About VaniaAbout Vania


“And what do you see in my future?” the stunningly beautiful girl in the sparkling yellow dress asked, her hand stretched out across to me. Conversation at the table died as I wondered what to do. I did not know this person, and here she was giving me her hand, ostensibly to read her stars. In our native country, Pakistan, this was a serious breach of inter-sex etiquette and even though many of us had experienced life overseas, this sort of behavior was not expected in public, and here we were seated in a major hotel.

Looking around, I saw the two dozen or so persons in the group waiting for my next move. “What the hell,” I figured, “she is just interested in her horoscope.” Someone had let it out at the earlier party that I had some talent in palmistry and horoscopes, and conversation at this gathering had somehow come around to the same topic.

I grasped her hand and pulled it closer, forcing her to move her chair forward, so I could get a good read. My heart missed a beat as I first held the softest, prettiest and certainly most fragrant hand ever in my life. Although a good three feet separated us across the table, her foot had come to rest next to me, and in fact I could feel the warmth from her leg going up mine. There were intricate henna patterns on her palm, which made sense given that I was attending my friend Mustafa’s, wedding. Most of the other ladies also had the same sort of adornment, in addition to copious amounts of jewelry.

“What would you like to know?” I asked, since my brain had gone blank. I had been staring unashamedly at her for the past half hour since coming over from the pre-wedding henna festivities at the bride’s house.

She gave a cute giggle and softly mouthed, “Surprise me!” This certainly perked up interest further around the table.

I gave the palm a good look, turning it left and right and squeezing to observe the various lines, trying to look real professional. I had been dabbling in palmistry for some time, but was hardly in a position to be counseling someone on their future. Still, I had gotten myself into the situation and needed to act fast.

I tried the standard Chinese fortune cookie approach, “you are going to have great happiness soon.”

“Do you mean I am not happy at the present time?” she quickly retorted, messing up my chain of thought and drawing laughter from the others.

“Tell me about my romances and admirers,” she added. Everyone began looking hither and thither, and a hush descended on the group.

“I see you have a strong person in your immediate future,” I had noted a series of prominent lines, “but I also see that there will be many admirers in your longer life.”

“My God, Mustafa, who did you bring along?” she nudged the groom to be, who was seated next to her, “he’s telling me I am going to be a naughty girl.”

“Let me introduce Shahid,” Mustafa ventured, “he works with the company we do the research work for in Saudi.”

“Nice meeting you Shahid, I see that you are quite talented,” she spoke, while giving my foot a tap with hers under the table, “it’s refreshing that you are honest with your words.”

“And by the way, this is Vania, my bride to be,” Mustafa’s words made me feel like the village idiot. I hoped for the ground to open up and swallow me whole, but Karachi was not noted for seismic activity.

It was extremely unusual for brides to join grooms between the henna ceremony and the actual wedding, and it was not surprising that I had not seen her earlier since the bride had not been on public view during the event at her house. I had been staring at my friend’s wife to be and had no answers, and I was still holding on to her.

“Excuse me Shahid,” Vania sweetly spoke, “would you mind greatly if I get my hand back!”


At the official wedding ceremony, a couple of days later, I could not keep my eyes off the stunning beauty who would soon be sharing my friend’s bed and life thereafter. Tall, fair skinned and well educated, Vania was the answer to any man’s dreams, just that the best I could do was to include her in my mental fantasies and nothing else. And true to local custom, she would be deflowered by my lucky bastard buddy after the party. I could sense that he was looking forward to the night also.

She was just so different from many of the Pakistani girls that were being introduced to me by prospective moms-in-law. For one, she was not dressed in the standard red bridal attire, opting instead for a striking azure and silver outfit that enhanced her skin tones intensely. Secondly, unlike typical Pakistani brides, she was enjoying conversations with everyone throughout the event, not being demure and silent at all. Thirdly, she was openly flirting with a number of the guys around, with one exception. To me she was proper and very aloof, only a soft “hello” having escaped her mouth when I had gone over to wish the couple.

