Tiffany was furious with her parents. What were they thinking, sending her to this godforsaken place? She wouldn’t have minded a summer in Rome or Paris but no, they had to send her to Istanbul. Just because she got in a little scrape back home in Tennessee, her parents decided that she should spend some time with her diplomat uncle and his native wife in Turkey.
Istanbul! It was foreign to her in every sense of the word. The smells, the language, the cuisine and the customs were all strange in the extreme to a girl who had never before left the United States. Even her arrival at the airport and drive into the city had been traumatic. It seemed that every man at the seedy terminal had leered at her in the most obvious and demeaning way, and every driver on the crowded streets was trying to kill her. Tiffany was grateful for the cool quiet of Uncle Edward’s Mercedes, but she still didn’t feel safe. Even the bus drivers raced from stoplight to stoplight like lunatics in hot rods.
That spring Tiffany had turned nineteen. She was a lovely girl, with wide brown eyes, long chestnut hair, and a stunning figure. It’s true that she had fallen in with a wild crowd after high school and was out drinking and partying almost every night, but it was her arrest for possession of marijuana that proved to be the last straw. Almost before she knew it she was on a flight to Atlanta, and from there a Delta 747 whisked her off to Istanbul. Her parents had given her a couple of guidebooks and kissed her goodbye, feeling that some time in new surroundings would straighten her out. Little did they know that they had sent their daughter into a situation that would change her life forever.
Tiffany was by no means naïve. She had lost her virginity in high school, and had a variety of boyfriends since then. But there were plenty of sexual matters that were simply beyond her experience. All that was about to change.
She was pleasantly surprised when she finally arrived at her uncle’s home in the old European quarter of Istanbul. It lay in a tree-lined street of century old houses that could have been in Amsterdam or Brussels rather than here in the exotic East. While the exterior of the house was impressive, the interior was downright opulent. The high-ceilinged rooms were beautifully and expensively furnished in a mixture of Turkish and Western tastes. Original art work was placed with care on the walls, and thick Turkish carpets covered the floors.
And if Tiffany was amazed by the house, she was absolutely shocked to meet her uncle’s new Turkish wife. She looked to be about half her husband’s sixty years, and was one of the most beautiful women Tiffany had ever seen. Large hazel eyes were framed by long thick lashes. Her nose was straight and delicately shaped, her lips full. Tiffany had supposed that all Turks had dark skin, but the woman before her was fair, almost pale, though her hair was indeed very dark. She wore a form-fitting black dress that showed off a curvaceous figure.
The woman greeted Tiffany warmly when Edward introduced her as Ayshe Hanim. “Oh, that’s too formal,” she said. “You can just call me Ayshe. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.” She spoke with an upper-class British accent. “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up a bit, and then we’ll have some tea.”
Tiffany was not thrilled by the prospect of tea, but she was more than pleased by the private suite of rooms where she was to stay. There was a small sitting room with a comfortable sofa and chair, a bedroom with balcony overlooking the garden and a huge four-poster bed, and a luxurious marble bath with tub big enough for three. Maybe the summer wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
The next day, Ayshe showed Tiffany some of the sights for which Istanbul was famous: Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and Topkapi Palace. After lunch at an outdoor café above the Bosporus, Ayshe took Tiffany’s arm and led her to the car. “Now it’s time to shop till we drop,” she said, smiling.
“Are we going to the mall?” Tiffany asked when they were in the car.
“Yes, the oldest mall in the world.”
At first Tiffany was not impressed with the Kapali Charshi, or Covered Bazaar, a maze of shops over 500 years old. But once they reached the jewelry shops at the center of the Bazaar, she was hooked, and Ayshe had to drag her out after three hours.
On the way home, as their driver weaved through the dense crowds of vehicles and pedestrians, the two women chatted like old friends. It seemed that Ayshe had acquired her command of English (and her accent) while attending boarding school near London. She also had a degree in filmmaking from the Sorbonne. “It’s very common for Turks of the better families to send their children to secondary school and university in Europe,” she said.
