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The Saudi Princess Bodyguard

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The House of Al Saud has ruled the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the Heartland of the Islamic world, for over a century. Their excesses are well-known, especially the younger Princes and Princesses who are more likely to eschew tradition than their predecessors. Caught between the modern world and the most conservative nation on earth, they're forever straddling the fence, and their exploits have become the stuff of legend...

Meet Princess Rana Bint Hafiz, one of the lesser nobles of the House of Saud. Even for a Saudi Arabian Muslim Princess, her appetites are legendary. This is a young woman who once blew away a million dollars during a four-day shopping spree at various malls in Paris, France, and it wasn't even her birthday. In a land where women are considered second-class citizens and men wield power of life and death over their wives, Princess Rana Bint Hafiz Al Saud is a fearless woman.

A favorite of the old King, Princess Rana seems determined to push the boundaries of feminine power in the Heartland of Islam, which earned her the hatred of the religious clerics. Oh, and two years ago, she divorced her husband Salim Bakr sixty days after their wedding. This was scandalous, especially after she posted on Instagram about him being a dirty old man. It's not without reason that the Arab world refers to Princess Rana Bint Hafiz as their very own Paris Hilton.

"I've heard great things about you black Americans, Jay-Z, President Obama, Kanye West, and so on, you think you're tough stuff, eh?" Princess Rana Bint Hafiz, daughter of deceased Saudi Arabian Prince Hafiz Muhammad Al-Saud said haughtily, as she looked at the man standing silently before her. This is one impressive specimen, the Princess thought with a smirk.

"Ma'am, regardless of where I happen to be, I conduct myself in a professional manner, I believe you've taken a look at my resume prior to summoning me here," Craig Beauregard replied, cool as a cucumber in spite of the summer heat, and the frostiness emanating from the beautiful but haughty royal. This gal is nothing but trouble, Craig privately lamented while keeping his facial expression and body language carefully neutral.

"So, how do you like Dubai? It's not like my hometown of Jeddah but dammit, it's sure as hell preferable to anyplace in Saudi Arabia," Princess Rana said, and the young Saudi woman made a show of licking her full, sensuous lips while looking Craig Beauregard up and down. In spite of the gal's provocative words, Craig maintained his composure, just like life, the best teacher of all, taught him time and again.

Six feet two inches tall, broad-shouldered and strongly built, with light brown skin, light green eyes and a medium-sized Afro reflecting his mixed ancestry, Craig Beauregard is one fine specimen of man indeed. Clad in a perfectly tailored dark gray business suit over a blue silk shirt, black tie and dark gray silk pants, his shoes shined to a fine gleam, he looked more like a male model than an ex-United States Marine turned professional bodyguard.

Born in the City of Atlanta, Georgia, to a Haitian-American father, Fire Captain Jean-Michel Beauregard, and a white mother originally from Italy, schoolteacher Helena Golcasi, Craig Beauregard grew up in a tough environment. The City of Atlanta, long the crown jewel of the South, hasn't always been tolerant of interracial couples. The Beauregard family grew accustomed to receiving sour glances from both blacks and whites in their middle-class neighborhood of Grant Parkwood.

Craig Beauregard attended Fort Pius Academy, a private Catholic school, and used to rub elbows with the sons and daughters of Atlanta's elite. Nevertheless, at this school which was fifty eight percent white, and thirty five percent black, with a few Asians, Latinos and others in its student body, Craig didn't fit in. He was always the odd man out. This made him tough, smart and at times, very combative and ruthless. Attributes which would serve him well later in life.

"Son, the world is always trying to make a brother do what he doesn't want to do, and since you're both black and Italian, they don't know what to make of you, so always be more than you seem," said Jean-Michel Beauregard, Craig's father, at his son's graduation from Morehouse College. It was a bright day in June 2011, and Craig was twenty one years old. He had a Criminal Justice degree, and inexplicably longed to join the U.S. military, instead of going to law school like so many of his classmates.

"Jean-Michel, stop worrying the lad and let's celebrate," said Craig's mother Helena, and the tall, raven-haired, fifty-something Italian American lady gave her son Craig a simple hug. Jean-Michel rolled his eyes, and then wrapped his arms around his wife and son for a family picture. The family then left the Morehouse College campus, and headed to The Spice House, a neat little Haitian restaurant located in the heart of Atlanta. After dinner, they went home, for more celebrating.