Person after person, usually moms with prospective bride to be daughters, kept finding Escort Bayan and introducing me to all and sundry. Well, after all, with a string of degrees from abroad and a real good, high paying, tax free job with a major multinational in Saudi Arabia, I would make a swell husband for any of the girls who would be lucky enough to hook up with me. But try as I did, my mind and eyes kept wandering back to the goddess sitting next to my dear friend. It took an extreme amount of willpower to finally tear away from the main stand and involve myself in getting to know the possibilities at the event.

Luckily, I had the good fortune of running into Farah, a friend of the bride, who had flown in from the US and was also staying in the same hotel as the groom’s party. Thankfully the ceremony came to a close well past midnight, the bride and groom retiring to their room just upstairs. As most of the guests excused themselves and left for their homes, I discovered that Farah and I were almost alone. The few younger folk still around decided that it was worth visiting the coffee shop and charging the bills to the bridal suite. Farah and I tagged along for wont of anything better to do at the time.


The coffee shop had been a bad idea and given the patchy service at almost 2 a.m., the other folks bailed one after another. Farah suggested that she turn in and I offered to see that she got to her room in good shape. Surprisingly she was on the same floor as the bridal suite and my room, perhaps I should have figured that the bookings were made concurrently. In fact her room was directly opposite where I was staying.

“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?” she asked.

I was ready to join her in a wink, but clarified just in case, “what sort of nightcap?”

“Oh, I managed to bring a couple of bottles of vodka and scotch from the duty free,” she let me know, “and no one checked at customs.” She had been foolish to bring alcohol into the country, but lucky that no one at the airport or at the hotel security had found the stuff. Guess it was karma for us.

“I’ll tell you what, why do we not take the booze over to my room, the view from my window is spectacular?”

“Oh really,” she countered, “I thought you might have been more interested in another view.” Her meaning was crystal clear, but coming from a Pakistani, albeit Westernized, girl it was both strange and music to my ears.

The booze and Farah were in my room. So while my friend was well into, what I imagined would be his fourth round with Vania; I was not going to do too badly myself.

The small talk did not last for very long. Farah was mentally and emotionally charged by the heady wedding atmosphere, and by the fact that her friend was the bride and not her. We had been sitting on the two-seater sofa, sipping our scotch, when she accidentally on purpose spilled some on to my shirt.

“I am so sorry, Shahid,” she acted apologetic, “take it off and let me get that dried up.”

My shirt vanished as if it never existed but, rather than take it to the washroom or do something else to dry it, Farah began to lick the wetness that had seeped onto my chest. Slowly she worked her tongue all around my torso, taking little bites as she proceeded to heighten the sensation.

My dick was well past erect and thankfully her hands found their way to my belt and trousers. I was out of my clothes in no time at all. Pushing me back on the sofa, Farah placed my cock in her mouth and began to move her head in an ever fastening rhythm. Every so often she would stop, take out my prick and kiss the tip or lick the shaft, driving me wild. I do not know how long it took, but after an eternity, I felt my resolve dissipate and a shower of sperm hit the back of her throat. She gagged instinctively and let go, a stream of my come leaving a line across her face.

Farah picked up a napkin and wiped off her face. “Whoosh! Good thing that didn’t spoil my dress,” she commented, since I was buck naked and she was still dressed for the party. Placing her hands on my legs, she leaned forward and our mouths connected in a deep kiss. We broke off for air and she surprised me saying, “I guess you liked that, but I figure it is time to get to my room.”

“But, but…!” I stammered.

“Good night then,” she added, heading to the door.

My base instincts took over and I grabbed at her from behind. She tried to pull away, but I had her off her feet and on the bed in an instant. “Shahid, don’t,” she implored, confusing me considerably; after all she had just recently had my cock down her throat.

Her protestations had no impact on me and I sought the drawstring on her shalwar. Although faced downwards, she thrashed about as I tried my best to unclothe her. Not succeeding in finding the drawstring, I grabbed a hold of her embroidered kameez and ripped the back down almost to her waist. That wasted a real expensive piece of clothing, but also set her on fire.

