The Yacht

Two days later, a limo arrived to take Carrie and Layla to the airport. Carrie didn't have the opportunity to say goodbye to John -- he was too busy getting sucked off by Naila.

Carrie and Layla boarded a private jet. Carrie was first enthralled by the luxury, but the nerves and champagne and fatigue quickly overwhelmed her, and she slept over much of the Atlantic. They arrived in Italy, and were helicoptered to the jet.

A sleek two-hundred foot vessel, the majestic yacht was only part of the Sheikh's fleet. They gave her a tour of the main dining area, the crew quarters, the pool and hot tub on the back. She wouldn't be down here much. The Sheikh had many of the same amenities on his private deck. Finally, they went up, and the Sheikh concluded his business.

"Barbie! Or do you prefer Carrie?" He asked slyly.

"Barbie is more of a thing just for John. So, please call me Carrie."

"Of course, Carrie. Layla, thank you for your good work. You are dismissed." And with that, they were alone.

"Show me yourself, Carrie. All of you." Carrie nervously peeled off the hijab and the heavier clothing to mask her beauty. She exposed her pert breasts to the Sheikh, knowing he was judging her. Then she peeled off her panties, exposing her tight shaved pussy.

"Lovely. Do you know what that tattoo means, Carrie?"

"It's a symbol for Islam. I'm guessing you have a point behind it." The Sheikh smiled broadly.

"I do indeed. But for now, let us eat."