From a broom closet next to the room of the American girl, the Arab peered hungrily through the small hole bored through the wall. He could see her slowly remove the thin robe she was wearing, exposing the flimsy night gown that covered her firm luscious body only down to the tops of her full well-rounded thighs.

He smiled in anticipation when he saw her lift the glass of tea to her lips and drink deeply from it. He held his breath as she winced slightly from the initial bitter taste; then breathed freely again as the puzzled look disappeared from her face and she drank again. Small beads of perspiration broke from his forehead as she reclined back on the bed, her feet facing directly at the hole through which he was observing her. The sparse nylon gown snaked its way up over the white flat plane of her belly, exposing the dark soft silkiness that covered the junction of her slightly spread legs. The thin red hair-lined slit was temptingly visible running the length of her open crotch.

His bulging eyes followed the contours of the hips up over the rising and falling rib-cage to the large white rounded spheres of her breasts. They were set slightly close together and through the thin covering, he could sec their turgid nipples rising into tantalizing little buds. His month watered. He could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on those and to twist and churn them into the rock hardness of passion. He had never had an American girl before and he had heard they were passionless haughty things who ruled over their men with an iron-hand. He would see soon. His potion never failed. He had used it often on the women Madame Monique had brought here and not one had been able to resist its maddening aphrodisiac effect.