She also explained why so many men had leered at Tiffany in the airport. “You have to realize that Turkey, while a secular country, is still Moslem. Women are expected to dress modestly. I thought you looked great in the top you were wearing yesterday, but those men assumed you were a prostitute.” Tiffany remembered that she had taken off her jacket in the terminal, and wore only a small tank top that showed a good bit of cleavage. She blushed, and looked down to see what she had on. “Don’t worry,” Ayshe laughed. “The T-shirt you’re wearing today is fine.”
They were soon drinking chilled white wine on the veranda, Tiffany trying on the antique silver bracelets and earrings that Ayshe had purchased for her in the Bazaar. She told the older woman how much she liked the bath in her room.
“Ah,” said Ayshe. “If you like that, tomorrow I’ll take you to a hamam.”
“What’s a hamam?”
“It’s a public bath house, or as people elsewhere call it, a Turkish bath.”
After a long nap and a shower, the two were served dinner on the terrace. The wine flowed freely and before long Tiffany realized she was quite drunk. Ayshe complimented her looks and her figure. “I think you’re beautiful,” Tiffany replied, looking into Ayshe’s huge hazel eyes. The older woman thanked her, a mysterious smile on her lips.
“Yes,” she said. “I think you’re going to enjoy the hamam very much.”
Tiffany woke up too early, still suffering from jet lag. She had a vague memory of Ayshe kissing her goodnight—a lingering kiss on the lips—but she thought it was just another strange Turkish custom. As they drove to the oldest part of the city Ayshe told her what to expect at the hamam. “The Turkish people like to be clean,” she explained, “and it’s required by the Koran. But up until the middle of the last century few people had indoor plumbing. A wealthy woman could use her own private hamam, while those in the lower classes would go to a public bath. Some hamams have separate facilities for men and women, while others use the same space on alternating days.”
“Which kind are we going to?” asked Tiffany.
“This one has a men’s side and a women’s side. It’s one of the oldest in the country—it opened in the seventeenth century.”
“And it’s still in use?”
“Yes, but most hamams have closed now that everyone has bathrooms in their houses. Only a few are left in the city.”
They arrived a short time later at an ancient limestone building, its walls yellowed with age. The door was in the shape of a Moorish arch, as were the windows, which were set high in the walls to preserve the privacy of those within. The woman who admitted them was cheerful, rather zaftig and appeared to be about thirty-five years old. She wore a silk robe which did little to conceal her enormous bosom. Ayshe instructed Tiffany to undress in one of several small changing rooms and wrap herself in one of the towels the woman had given them.
As they walked into a large chamber Ayshe apologized for the woman, whose name was Peyma, because she spoke no English. The room was circular with a domed ceiling and was decorated in white marble inlaid with patterns of blue and green. It was very hot inside. There was a shallow pool about ten or twelve feet in diameter in the center of the room. “This first room is to make us perspire and open the pores,” said Ayshe, peeling off her towel.
Tiffany did a double take. Ayshe’s body was flawless—rounded and very feminine, but with no extra flab anywhere. The woman clearly worked out. Her breasts were full and round—about a C cup Tiffany guessed. Tiffany couldn’t help noticing that her pussy was completely shaven. She looked incredibly sexy stepping into the pool. As she seated herself on a towel Ayshe turned. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
Tiffany hesitantly removed her towel though she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was every bit as lovely as her hostess’s: long shapely legs, narrow waist, and large firm breasts with pale pink nipples. Ayshe gazed at her, almost hungrily it seemed, as Tiffany sat on the edge of the pool. “In days gone by,” said the older woman, “the hamam was a social place and a woman might spend the entire day here talking with friends, eating and observing important occasions. It even gave mothers a chance to choose the, ah, shall we say healthiest looking girls for their sons.”
The heat was doing its job and both women were perspiring freely. “Now it’s time to get clean,” said Ayshe. Peyma clapped her hands and two girls entered the room. They looked very young and very much alike: long dark brown hair tied back with a bow (one pink, one yellow), dark, nearly black eyes, dark straight eyebrows, and slender, almost boyish figures. Their breasts were small and not yet fully developed. Both were naked except for soaking wet white bikini panties. “Aren’t they lovely?” Ayshe said. “They just turned eighteen yesterday.”
