1. High End Hooker


    Date: 6/29/2015, Categories: Anal, Author: pentup47, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    during the day!" That clinched it. The piss-loving little poof marched me down to the dais just as the photo-shoot was breaking up, narrowly avoiding a nasty head-on collision with the ample-bossomed US Lady President, who was earnestly pressing flesh. "Tariz! Remember me? Tristran Wildeblood? Her Majesty's Foreign & Commonwealth Office?" Tristran's arm shot out for a hand-shake, but Tariz stared down at it as if it was a stale kipper. "I guided four of your domestric staff through Immigration at Heathrow Airport last summer?" A sort of half-recollection of the incident registered on the big man's face. "They were about to be sent to the Detention Centre at Hounslow?" Now the penny had dropped and Tariz beamed, bellowing out: "Of course! Now I remember! And I never had time to thank you, Tristran!" He slapped my companion heartily on the shoulder. He still hadn't even glanced at me. "When are you returning to Lond?" he asked. "We've got a government charter jet out for tomorrow at 8.00a.m. You?" "Sadly, I must fly to Baku, Azerbaijan, tonight. Problems with my investments there." Then he brightened up. "But then I shall have a whole week chilling out in Regent's Park. Tell you what..." For the first time, the Libyan's gimlet-like gaze moved across to check me out. Up and down. Mentally undressing me on the spot. "I'm having a little cocktail party for a few friends in Cumberland Terrace on Saturday evening. Why not come along, and bring this delightful young lady with ...
    you?" Tristran gently nudged me. "I'm so sorry, I didn't introduce you two. Tariz al-Majarif: may I present Miss Christina Valdez? Tina is from Uruguay." The Libyan bear half-turned to go as a black-suited minder took his arm. "I hope to see a lot more of you on Saturday night, Senorita Valdez." He smiled lecherously as he was led away. * * * * * The minder from Geneva magically appeared on the pavement, as our taxi pulled up in front of the Libyan billionaire's mansion in Regent's Park. I'd decided to dress somberly - on the outside, at least. I wore a dove grey, pencil-line shot silk two-piece suit, a cream silk blouse and black patent leather half-heels. But underneath this conservative attire was a different world entirely. One reserved for exclusive use and abuse by Tariz al-Majarif. My hidden exotic lingerie included black fishnets, fastened by pink satin suspenders to an emerald green and purple satin basque, with a cheeky, pearl-lined silver lame half-cup bodice and silver glitter shoulder straps. I looked like $1-million - which happened to be my 'target fee' for the night! Gently taking my elbow, Tristran smoothly guided me into the huge entrance hall, in which more than a hundred noisy guests were assembled. A string quartet of glamorous young ladies was playing up on a balcony. Waiters drifted through the throng, bearing trays of delicious canapes and within minutes of our arrival, a beaming Tariz was at our side, proffering two champagne flutes. After one or two ...
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