Craig vividly remembered his college graduation, the pictures with friends and family, and the celebrating, but he mostly remembered his father's words. It turns out it was true, what his old man said. At Morehouse College, Craig surprised his fellow African American students by excelling academically and athletically, and also due to his fondness for swimming, something many thought of as an atypical pursuit for a person of African descent.

Craig thought long and hard before replying to Princess Rana's question. He hadn't been in Dubai long, but he had been in the Middle East before. He'd served in Kandahar, Afghanistan, and also in Iraq, where he was among the last troops to be withdrawn from that country as ordered by President Obama. In his time in the Middle East, Craig learned a lot about the Islamic religion, and also the ethnic and sectarian strife that pitted various groups against their neighbors.

One thing that Craig noticed was how, almost everywhere he went, the Muslims seemed to have a die-hard hatred for people of African descent. The Iraqi soldiers that were trained to take over once American troops left were respectful of the white soldiers, but showed an open dislike of black soldiers. Craig learned that in the Arab world, for many centuries, blacks had been enslaved, and even when slavery out outlawed, many of them continued to mistreat Africans everywhere they went.

In the Southern United States, Craig grew up seeing hatred in the eyes of white males who saw him out and about with his black father and Italian mother. And he always stared back at them, defiant, even though his parents took the moral high ground and ignored the bigoted bozos. Craig saw all bigots as things, rather than people, whom he'd gladly eradicate if he could. Racist white dudes in Atlanta or racist Arab guys in Iraq, made no difference to them.

"Dubai is alright, I do wish the locals were more used to seeing black folks who aren't indentured laborers, but hey, that's just me," Craig replied, looking Princess Rana in the eyes, and not caring if he'd just cost himself a potential job. He'd be on the next flight back to Europe and then hop over to his comfort zone without a second thought. Craig liked Atlanta's simplicity. Money doesn't buy everything, Craig silently reminded himself.

"Oh yes, there it is, that defiance common to black folks from the New World, you're nothing like the Somalis, Nigerians, Mauritanians and Eritreans we have working for us, you'd fight any man who disrespected you, finally, a man with balls, Hmm, you'll do fine, Mr. Beauregard, consider yourself hired," Princess Rana said, and Craig blinked in surprise, finally caught off-guard.

"Understood, thank you ma'am," Craig replied, falling back on his southern home training in the face of such an unexpected about-face. Women are indeed full of surprises regardless of culture, race or religion, Craig silently reminded himself, when he saw amusement dance in Princess Rana's lovely brown eyes. He was even more surprised when the lady left her spot on the couch, and approached him. The Princess held out a lovely, manicured hand, and Craig shook it hesitantly.

"Hmm, Craig, I know you're from the South, but we're in Dubai now, the most liberal place in the entire Arab world, call me Rana and I'll call you Craig, don't be so stiff and formal, well, don't be so formal," Princess Rana said, laughing merrily. Craig nodded, unsure how to take this sudden change in tone, mood and behavior. This lady is mercurial but then what woman isn't? Craig thought, and he smiled dryly.

Prior to coming to the summons, unusual though it may be, Craig had been contacted by his good friend Jonas Gemayel, a Lebanese Christian businessman dealing in everything from textiles to weapons. They'd done business in the past, and Jonas had been the one to suggest Craig's services to Princess Rana, after the royal nearly died during the latest assassination attempt against her person. The attack occurred in Paris, during her legendary shopping spree...

"Jonas, my friend, I appreciate the offer, but I don't do royalty, especially from your part of the world, things could get too dicey," Craig said to Gemayel as they dined inside Abu Naim's restaurant, near the Piccadilly Theater in downtown Beirut, Lebanon. Craig had come to Lebanon to help Gemayel with smuggling certain weapons to Mauritania, where conflict was brewing. Business as usual for Craig, a Jack-of-all-Trades. What Gemayel was proposing as his next gig was insane, though...

"Craig, my friend, some damn fool accused you of being one of the best in the business, and besides, Princess Rana is a friend of mine, we met when she stayed at my father's hotel in Nabatieh," Gemayel said, laughing. Craig smiled at his friend, wishing he'd stop trying to be so helpful. He'd come to Beirut on business and with that business terminated, Craig wanted to go back to the States.

