Parveen Aziza - Sex Stories

Parveen Aziza

... the law are much more lucrative and I’m more worried about what happens to them. Whenever you show up, law enforcement seems to follow.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jack, his face expressionless.

“You showed up in Stockholm – and a month later Alexander Kutuesov who ran drugs and prostitution for me in Scandinavia was arrested.”

“I had nothing to do with that. I never met Kutuesov.”

“But you slept with his favorite girlfriend, Vigdis Axelsdottir. Then she disappeared from his life. He was so enraged that he took out a contract on your life – and kept upping the price. That got the police onto him.” (See my story, Jack Grierson Chronicles – Casey.)

“He was assassinated while being taken to court,” said Jack. “A long-range sniper shot.”

“I had no option. I couldn’t risk him talking, he knew too much.”

“I didn’t know Vigdis was his girlfriend.”

“So you say. But I look at your record and see a pattern. You make men irate because you know angry men make mistakes. Nothing makes a man more furious than being cuckolded. You did the same thing to Prince Mushtaq, slept with his favorite concubine, stole her affections. You got Mushtaq so angry, he spent all his time with his terror groups trying to get to you – while you quietly bought out all his hotel operations in the Middle East.” (See my story, Jack Grierson Chronicles – Leyla.)

“He gave me Leyla, I didn’t steal her.”

“Details,” said Sergei, briefly. He looked over at me and put a hand on ...

... my cheek. “Parveen Aziza is my favorite girl, she has just the right mix of innocence and raunch. Large, guileless eyes, but she squeals out her passion when I whack her ass as I fuck her. She’s the cliché come to life – a Madonna in the living room, a whore in the bedroom.” Sergei paused and looked at Jack with a trace of malevolence. “I’m going to keep her, Jack. Keep your thoughts on our mining deal – not her.”

“Of course,” said Jack.

Sergei was beckoned by one of his men and walked away without another word.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“Talk,” said Jack. “And drink.”

“I can do that,” I said, smiling. I flagged down a waiter and selected two flutes of Bollinger’s champagne, handing one to Jack. When I put my flute forward, he clinked it saying, “Zavas!”

“Zavas,” I responded.

“Don’t you find me attractive?” I asked after we both took sips of our champagne.

“Of course, I do,” said Jack.

“You’re a funny one,” I said with a laugh. “When Sergei asks me to entertain someone, they have their hands up my skirt within the first two minutes.”

“Has it happened often?” he asked.

I wrinkled my nose and Jack could see I was angry. Strangely, he smiled kindly in response.

“Four times. Every instance was pure hell! Horrid, uncouth men. They don’t want me to talk. They like ripping my expensive clothes off me and groping me. They treat me like a piece of meat. They would fuck me if Sergei would let them.”

“He doesn’t let anyone else fuck ...