Farah flipped over and pulled me down by my hair so that our lips met again, further messing up my mind. I soon had her out of her dress, which was considerably ripped in the process. It was a good thing that she had spare clothes in the room right across the corridor or it could have been a real chore explaining what happened to all and sundry.

She had sizable breasts, but the rest of her body was quite slim and well proportioned. Our bodies intertwined and our mouths joined in deep and passionate kissing. I could feel the considerable heat generating from her pussy and very soon she was good and ready. Her command, “fuck me now, fuck me,” directed me to consummate things with her.

I buried myself in her willing cunt and her response was nothing short of electric. Her legs and arms grasped me close, forcing my prick even deeper into her recesses but restricting my ability to properly move in and out. From the way she had acted just a few moments earlier, I wondered if this was her first fuck, given that the entry was very tight. Still her energetic response assured me that she had some experience in the activity. Another issue though raised its ugly head. “Uh, Farah, I am not wearing a condom!” I half whispered or perhaps half barked into her ear. She nodded her head and seemed not to care about consequences. I had tried my best to warn her, but could not control the flow of events. Although having come profusely earlier in her mouth, my body released another substantial amount of sperm and this into her pulsing nether regions. Almost spontaneously, Farah tensed and then pulled me even closer, raking my back with her substantial nails. A very notable moan, that seemed not to end, left her mouth, indicating that she had indeed reached a most satisfying climax.

“So what were you trying to tell me?” she asked sometime after we had untangled.

“I was not wearing a condom!”

“Oh, okay,” she replied, now confusing me, but indicating that she probably had other precautions already in place, “I hope you are not done!”

We were not. For the next hour or so, I fucked her less, she literally raped me more. I wondered where such a reserve or raw unsatisfied energy had come from, but was not about to turn down the blessings I was receiving in such an unexpected fashion.


“Vania and I were very close in school,” Farah confessed, “I am almost jealous of Mustafa for taking her away from me.”

Dawn had just broken and indeed the view of the sun rising from my window was spectacular. Given the late night, we figured that the rest of the wedding party would not get stirring till late in the morning, so another couple of hours together were certainly feasible.

She was lounged on my bed, looking fine in her nudity, giving me a history lesson on the bride, while sexily kicking her legs back and forth as she lay on her stomach. Her ass was very enticing and the rest of her was pretty tasty too. “Imagine birds of a feather stuck together,” I guessed, visualizing what Vania may be looking like at that very moment, probably fucked to the ends of the earth and back!

“Well I know you were at school together, Swarthmore or Vassar or something like that, an all girls’ environment.”

“Yes, someplace like that, and we were roommates for nearly three years.”

“And,” I probed, cupping one of her ass cheeks.

“And more, much more,” she retorted, stoking my curiosity.

“Such as?” I could not wait to know, and my fingers were finding her rectum, making her push back to permit some penetration.

“You’re nuts about Vania aren’t you,” she surprised me, “you were visualizing her while we were making love.”

“Why would you say that?” the assertion was 100% correct and on the mark, causing me to pull my hand away and move a bit away from her.

“It’s quite all right, Vania has that sort of magical effect on people,” she seemed quite okay with the fact of my charm for her friend, “you do not have the resources to fight off the hold she can have on persons, but do not think you are going to get into her pants.”

I was not exactly surprised to learn that three years of being roommates, in an all-female environment, had propelled Vania and Farah towards each other. For quite some time, each had provided emotional and physical comfort to the other. It was not clear if there was a more dominant or butch partner, given the striking femininity of both persons, and frankly I could not care less. Even though she had many admirers through her life, Mustafa was the first guy that Vania was going to be intimate with, Farah was more than sure of that fact. Regarding her own life and loves, she avoided to delve into the subject other than what she had said about Vania and herself and the fact that we had been screwing through the night. One thing was certain, the bride was able to cast a spell on others and while I had been with a babe myself, my thoughts kept wandering over to the suite next door.

