By eight thirty Fouzia had returned and Radouan headed for the hamam. After bathing, he would go home, change, and have something to eat before going on to Francesco’s party.  Maybe Delphine would be there; he had absolutely to see her. Maybe she was one of the beautiful women Francesco had been speaking about or maybe she wouldn’t be there at all.  If she were not there he would go looking for her.

          A few hours later, however, as he was getting out of his car at the Mamounia and giving the keys to the Parker, suddenly a taxi pulled up and followed by a young man carrying several cameras, Delphine got out.

          ‘God the Provider’, he whispered to himself barely able to believe his eyes.            

            She was wearing silver slippers with stiletto heels and a floor length gown that clung to her body and shimmered and sparkled so that she seemed surrounded by a halo of rosy light.  For a moment, he was spellbound, humbled by her brilliance. Then their eyes met and she stepped out of her aura and extended her hand. He kissed it, bowed slightly acknowledging her stellar presence, and while her photographer friend was taking pictures, slowly drew her aside, encouraged her to sit inside his car, retrieved his keys from the Parker and drove off.

          ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said angrily as he paused at the bottom of the drive, ‘Where are we going?  I’m due at a party. It’s very important for my career that I be seen there... just turn around and go back.’

          ‘I’ll take you back soon,’ Radouan replied, trying to deal with an attack of extreme anxiety, ‘you were arriving much too early to make a good entrance and I wanted to apologize for the scene I made the other morning at your hotel. I was trying to think of a way to see you again and now ... Mach’Allah, God’s Will a second time.’

          ‘I suppose that means we’re fated to meet,’ she said and stared hard at him. ‘Give me a break... What were you doing there?’


          ‘There just now at the Mamounia...’

          ‘Going to the same party as you, I think.  Are you a friend of Francesco Monte’s?’

          ‘No, but that’s the party I’m suppose to be going too.  Do you know him? I’m supposed to meet him.’

          ‘I’ve known him for years… a long story.’ He watched her out of the corner of his eye as her expression changed. Opportunist, he thought, all the better to catch her. ‘If you want to meet Francesco, you should not go to this party,’ he declared.

          ‘Why not?’ she pouted.

          ‘Because every bimbo in town will be there. Come with me now and I will introduce you to him properly tomorrow when he’s alone. Believe me, we are very old friends. If I don’t show up now, he’ll wonder why... it will arouse his curiosity. When we appear together he will be more fascinated. Trust me. I know him well. With Francesco you have to play games… who was that guy you were with just now, your boyfriend?’

          Delphine smiled dismissively. ‘Of course not. He’s one of the photographers on the shoot... wanted to take pictures of me for some English magazine.’

        ‘Do you mind not going?’ Radouan asked politely.

         Delphine gazed down at her costume  ‘It took me a long time to get ready for this event,’ she sighed, ‘but if you promise to introduce me to him tomorrow or the next day I suppose...’

          ‘Are you hungry?’

          ‘Actually I’m starving!’ she laughed.

          ‘It’s just as well you don’t eat there,’ Radouan said earnestly, ‘at these big soirees you can get sick... let’s go to your hotel. I’ll have them make us some chicken sandwiches.’

          ‘Remember I have to work tomorrow.’

          ‘What time?’

          ‘Late afternoon,’ she sighed, ‘it's the last shoot.’

          ‘Good,’ Radouan said, relieved that she had smiled, and then laughed! They were progressing, ‘So it’s early, we’ll have a few hours before you have to go to bed.’

          Letting her out in front of her hotel, he parked his car and by the time he reached her suite she was standing there with a bottle of champagne.  He took the bottle, popped the cork and poured out two glasses. She sat down on the bed and he sat in a chair facing her, their knees almost touching. She sipped her champagne and smiled knowingly at him. He felt awkward and wanted to kiss her, but restrained himself from making the first move.

          ‘How’s the shoot going?’ he asked finally, looking at his knees.

           She didn’t answer but relaxed back on one elbow in a seductive pose.  He wondered if this was a signal for him to proceed or not. Instead, he slipped off his chair, knelt down, took off one of her high heeled slippers and began to suck her toes one by one. She sat up and slapped his face. He stared worshipfully up at her, took off her other slipper, brushed it against his cheek and kissed it. She commanded him to stop; she had to take her gown off or it would be ruined. He dropped her foot, put his hands behind his back as if shackled and bowed before her. 

          His behavior, so different from what she’d expected, began to arouse her. Slowly she stood up before him and took off her gown then grabbed his hair and lifted his head.  He stared up at her, up between her sheer silver stockings and her garter belt, parted his lips and licked them with his tongue. He was hugely excited, but determined not to touch her until she commanded him.

          Lifting his chin up with her free hand she poured champagne into his open mouth and wondered how far she could go with him. Slowly relaxing back on the bed against some pillows, she sipped her champagne and thought about how much she enjoyed taking off her clothes in front of a fully dressed man 

          What next he wondered? Shouldn’t he be willing to go along with whatever style of flirtation she chose?  Swallowing more champagne he began licking her legs upward exploring her inner thighs with his tongue. In his whole life, in his long career as one of the city’s most desirable young men he had never crossed this threshold which was considered unmanly and dangerously foreign. 

          Suddenly she took his head in both hands between her legs, held it there and pressed it against her tina. ‘Suck it,’ she whispered and he sucked her clitoris, penetrated her with his tongue and did many things he never thought possible.

          Finally, she reached down, slapped his face hard, one cheek then the other, snapped her fingers and ordered him to get up and take down his pants.

          Rising from the floor, he unbuckled his belt undid his zipper and let his pants drop. ‘And the shorts too,’ she commanded.

          He obeyed            

Observing him like a connoisseur, she lay back on the edge of the bed and stroked her breasts. Then slowly she rolled over on her stomach, arched her back and showed him her zouk.

          ‘There, ‘she said, ‘now get to work.’

           Crawling on to the bed, he licked her zouk and caressed her clitoris with his hand. He was on the edge of a huge ejaculation and would do anything she commanded. ‘I need to come,’ he groaned.

          ‘Not before me,’ she said sternly, ‘make me come first and then we’ll see about you.’

         ‘Don’t worry I can come many times,’ he whispered.

          She turned and gazed up at him for a long time without speaking, her eyes boring into him, then she said, ‘If you dare come first I will never see you again.’         

          He resumed his labors.

          She berated him, for not working hard enough, not extending his tongue far enough inside her, commanded that he suck the juices inside her tina and swallow them, called him a big donkey in Arabic and many other horrible names in French. Finally, as he sat there on his knees panting, he stuck his finger deeply inside her and she had a prolonged orgasm.

        ‘Now crawl into the bathroom on your hands and knees and jerk off,’ she ordered, throwing him a towel, ‘I don’t want to watch.’

          Her tongue was like a whip.  If he wanted to rape her on the spot she would not be able to resist him. ‘I want to put this inside you,’ he muttered urgently, showing it to her.

           But by then she had poured herself more champagne and was flipping through a magazine. ‘After you introduce me to your friend Francesco Monte maybe I’ll let you do it,’ she said seductively, ‘now go into the bathroom and do what I said... and take a shower, you smell bad.’

          Radouan crawled to the bathroom and took a shower, but the moment had passed and he did not jerk off. Then he came back, struggled into his clothes and stood there wondering whether he should kiss her good bye or punch her. If she were a Moroccan woman he would have beaten her.  Instead he grabbed her toe, gently wiggled it and promised he would make an appointment with Francesco for the following afternoon. ‘Keep your phone on,’ he said, ‘I’ll call to confirm the time.’  

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©Elwyn Chamberlain 2006