The girls immediately went to work. Dipping large copper bowls into the water they proceeded to rinse the women’s bodies. First their hair was washed and rinsed. Then, soaping up large silken mitts, the girls began to scrub Tiffany and Ayshe from head to toe. “Doesn’t that feel good?” said Ayshe.
“Mmmm,” sighed Tiffany. The girl knelt on the floor to scrub her feet, smiling up at her. The thin wet material of the girl’s panties was quite transparent, and it appeared that she too was shaved. Ayshe must have noticed her stare. She said, “In Turkey it’s traditional for women to remove all hair from the body. I see that you’re nicely trimmed, but maybe you’d like to try being smooth.”
While Tiffany hesitated Ayshe spoke a few words to Peyma, who left the room. She came back with several disposable razors and shaving mug with brush. The scrubbing was soon finished and the girl at Tiffany’s feet, whose name was Gamze (it means ‘dimples’ said Ayshe) set about lathering Tiffany’s dark pubic hair. She pressed the smooth thighs apart to get better access. The American teen’s body was already tingling pleasantly from the hot water and the scrubbing, and the soft bristles of the shaving brush aroused her excited nerve endings. It seemed that the girl was deliberately grazing the tip of the brush over her clit, making her gasp.
Ayshe was talking during this procedure. “Turkish women have always preferred waxing to shaving,” she said. “The result is smoother and lasts longer. But I doubt you’re ready for that today.”
Tiffany could hardly answer. “No…ah…probably not.”
Ayshe went on: “In the days of the Ottomans, it is said that girls like Gamze here not only bathed the lady customers, they satisfied their sexual urges.” Tiffany realized she was trembling as the girl began to shave her mound. Was it just nervousness, or was she experiencing a ‘sexual urge?’ At that moment she couldn’t have said. The girl stretched her outer lips and shaved them smooth, then gently pushed Tiffany onto her back and raised her feet. She was about to ask what was going on when she discovered the reason. Gamze was now shaving the tiny hairs near her asshole, making it as smooth as the day she was born.
When she was finished, Gamze applied soothing aromatic oil to Tiffany’s pussy and ass. Then both women were thoroughly rinsed again. “Now it’s time for our massage,” said Ayshe as she stood up. She led the way to another domed chamber even hotter and steamier than the first. In the center was a kind of raised marble platform where Ayshe spread her towel and lay on it. Tiffany followed suit. Gamze began to massage Ayshe while the other girl, Lale (her name means ‘cherry’ said Ayshe—they’re twins, of course) kneaded Tiffany’s back.
She was feeling very relaxed. The strong young hands on her back felt wonderful. Rather abruptly Ayshe said, “Tiffany, have you ever smoked hashish?” She wasn’t sure how to answer. This was the reason she’d been sent to Turkey after all. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Edward or anyone else,” said her aunt. “I love to get high while being massaged.”
Tiffany heard the sound of a match striking and turned to see Peyma lighting a water pipe, drawing on one of its long hoses. Ayshe took a hose and handed another to Tiffany. She thought, ‘What the hell–when in Rome…’ and inhaled. The water and the long hose cooled the smoke completely. It was the smoothest hash she’d ever tasted. “It’s very potent—you won’t need much,” said her aunt. The three women smoked quietly for a few minutes and then Peyma took the hookah away.
Time went by and Tiffany realized she was stoned. Really stoned. Lale was massaging her thighs and it felt great. All the sensations—heat, steam, hash, massage—were making her as horny as she’d ever been. Ayshe had rolled onto her back and Lale nudged Tiffany to do the same. In a daze she noticed that Gamze had her fingers between Ayshe’s legs and was caressing her snatch. The sight sent a jolt of electricity down Tiffany’s spine and straight to her pussy, which was already dripping wet. She had never seriously thought about having sex with a girl, but she wished then that Lale would do what her sister was doing to Ayshe.
Tiffany looked at the girl through half closed eyes and Lale gazed directly back at her. With their eyes locked the slender twin raised a forefinger to her mouth and sucked on the tip, wetting it with saliva. She lowered her fingertip to the American girl’s freshly shaved sex and began to gently stroke her vulva. Without conscious thought Tiffany found that she was spreading her legs apart to let the groping finger go wherever it wanted.
