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Times In Tehran

Tags: iran
The best assigment in my military career.
Times In Tehran

This took place many years ago when I was assigned to duty on a clandestine mission in Tehran, Iran and Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi sat on the Peacock Throne as ruler of his country. I traveled with a diplomatic passport, and was publicly supposedly attached to the US Embassy.

Several other airmen and I lived in building called the Staff House which was in a compound with twelve foot high walls surrounding it. On the main floor we had our own kitchen complete with a staff of Iranian cooks, and off to one side a large recreation/meeting room. Our living quarters were bedrooms on the top floor. In an area below the main floor we had a bar called the Scorpion Club, just outside of which, in the courtyard, we had a large lighted in-ground swimming pool with a large scorpion painted on its bottom. One government station wagon with its local driver was assigned to every two airmen for their use while off duty, with the government paying for our gas by giving us unlimited gas coupons with which we could obtain fuel at any petrol station in Iran.

We weren’t allowed to wear our Air Force uniforms as part of our mission, and we were encouraged to try to appear to be civilians. We let our hair grow rather than keeping it cut in a military fashion, but we would go to a barber in Tehran at times to have it trimmed when it became unruly.

Sherman, a friend of mine whose room was across the hallway from mine, and I shared a station wagon and driver together. One weekend day he asked me if I’d like to go with him to the barber shop and then have “George” (as we called him) our driver take us to a bar somewhere for a couple of drinks. That sounded like a good idea so we located George and went to the barber shop after which George drove us to a small bar owned by two Hungarian women who spoke fluent English.

There were only two patrons in the bar when we entered. Others, we were told, would arrive after dark. One of the owners introduced us to the other two customers, young Iranian women. When Sherman and I ordered our drinks we asked if we could buy drinks for the two women also. They spoke only very limited broken English, so one of the owners had to tell them of our offer, which they accepted with smiles and a few words we didn’t understand. To introduce ourselves to them Sherman and I used a bit of sign language, pointing to ourselves and saying our names and the women eventually understood and then tried to use the same method to tell us their names which we understood to be Deeba and Paddy.

As time passed the two women sort of paired off; Deeba with Sherman and Paddy with me. We enjoyed a few drinks together then Sherman and I bought an early dinner for ourselves, our partners, and George who spoke fairly good English and served as our interpreter.

Up until the time we finished eating this had just been an innocent bit of serendipity, a happy accident meeting these two friendly and attractive young women. As Sherman (whom Deeba called “Churn”) and I prepared to leave I asked them, through George, if they would like for him to drive them home as he took us back to the Staff House. They conversed with George for a few minutes, and then George told Sherman and me that they wanted to spend the night with us at the Staff House if that would be OK. As George was telling us this, each woman put a hand on the thigh of her partner and then slowly but surely slid it up to our crotches and began to gently massage our cocks which, after months of not being touched by any females, responded almost instantly by becoming much larger and as hard as a rock.

Some actions need no translator and the four of us all understood what was happening.

Neither Sherman nor I could believe our good fortune. It was as if we had found the mother lode of gold in a dark mine or a thirst-quenching oasis in a parched desert. We enthusiastically told George to take us all back to the Staff House.

A few weeks earlier in a weekly informational meeting our commanding officer had announced a huge break from military protocol. He said he knew that young men like us needed an outlet for the urges that our hormones cause at our age. He didn’t want to take a chance on any of us becoming diseased by picking up “Jube Queens” as the street whores were known for a quickie in the back seat, so if we found a decent woman to enjoy intimacy with it would be OK to bring them to the Staff House for our sexual activity, but that it must be done behind the closed doors of our rooms so as to not create a problem for other guys seeing us with a woman when they didn’t have one.

Nevertheless, when the four of us entered the Staff House there were some guys whose eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets when they saw us go upstairs to our rooms. Sherman and I were the first guys to do that.

Sherman and Deeba went to his room and Paddy and I went to mine.

No sooner had I closed the door behind us than Paddy removed her burqa (Google it if you don’t know and are curious) and every other stitch of her clothing, winked, and smiled mischievously at me. She had a lovely body, slim, trim, and with curves in all the right places. Her breasts were ample, perky, and had wonderful suckable nipples. Her pussy was clean-shaven and I could see that it was already damp with desire. There were no blemishes on her body. Her hair was black and shoulder length. Her toenails and fingernails were painted. It was plain to see that beneath her burqa she was “westernized” like an American woman.

She came to me and helped me remove my clothing then she pulled me over to my bunk bed and pushed me down on the bed so I was lying on my back. Once she had me on my back with my cock standing up like a flag pole she mounted it and began to fuck it like a cowgirl gone wild. Her tits jiggled so much that it took some effort on my part to get my lips around her nipples and massage them with my tongue as I felt them harden and grow larger. Paddy positioned herself so as to have the shaft of my dick provide maximum stimulation to her quivering clit.

Lovers usually have endearing nicknames for their partner. Paddy began calling me “Son-of a bitch” but in her fractured English it sounded like “Sumumabitch”. She was a biter and she would scrape her nails across my skin until they raised welts. It hurt, but I was so grateful for having my joy stick in her warm clutching cunt that I hardly noticed. As she approached her orgasm she gasped almost too loudly, “Fuck, Sumumabitch, FUCK!!! After she thrashed through her volcanic orgasm and my tool was completely drained inside her she collapsed on me for a few minutes but continued biting and clawing.

Paddy really knew how to screw and how to get my pussy-pricker hard again in a very short time, so we both spent the night repeating what we had done over and over until we were both physically spent.

We enjoyed many more times together pleasuring one another in the next weeks and months.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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