The whole thing paid pretty good, and given Craig's knowledge of Arabic and his paramilitary experience and comfort with Islamic culture, it had been logical on Gemayel's part to use his services. Still, Craig was temporarily tempted by the idea of going to Dubai. He'd been to a number of Arab countries and to the region in general, Dubai was their very own Las Vegas.

"Craig, please, do me this favor, the Princess and her people are willing to pay you twenty thousand dollars U.S. for a one-time consultation, either she likes you as a bodyguard and hires you, or she dismisses you, either way, you keep the twenty grand, it's a win-win situation," Gemayel said, and Craig looked at his buddy and shook his head. Looks like I'm heading to Dubai, Craig thought resignedly. Oh well, he'd been thinking of visiting, but for a vacation, not work...

That's how it all began, Craig Beauregard's adventure in the Middle East. For a Saudi Princess, Rana seldom stayed in one place very long. Ten days after Craig arrived in Dubai, the Princess, and a retinue composed of sixteen servants, assistants, personal chefs, masseuses, pedicurists, manicurists, general beauticians and the like flew to Los Angeles, California, to her newly acquired, freshly renovated mansion in Beverly Hills.

"So, Craig, how do you like my new digs? This mansion has three floors, ten bedrooms, three kitchens, five bathrooms, a swimming pool and a twenty-foot-tall fence, it used to belong to Frank Sinatra," Rana said, beaming at him. Craig looked at the Princess, who looked very beautiful in a long-sleeved black T-shirt featuring Horror movie icon Ken Foree, and too-tight blue jeans. If he didn't know her, he'd think she was just a regular cutie...

"Impressive, very impressive, ma'am, I mean, Rana, but from a security logistics viewpoint, it's a nightmare, so much real estate to cover, we're going to need to install security cameras everywhere, metal detectors, and the like," Craig said, matter-of-factly. In spite of the Californian summer heat, he insisted on wearing a suit and tie. Rana looked him up and down and smiled, then stepped closer to him.

"You're always a killjoy, Craig, do what you like as far as security, but I'm warning you, I don't like feeling like a prisoner in my own home," Rana said, and her eyes darkened, and locked onto his. Craig took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. There was an intensity to Rana which was affecting him for some reason, and he also didn't like her tone of voice. The Saudi gal was acting like one of those Hollywood divas that other people in his profession sometimes guarded. Damn Rana and her antics...

"Ma'am, I mean, Rana, I'm here to protect you, someone tried to kill you in Paris, and they may try again in Los Angeles, you have enemies, we cannot be too careful," Craig stated flatly, hoping he could get Miss Saudi Arabia to see reason. Rana sighed, and flashed him the kind of smile that a young woman might give to her overprotective father. Seconds later, he found out how right he was...

"Alright, Pops, I'll be careful," Rana said, laughing derisively, and then she walked away with her flunkies, Amina and Nadia, a couple of Hijab-wearing young Arab women who followed her everywhere. Craig watched the three of them go, and sighed. For some reason, the Pops comment rankled him. At least, that's what he told himself. He watched the trio until they turned a corner and disappeared from view. What did I get myself into? Craig wondered.

Craig went back to his private suite within the mansion, which was much bigger than his apartment back in Atlanta. It was the sort of place where Prince Harry might have stayed, though Craig doubted the British Prince could match the Saudi royals in terms of excess. Craig took a shower and relaxed, and then inspected his guns, before grabbing his cellphone and making some calls. There were security experts he needed to get hold of. The mansion needed new close-circuit cameras, alarm systems, and the like. Time to get to work.

The technicians came and installed the cameras, the alarm systems, and a backup generator in case the power went out in the mansion. Craig handled the technical stuff while Amir Obeid, an older Arab man who'd served Rana's family for generations, handled the financial. Craig then checked the equipment to make sure it was installed properly, and then inquired with Amir, Princess Rana's chief assistant, about putting the entire staff through drills in the event of an emergency...

"Absolutely not, young man, you forget your place and you are stressing the Princess," Amir said, and there was a deep anger in the man's eyes that gave Craig pause. The bodyguard looked at the old servant, who was finely dressed, and carried himself more like a Middle-Eastern royal than the Princess herself, fond as she was of western clothing and western ways.