Under the young twin’s gentle touch, the lips of Tiffany’s pussy opened like a flower. The finger traced the lines of her outer and inner lips, slipped inside her, then found her clit at last. Tiffany moaned with pleasure. Lale knew what she was doing, rubbing her clit in circles until Tiffany began to move her hips, matching her rhythm. The American teen closed her eyes and simply enjoyed.
The slender girl worked Tiffany’s pussy like no man had ever done, touching her in exactly the same way she would have touched herself. Lale used two fingers to fuck her cunt while the other hand remained at her clit. Tiffany could smell her own arousal (or was it Ayshe?) and it added to the heady mix pervading her senses. Her moans grew more desperate and she raised her hips, willing the girl to make her cum.
But just as the crisis approached, Lale backed off. Tiffany looked down at the girl in disappointment. Lale glanced at her sister and they smiled at each other. Ayshe looked at Tiffany through eyes glazed with lust. “Welcome to Paradise on earth,” she said, and took Tiffany’s hand. As the two women’s fingers intertwined Tiffany felt something soft and wet on her pussy. She looked down to see Lale’s face between her legs, tongue buried in her snatch. Ayshe was getting the same treatment from the girl’s twin. It was the most erotic thing Tiffany had ever seen and the feeling was heavenly.
The hash in her bloodstream seemed to magnify her pleasure and she gave herself up to it. And it was that very loss of control that sent Tiffany spinning toward orgasm: putting herself in the hands of these complete strangers seemed to give her the freedom to experience pleasure that she had never known in any relationship. Her world then was nothing more than the sensation of those lips, that tongue at the center of her body. She could hear fluid sucking sounds as Lale drank at her wet opening, lapping up the juice that flowed from her.
She came then, crying out in ecstasy, but she knew there was more and better ahead. Tiffany was multi-orgasmic when her lover plucked the right strings, and this slender teenager was playing her like a virtuoso. Lale raised her lips from Tiffany’s clit—which was hypersensitive at that moment—and lifted the American’s knees, pushing them up to her chest. And then she did something so unexpected, so wanton, it took Tiffany’s breath away. Pressing her thighs apart with both hands, the young twin began to lick Tiffany’s asshole.
Tiffany had heard about rim jobs, of course, and even seen it done in a porn video. But she had no idea it could feel so good: the very depravity of the act added to the pleasure she felt. Taking her hand away from Ayshe’s clasping fingers, Tiffany reached down and spread her ass cheeks to let the girl’s tongue worm deeper into her butt hole.
“Oh fuck!” she cried as its probing tip speared her pink rosebud. Ayshe watched as Tiffany abandoned herself to a new world of sensual pleasure. It seemed that all her fantasies about her husband’s teenage relative were about to come true.
Just when Tiffany didn’t think she could feel any better, Lale began fingering her pussy while licking her ass. “Oh god…oh god…oh god,” she moaned. She felt her need building again and Lale must have sensed it, too. The slender twin moved her tongue from Tiffany’s ass to her clit while slipping first two, then three fingers in her sopping cunt. Lale’s fingertips found Tiffany’s G-spot and her agile tongue circled the American’s clit.
“Yes, eat me,” she begged. “Make me cum…yes…yes…yes…” As Tiffany’s need sharpened to an unbearable pitch she heard Ayshe cry out and turned to watch. Her beautiful Turkish aunt’s head was thrown back, her back arched, legs twitching in the throes of her climax. That sent Tiffany over the edge. “Fuck yes!” she screamed as Lale sucked her clit. “Yes! FUCK YES!” Tiffany came like never before, her body lifted on an enormous wave, higher and higher, until it seemed she must leave the world as she knew it far behind. Explosions of color and light filled her senses; her body was at once disconnected from reality and the center of the universe. Another wave lifted her still higher until slowly, slowly, she settled gently into a peaceful slumber.
Ayshe signaled to Peyma, who brought her a cigarette and lighted it for her. She inhaled deeply and watched the smoke curl in a narrow beam of sunlight from the dome overhead. Gamze lay beside her, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder. Ayshe stroked the girl’s hair absently and smiled. Yes, she thought. Phase One went even better than she had expected. Now to set Phase Two in operation…