5 Beds to Mecca by Gardner F. Fox

Author:Gardner F. Fox [Fox, Gardner F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sexy spy, Action Adventure, bad girl, cold war, Erotica, female heroine, femme fatale, pulp paperback novel, spys, Vintage Sleaze
Publisher: Gardner Francis Fox Library
Published: 2018-12-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter FIVE

My turn came after close to two hours of frantic bidding. Josefa was knocked down to an emir living in the Zagros Mountains of Iran. Caterina was bought by somebody named Maruf Kassim, a desert Sheikh. Titsa went to an oil-rich Sheikh, Habib ibn Masrak.

There was only little old me left.

I was brought out onto the stage by the two pretty girls who had disrobed the others. They looked at my western style clothes a little doubtfully. I gathered neither of them knew a bra-clasp from a Talon zipper.

The girls put their hands on my David Crystal dress, searching for a way to open it. I had been right about Talon zippers. They knew from nothing about them. I guess they figured it was some kind of stupid American decoration.

So I pushed them away. I'd done a strip of sorts back in London a case or two ago, only that was something special, done with gimmicks. What I had to do was sell myself to the right guy by putting on a strip act of my own, right here and now.

I put my hands behind me to the middle of my dress and drew down the zipper. The girls stared goggle-eyed. So did the customers, because my back was facing them and as the zipper went down they got a load of my soft, creamy back bisected by the black strap of my Accentuette brassiere.

I let the dress slide forward on my arms and then I turned slowly, wiggling my shoulders. The wiggle made the dress slide down my arms. It also came close to letting my size 38, D cup breasts shake out of their black lace containers. They began yelling and pounding their feet, I went on shaking my boobs and sliding the sleeves of my dress past my wrists.

I held the dress at my navel and strutted across the stage. The auctioneer was watching me with bulging eyes, his sales pitch completely forgotten. As I strutted, I lifted the skirt of my black dress upward slowly, teasingly.

Men are men the whole world over. The sight of my gams in the taut nylons as my skirt went upward raised the blood pressures in close to a hundred Arab male bodies. They stared, they called on Allah, they swore that one of the houris had escaped from Paradise.

When my bare thighs showed above my stocking-tops, I thought a couple of them might pass out. I strutted, I wriggled, I spread my arms and let go of my dress. I gave the boys a few bumps and grinds. The dress slid down to my hips.

I lifted the skirt up until hem and collar met around my girdled middle. I had on an Olga creation that was sensational in black lastex against the creamy Drum body, especially since a couple of lace-frilled garters depending from it held up those taut nylons on the Drum legs. Black lace garters on white thigh-flesh. You can imagine.

No panties, naturally. I did a high kick and the boys went nuts.

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