A Helpful Wife By Karim Al-Zib

A Helpful Wife

By

Karim Al-Zib

PROLOGUE

In a very special part of Algiers, where the police did not go without invitation -- except to pick up their monthly bonus -- and where the only customers were the government ministers and the super rich businessmen who came to North Africa for an anonymous and frankly expensive forbidden thrill, Pierre Lemarge plied his trade at his poshly and gaudily decorated night club that was called, not strangely, "Pierre's". Thirty years before, Pierre had been a strikingly handsome, slender -- and prosperous -- gigolo and pimp in Paris and Marseilles. Years of self-indulgence and dissipation had left him almost hairless and quite overweight, with a blotchy complexion and a hacking cough, but he enjoyed his life and the money he made at his business running his string of clubs all over North Africa and Mediterranean Europe.

Now he stood at the door of his club in Algiers, welcoming his rich guests who paid 500 French francs, or 100 American dollars, or 65 pounds sterling to see the cabaret. They paid an equal price for champagne, and other drinks were marked up ten times over the normal as well. Of course, that was not all. The cabaret performer always was heavily tipped, but Pierre took all of this for himself. There was no sense in letting the girl have money so she could run away.

Inside, the customers now seated themselves around the circular stage so that the act could take place in the center. The stage itself revolved slowly for the benefit of the clients and gave everyone an equal look at what was going on. Pierre noted the presence of the Greek shipping magnate, the Arabian sheikh, who always spent the most money, the Italian movie star and her boyfriend, and the Algerian minister of defense. The common tourist could never afford to see this show, would not even hear about it. Pierre made twenty thousand dollars a night for his shows, so they were the best.

His girls were the best. The most beautiful, loveliest, youngest. He rotated the acts through his string of nightclubs so that each act played each club at most three weeks a year.

Tonight's "star" was the daughter of an American tourist. The seventeen-year-old brunette had "gone missing" from her family on vacation in Morocco, having taken the wrong turn in the Souq and walked into the clutches of Pierre's talent agent, a cutthroat Palestinian who specialized in abduction and white slavery. Within a week of her disappearance, she had been training for her job as cabaret performer in Lemarge's clubs. She was a lovely thing with light-brown hair and firm, full breasts. Pierre had not been able to sell her virginity, for she had given that to her boyfriend, who played halfback on his university's varsity football team, but she still had sufficient innocence to make a lovely act for the club.

The opening acts were just finishing when Pierre came in and picked up a drink for himself from the bar. The opening acts were the girls who had been with him for a few years and no longer quite had the freshness a girl needed for the main act. At one time they had been the main acts. Now they opened for the newer girls, engaging in wild acts of sex on the circular stage with big, well-hung men of assorted colors.

To a chorus of applause, the emcee came out with the new girl, whose name was Jeanne. She was well-drugged, though not in a stupor, her pretty eyes glassy. He had started her out a couple of weeks before with a huge black Nubian and as her resistance softened and she improved in her performance, Pierre moved her up to top the bill.

The emcee, Rashid, brought the girl out and arranged her over the padded support that had been specially built for the act. He shackled her hands so that she couldn't move, her upper body inclined slightly down and her legs straight and vertical behind her, exposing her pink cunt to the eyes of the audience. When the girl's hands and feet were secured -- she actually had no idea what was happening tonight -- Rashid led out her partner, a randy, male donkey. That was when she began to cry, scream and struggle.

This was what the audience liked, and they could tell her reluctance wasn't an act. But the girl had been well-fucked by well-hung studs for the past two weeks and after the animal had mounted her and Rashid had fed its long cock into her pussy, her screams of outrage slackened and she began to enjoy what she had been trained to enjoy. The audience cheered at her acquiescence and they began ordering champagne, cocktails, and drugs at a rate that Pierre's staff could barely keep up with.

Pierre loved his job. He grossed millions every year and he got to sample the "stars" before they went on stage. His only problem was finding new, acceptable talent.

But the Palestinian did pretty well. And Pierre had his sources.


And life was pretty good for Pierre Lemarge.


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