Parveen Aziza - Sex Stories

Parveen Aziza

... you?”

“Not so far.”

“So you are Merkulov’s mistress?”

His kind smile reassured me, and I let my anger go.

“Mistress?” I laughed. “No, no. I’m a slave. Like my mother before me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sergei bought me from my husband, Hamal Abdulayev. He’s Chechen like my mother. But he’d borrowed a lot of money from Sergei and couldn’t pay it back. Sergei was going to have his kneecaps and elbows broken. Hamal asked Sergei to take me as the price of forgiving his debt.”

“Your husband sold you like an animal?” Jack sounded disgusted.

“It was just business. Poor Hamal was petrified.” I shrugged. “It didn’t seem that abnormal to me. After all, my father bought my mother from Chechen human traffickers to be one of his concubines.”

“Your father is an al Sura? A chieftain?”

“Yes. But my mother was a concubine, not a wife. So I have no status within our family. I’m used to being treated as property.”

Jack’s gray-blue eyes were very expressive and registered emotion – it almost looked like my words hurt him.

“You speak of your mother in the past tense. How did she die?”

“My father beat her a lot. She was very unhappy. I don’t think she had much will to live.”

“Did he beat you as well?”

“Yes. But I soon learned to go and hide in the suite of my older half-sister, Zainab Habiba. Her mother was a wife, so she had status. She protected me whenever she could, made me sleep with her in her bed. She is the one in our family I love the ...

... most!”

We sipped our champagne and looked out at the city lights.

“Who are you supposed to entertain tonight?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Sergei hasn’t told me yet.” I looked at Jack with a smile. “I hope it is you.”

“Why?”

“You seem nice, you have kind eyes. You wouldn’t be rough with me.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Jack. “I hope Merkulov pays you well.”

“He doesn’t have to pay me,” I said. “He owns me.”

I tossed back the rest of my champagne. Jack emulated me and set down his flute.

“I’m going to get another glass of champagne,” I said. “Do you want one?”

“Sure.”

I headed for the bar, glancing back at Jack over my shoulder. He watched the people in the room. I wondered whether he recognized all the Russian oligarchs and the hard men from the shadowy world of the Russian mafia. Many of them had legitimate business fronts. But in my time with Sergei, I had learned that in Russia, the worlds of business and crime were closely connected.

I was at the bar when someone took my arm roughly and turned me around. It was Maksim, Sergei’s top hitman. He put a hand up my short dress and roughly kneaded my vulva through my thin thong. He leaned forward and put his lips to my ear.

“I want you now, bitch,” he said.

“No, Maksim, I have to ask Sergei –”

“Sergei never refuses me anything, Parveen Aziza. You know that.”

With that, he hustled me out of the big reception room and down a corridor that led to the living quarters. He pulled me along, ...