"Mr. Amir, when it comes to matters of security, only the Princess's words may overrule mine, are we clear?" Craig replied, unafraid of the old Arab dude and totally unwilling to back down before a man who challenged him while in the performance of his duties. If this old bozo thinks I'm like those African guys who let him get away with disrespecting him, he's got another thing coming, Craig thought angrily.

"Whatever," Amir said, and the old Arab man walked away, muttering something to himself that Craig didn't quite catch. Houston we got a problem, Craig thought to himself as Amir soon disappeared from view. Having set up a camera room, alarm control and command center, Craig checked on Princess Rana's whereabouts, and then got dressed. There was more work to be done...

Princess Rana Bint Hafiz, sole surviving heir of Saudi Arabian Prince Hafiz Muhammad Al Saud, lay in bed, wearing an old sweatshirt and cut-off jeans, watching television. She'd dismissed her servants and finally had some time to herself. Rana was fond of the Marvel superhero universe expanding on Netflix. After binge-watching the second season of Daredevil, Rana decided to check out Marvel's Jessica Jones and its spin-off Luke Cage. She'd heard good things about the iconic black superhero, and after watching a few episodes, she didn't regret checking him out.

"What a man," Rana thought to herself as she watched Luke Cage make love to Jessica Jones character. The tall, dark-skinned hero looked very virile on screen, and the pale-skinned, dark-haired, very classy heroine embraced him passionately. Rana was astonished at the amount of nudity and sensuality that American television audiences allowed. In Saudi Arabia, women were routinely cut out of television and print ads, for fear of offending the ultra-religious clerics who ruled the country. Go figure...

"Hmm, chocolate men are so fine, Wallahi," Rana said to herself, grinning as she watched Luke Cage and Jessica Jones tumble toward ecstasy. Without even realizing it, the Princess began touching herself while watching the action explode onscreen. When Jessica Jones kissed Luke Cage and he grabbed her body, caressed her breasts and pulled her to him, Rana envisioned herself as the focus of such raw, primal passion...

Sighing happily, Rana slid her hand between her legs and began masturbating. Thrusting two fingers into her wet womanhood, Rana giggled and fondled her breasts with her free hand. Her nipples were already erect, so aroused was she by what she was beholding on the TV screen. In Rana's lustful fantasy, she replaced Jessica Jones, the pretty but too-bony gal in Luke Cage's strong, manly arms. As Rana pleasured herself, she closed her eyes, and when she imagined Luke Cage about to take her and make her his, he vanished, only to be replaced by...Craig Beauregard.

"Hello sexy man," Rana said to Craig, and, in her lustful fantasy, she smiled coyly at the bodyguard, who pulled her close and kissed her. Rana kissed Craig with wild abandon, and they rolled around on her bed as they began making love. Craig looked into Rana's eyes as he caressed her curvy body, and then he kissed her lips while caressing her breasts.

"You're mine now, gorgeous," Craig replied in that sexy southern accent of his, and he fastened his full lips around Rana's nipples and sucked on them. Rana moaned softly as Craig worked his magic on her, and when he slid his hand between her thick thighs and began fingering her, she cried out in sheer pleasure. Grinning, Craig assured Rana that she hadn't felt anything yet, and then brought his face to the place between her legs.

"You know what to do, handsome," Rana whispered, and Craig nodded before burying his face in her womanhood. Rana felt little tingles of pleasure in her sweet spot as Craig began teasing her clit, and fingering her. She squirmed on the bed as the handsome African American bodyguard rocked her world, and then he began his approach into her. A thrill went down Rana's spine as she beheld Craig's manhood, and she stroked his massive prick and big round balls tenderly...

"Come and get it, cutie," Craig said, and he kissed Rana and pulled her on top of him, and she straddled him happily. Rana held her breath as Craig locked eyes with her and silently asked her a question, or rather, the question. Nodding swiftly, Rana gripped Craig's dick and rubbed it against her vaginal opening. With a swift thrust Craig entered her, and just like that, they began to fuck...

Craig Beauregard, international man of mystery, part-time arms dealer and security professional decided to take a walk around the sizeable Beverly Hills mansion to familiarize himself with it. There was only so much one could glean from the security cameras, which were all state-of-the-art and operational. All seemed tranquil around the mansion. He saw a few of the staff hanging out in a big lounge, saluted them and walked on by. Craig was about to return to his room on the east wing when, while walking near the Princess chambers in the west wing, he heard a scream...

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