The Right Place 


I awoke, naked, lying on a single bed in a small room. I could
hear loud music playing outside. I couldn't remember how I got
here, or even what my name was.

"Where am I?" I asked aloud, even though I thought I was alone.

"Everything will become clear shortly." The woman's unexpected
reply made me start.

I turned round, and standing at the head of the bed was an
absolutely stunning naked woman, superb body, magnificent
breasts, beautiful hair and an exquisite face.

"For the love of Allah, cover yourself, woman," I beseeched,
conscious of my sudden erection.

"I'm sorry, that is not permitted here," she replied.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Shabina. I am here to accustom you to your new
environment. Would you like a drink?"

The woman held out a glass with what looked like a double whisky.
Come to think of it, I was desperate for a drink. I took the
glass and downed it in one. It was a first class Scotch single
malt, something I recognised from my time at Oxford University.

"And would you like something to help you relax?" the woman
asked, holding out a mirror with a couple of lines of cocaine.

Come to think of it, my heart was racing and I felt shaky. I took
the mirror and snorted the coke. It was finest Colombian, grown
by our colleagues in South America, also something I experienced
at Oxford University.



I looked at my image in the mirror. It was definitely me, and yet
it seemed wrong, a sort of improved version of me. I had the fine
musculature I developed in my mid-20's, I had the flat stomach of
my youth, my acne scars and war wounds had disappeared and,
rubbing my chin to confirm, I was clean-shaven again.

"And would you like to take care of that?" asked the woman,
indicating my weeping cock.



I had mild feelings of unease that the cocaine and alcohol hadn't
kicked in yet but my attention was now completely dominated with
the prospect of fucking the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
She far surpassed the £1000-a-night prostitutes our Saudi backers
laid on after our meetings in Park Lane hotels. Without waiting
for my answer, Shabina lay down on the bed and parted her legs
wide. She was sopping wet and ready for me so I thrust straight
into her up to the hilt.

"I am going to fuck you so hard that you will beg for mercy,
never before will you have been with a man like me," I boasted.

The woman lay there with a slightly bored expression. I thrust
and thrust away. My cock felt as mighty and powerful as the
rocket launchers I had trained with at the Islamic Study Camp on
the Pakistan-Afghan border. I could feel that it wouldn't be long
before I filled Shabina's cunt with gallons of my seed.

I thrust and thrust away. Still I was just on the edge of
cumming, but I was starting to get a bit tired and my cock was
feeling a bit raw. I kept on thrusting, I was still just on the
edge of cumming, but I was getting slower and slower. Eventually
I collapsed, exhausted, and my cock, still hard, slid out of the
woman. My balls ached from lack of release.

"I need to rest for a couple of minutes."

"Don't worry, it happens," she replied, "do you want another
drink?"

From somewhere Shabina produced another double whisky, just what
I needed, and I gulped it down. Then she produced two more lines
of the coke that I urgently craved and I eagerly snorted them.
Strange, I still didn't feel inebriated or stoned.



Suddenly images from my memory started coming back to me. The
packed rush-hour New York subway train, the jacket with its
unusual padding, the detonator switch in my pocket. The images
continued with things I couldn't possibly have seen. The
explosives detonating, the ball of flame, the severed limbs, the
eyeballs exploding out of superheated heads, the molten flesh
dripping off blackened bodies, the screaming and wailing, the
baby crying, then, after the asphyxiating black smoke did its
damage, the absolute silence.



"For the love of Allah, I succeeded. This must be heaven. Have I
earned 72 virgins?" I asked.



Shabina opened the door. To painfully loud heavy metal music
there was an endless tableau of impossibly beautiful naked men
and women involved in unfulfilling sexual congress in every
possible position while consuming bottles, cans, every
description of alcoholic drink, and snorting, injecting, smoking,
every type of drug, with expressions conveying both absolute
boredom and utter desperation.