man got his money and registered as not being authorized for anything. This was not an unusual or special procedure, everyone had such a morganatic account, a left‐hand account to hide their money from their wife or family. When the authorities made an inquiry, the programs searched for the owner only, so they were never discovered. The loot was now well hidden, just under 27 million dollars.

7. Thank your wife! We only had two accounts, Jana and me. I transferred her 500,000 dollars, I kissed the top of her head and told her to invest it wisely, it was her insurance for her old age. I had made some very good deals, she knew that. She wasn't surprised for a moment at how much it was. But it was rather a commendable act to give my wife some of the inheritance, because she knew about the Australian inheritance too.

Jana actually suggested one day that I should marry Nima as a second wife, which was not recognized by the law, but was recognized by society and the religious community. I waited six months until I was safely off the radar of the investigators. I married Nima and all three of us moved into a larger apartment, where Jana again had a domestic help, which she liked, I liked less.

I had only been married to Jana for a few months when my sister Ayla turned up at the bazaar one day. She had a huge problem and only I could help her. She was now 21 and had been married to a very rich sheikh for two years. He was a good, kind and loving husband‐grandpa in his late 70s. Ayla really wanted a child, but it was no longer possible to do more than masturbate the old, shriveled cock in front of her pussyhole and let him squirt a very few drops of semen from the outside into her pussy by hand, because the old man could no longer get a hard cock and had just a few drops, draining at last, becoming less and less. She had spoken to her husband for a long time, he was understanding and understood her desire to have children, but there was no way he was going to let a complete stranger into her pussy. He feared for his all‐important reputation. So she came up with the idea. I followed Ayla into her bedroom. The snotty, ugly brat had turned into a pretty young woman. "Please make me a baby, please, dear brother!" I gave it my all, of course, and she rewarded me during the break by masturbating in the same way she used to in our nursery and letting me watch and get horny again. We fucked every afternoon and I squirted my semen into her hole twice a day for 8 weeks until she was finally pregnant. We had a beautiful, strong son and she was just as happy as the sheikh, who asked no dumb questions. Ayla, who had a young, sex‐hungry body and she rewarded me much for fucking my old‐timer Jana, let me fuck her hard every afternoon. She went on to have 4 cute daughters and I was a happy secret father.

Ayla, who had been hiring cute 16 or 17‐year‐old au pairs from Europe ever since the first child, naturally noticed my greedy glances at the girls' cleavage and up their skirts. She knew exactly what she could do to keep me chained to herself for years. She received me in her bedroom, the naked young girl lying with her back on her naked mistress. She embraced the girl from behind with both arms, gently and tenderly, and held her tightly when I came into view with a stiff cock. Neither Ayla nor I cared about our victim's protests, cries and whimpers, Ayla could feel a bit sadistic and I could feel like a predator. She pressed the frightened girl's legs apart with her heels. She masturbated the girls clit really masterfully, the girl gazing at my cock in front of her pussy like a hypnotized rabbit, the arousal coming quickly up, making her wanting it, immediately! Ayla smiled at me to signal the start. Surprisingly many of the Au‐Pair‐girls were purely physically virgins, I deflowered her with a quick jerk in midst of her orgasm and fucked her as hard as I could. That tactic worked always perfectly. Later it was no longer necessary to hold the girl down, she was happy to let me fuck her. Most of them didn't orgasm during fucking, but after fucking they were so aroused that they let Ayla lick their clit to a liberating orgasm. Ayla never told me where she had learned lesbian lovemaking and clit licking, but I could see how eager she was for it. Of course, she made sure that I didn't impregnate the girl and she had a very good sense of when a girl was due for deflowering or fucking. Not a single one complained.

Jana gradually lost interest in fucking, which wasn't entirely wrong for me. I fucked Nima every night and we usually watched Jana masturbate, she always made it very exciting and obscenely hot. I taught Nima correct Arabic language as well as reading and writing. She had only had very few school lessons, we sat together four days a week and studied. Three days I was in the bazaar, three days Jana and on Friday we were closed. Business went well, both Jana and I were much more relaxed, because the wealth in the background made us feel relaxed.

We didn't think for a minute about selling the store. It was incredibly reassuring to no longer have to look at the takings and scrape together the coins at the back and front. Nevertheless, we remained the same merchants as before. I admired Jana, who had been much better taught about trading at home. She knew a lot about investing and shares and was now increasing her retirement savings very skillfully and considerably. "Money that sits in the bank gets rusty and rotten!" was one of her sayings. I asked her for advice on what to do with money, much more money. For her it was just a mind game, I learned and moved the money that neither she nor Nima knew about. And should I step down early, they would get everything in equal shares.

For the first time in my life, I was vacationing like the tourists. I booked the presidential suite in a beach hotel in Hurghada for 4 weeks. Jana was happy to stay in the store, "go on, you young things! It's your honeymoon!" was her friendly comment. She didn't need a vacation at the moment, she liked doing business better than lying on the beach and scratching in the sand. I'm determined to show Nima the good side of life. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn we're flying.

One more cognac, then off to bed!

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