The Scion

His name was Wahid Al-Assaf. He was a cousin of the Parisian branch, Emily thought. He had his own manse nearby, at least a couple of them. He was the scion of the family, the next great hope. And to Emily's shock, he paused seeing a white maid labor on the wooden staircases.

"Surprised to see a white maid here," he said, more to himself than to Emily. And it was true. Most of the staff here was Indian migrants. "Parle vous francais?"

Emily said "oui" but indicated she spoke little French.

"American?" Wahid asked, eyebrows raised. Emily nodded. Wahid smiled in a debonair manner. He looked at her bottle blonde hair, her pert but flat ass, her tits. She had good breeding, he thought. She needed some ... 'enhancements' ... but he wasn't looking for a wife anyhow.

"Have you ever thought about being a concubine?" Wahid asked her.

"Sorry?" Emily said, playing dumb.

"A life of far more leisure than this. You serve at the whims of your owner. A girl like you would be a pleasure **** of course. A sport for some of us, to take out our haram urges on the unbelievers."

Hypocrisy wasn't terrible surprising, she thought morosely. But what better option?

"Of course, it may be a little above your station in life," Wahid added. "Perhaps you're better off with the stable boys."