Joining a Harem Ch. 01

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It all began innocently enough. At 18 I had left my high school town in Arizona to move to where I would attend college. I went about a month early to try and find a job and ended up landing a gig as a liquor promotions girl that you might see at retail stores, bars, and events.

The guy that hired me was this good lucking man in his early thirties who looked over my résumé (and required headshot) and brought me in a day later to interview. He took one look at me and I knew I was going to get the job. At 5’5″ I cut an impressive figure; I was maybe 98 lbs., had the Arizona tan that comes from a lifetime of active sun exposure that guys seemed to like. My legs were supple but firm, I had the perfect ass (especially in the jeans I’d be wearing for the liquor gig): firm but rounded and I made sure to sway when ever I thought a pair of eyes might be on me. My tummy was just non-existent, taught and soft, and I had D-cup breasts that I always squeezed in to C-cups for dramatic effect. I think most guys liked my face and hair even more. I had a boyfriend that described my face as “cute and elfish.” I didn’t think much of that at first but he said, “No it’s angular and sexy.” Whatever that means! The oldest guy I ever hooked up with in high school was 32 and he said his favorite part of me was actually my hair. It was really long, down to my lower back, and naturally blonde.

On my first night of promotions I wore brown cowgirl boots, these skin tight jeans that had sequin around the hips and teen porno back thighs, and just a white bandana t-shirt. No bra with the shirt but I also couldn’t wear any panties with the jeans, for one thing they were so tight it would’ve been too much going on underneath and they were cut so low below my hips I wasn’t sure I had any that wouldn’t be sticking out all night.

To make a longer story short, on my first night a very sexy foreign guy came up to me and started chatting me up. He looked to be in his late 30’s and his skin was like milk chocolate. He was supremely confident and I didn’t have any trouble talking to him. I told him my life story and he invited me to a modeling audition if I was interested.

Two days later I arrived where he said and found about 20 other girls. We were mostly the same shape and size, average or maybe shorter height, petite, thin, and a mix of blonde, brunette and redhead. We went through some motions where we posed for a panel of other foreign men and afterward the guy I met at the bar came up to me to talk to me about a “special opportunity.” Now I’m not naïve, I thought he’d ask me to go down on him for a job or try to recruit me in to porn. Instead he told me about a “contract position” that was mine if I wanted it. He wasted no time explaining to me that I’d be a part of the harem for the heir to a country called Qumar, in the Persian Gulf. The heir was a 60-year old man whose older brother was King but had no legitimate children, so the man travesti pornp I’d be working for would take over upon his death.

The rules were fairly simple. For up to two years they would pay me a total of $300,000 US, all my expenses would be covered, and I’d be allowed to complete some University credits overseas, develop a fluency in Arabic, and meet many people who could help me with a career. In exchange I would be considered the property of the Kingdom and the “Crown Prince” in particular. There would be grooming, diet, and appearance requirements and training as well. I would also have to go for a blood test and other exams. If I agreed my first stop would be Istanbul, Turkey.

After a few days I considered the opportunity and agreed. I suspended my college admission and at the tender age of 18 was flown to Turkey to begin my contract. Now I’m a modern girl, I keep my body in good shape and well groomed. I thought the semi-annual Brazilian wax and routine shaving was enough to stay comfortable and look sexy, but the Turkish artisans plucked every hair on my body that wasn’t on my head or eyebrows. That was apparently the entire grooming requirement because after that I went through a week of “training.” I didn’t think it was going to be how to run payroll but I didn’t quite expect what it ended up being either. We were taught to hold a perfect posture, modeled on the ancient slaves of the region we’d be serving; we were taught total obedience to the Crown Prince; and tricky masseur I had a humbling education in sex. I had always thought of myself as skilled in bed but I was taught to deepthroat like I didn’t require oxygen and my virgin ass was taught not to take a full-grown cock but to at least accept intrusion to start and keep resistance in check. Other than that it was pretty light and, as my female instructor told me, “The Crown Prince would break me in beyond this, as is his pleasure.” I was taught a few other rules of the day-to-day. I would be dressed each morning to the Crown Prince’s pleasure, I would not be permitted to wear panties or a bra in his presence, when it was “my time of the month” I would be stolen away to the palace spa for rejuvenation and rest. Beyond that I was to default to swallowing the Prince’s cum unless instructed otherwise, to refer to him as “Your Highness” or “My Prince,” and to never leave the Palace grounds under penalty of death.

After a flight from Istanbul to Qumar I was taken in an armored limousine to the Palace grounds and shown to my room. A simple chamber with vanity, desk, and bed decorated in lavish silks, gold, and Cedar wood. After a nap a team of experts flooded in to prepare me for my first “viewing” with the Prince. I was dressed in only a sheer white silk dress that was very see through in the right light, as per the rules no panties or other undergarment. The dress had almost no back, it wrapped around my neck and the next material visible covered my firm little butt and then disappeared only two inches below it. They put me in white, suede pump heels, told me to remember my training and then I was off to meet a man 42-years my senior to present myself as his personal possession.

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