The wedding went by, Farah and I had a couple of more nights together till she went back to the US, I was back to work, and Vania and Mustafa arrived in Saudi after their honeymoon in Malaysia.


“Hi Shahid, remember me,” the lovely lilting voice on the phone caused me to both lose my chain of thought and concurrently feel an erection coming on, “its Vania, we are now in town and I wanted to see if you were around.”

“Yeah, I’m here, welcome to Saudi,” was all I could manage to say.

“Great, we are having a party for all the friends in town this weekend,” she advised, “and I am wondering if I can ask you to help with arrangements given that Mustafa has to be away for most of the week on business.”

“You could have had the party a few days later, and how come Mustafa did not tell me you’ve been back for a bit?”

“I guess so, but this trip came up after he had already committed to it first day back to the office,” she confessed, “and to be frank, Mustafa has been a bit pre-occupied with his newfound responsibility to follow protocol!”

I could well imagine what was on his mind, probably the same thing as on mine, with the proviso that he had the outlet for his desires to be slaked.

“I also figured you would appreciate hearing from me, given that you were so nice to my friend at the wedding?” I wondered how much she actually got to hear of what Farah and I had been up to.

“And how can I be of help?”

“I figure you know all the places we would need stuff from,” she outlined her plan, “and since women cannot drive about here, you do need to come along, so be a nice chap and I will stop by at your place around 6 pm.”

Mustafa had been working in the city for some time before I had arrived. He had helped me find a nice apartment in the same building, just two floors below where he was staying. Vania did not have to travel a significant distance, but I had to get back well in time to prep up before she turned up. I was sure the place was clean, but still wasn’t confident that it was suitable for as fine a woman as her to be there. I rushed back barely minutes before she was due. Lucky for me, it was the day my cleaning service fixed the place, so everything was in the best possible shape it could be.

“Hello there, Shahid, it’s so good to see you again,” there she was standing in my apartment. I did not even remember hearing the doorbell and letting her in, “Oh do you usually leave the front door unlatched?”

“Well it is unlikely that someone will come in and rape me or something like that,” my reply was most flippant.

“And does that still apply, given that I have now locked the door and could have designs of my own?”

“You’re funny Vania,” was all I could come up with.


“Is this place always so hot and clammy?” Vania clearly was not taking too kindly to the summerish climate of the city, even though it was only April.

We had gone over to a number of stores and the major retail markets. Saudi had not seen an explosion of malls unlike other Arabian Gulf states, so most stores were stand alone structures or single units in retail strips. Her discomfort was aggravated by the fact that stores usually kept air conditioning running full blast inside, and immediately on leaving one would face the extreme heat, even though the sun had set. It had been a warmer than normal spring time for the region.

“And I hate this horrible black cloak that I have to wear anytime I go out of the house,” she was referring to the abaya, a garment that though not mandated was worn by the vast majority of expat females to stay within the proscribed laws of morality set by the religious police in the country.

She had been bitching about things for quite a while and I was glad that our next stop was BHS, a nice multi-storied department store with sensible climate controls. She vanished ostensibly in the house wares section. Mercifully she was able to find the stuff she needed and I was again loaded with a number of shopping bags.

“Shahid, why don’t you put these in the car,” she indicated she had to use the facilities, “I’ll find you in a few moments.” I figured that I would be stuck in the vehicle waiting for a considerable period of time, while she shopped some more, but less than ten minutes later she joined me, looking relieved, and suggested we head home.

It was as we made the second turn out of the parking lot and the car swerved sharply to one side that I noted something was different. The abaya covering her had come open, but instead of the pink trousers she had been wearing all I now saw was milky white skin. I figured the night time was playing tricks and focused on driving. At the next traffic light though, I looked down again and by now the abaya had opened even more and revealed most of her legs.

“Hey Vania, you change your dress in the store or something?”

“Ah, yes,” she replied, “I was getting too sweaty under this awful black tent, so I figured I would lighten things by taking off something beneath. I really hope you didn’t mind waiting while I changed.”

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