“You make it sound as if I am a piece upon a chess board to be played to the best advantage,” Hestia said to her brother angrily.
“That is exactly what you are!” he crowed. “I am astounded you understand that.”
“Papa! I don’t want to leave you!” Hestia played her strongest card first.
“And I do not want to lose you,” her father said, “but this match is too important for me to ignore. Your brother is right in this matter, Hestia, my dearest. You must wed with this sultan, and his sister with your brother. I wish it as Sultan of Cinnabar, and my wishes cannot be denied, daughter.” He turned to his head eunuch. “Abu Abu, take the princess back to the harem. Have the women prepare her for her journey, which will begin in three days’ time.”
“Papa, please!” Hestia begged, but the sultan turned his face from her, and her half brother looked smugly at her.
Oh, Tiffy thought. This is really going to be a fun fantasy. Make it ten days from now.
She found herself in a litter being carried down a desert road. It was hot. Not a breeze stirred. Her litter was set atop a white camel. The beast’s sure-footed motion was a rolling gait. Hestia was not happy. They had been on this desert road for well over a week now, but she had been assured that by sunset they would reach the Forest of Palms oasis. She reached for the water skin she had been supplied with this morning and sipped the brackish liquid. Then she lay back and dozed, for the heat had made her head ache.
The complaining of the camels and the sensation of her beast lowering itself to its knees awoke her. She awaited her eunuch to help her from the litter. Gazing through the diaphanous curtains, Hestia could see the oasis was a large one. The large section of palms growing on one side of it gave it its name: Forest of Palms. A magnificently large pavilion and several slightly smaller pavilions were already set up. From the top of the largest tent hung the green banner of Sherazad, with its circle of silver stars. From atop a slightly smaller pavilion hung the flag of Cinnabar, red with a gold crescent moon.
Her eunuch came to help her from the litter, leading her to the smaller of the two large tents. Her half brother was already there. She had barely spoken to him in the past two weeks. “Well, royal brother,” she said, “what now?”
“Have your slaves bathe you, and prepare to meet your new husband, as I will shortly meet my new bride,” Prince Omar told her. “The sultan has just arrived. It will be at least an hour before he sends for us.”
The hour passed and then two. Hestia was bathed and ready, dressed in a turquoise kaftan embroidered with gold threads and small crystals. There were matching silk slippers on her feet. Tiffany was fascinated by the track this new fantasy of hers was taking. She was enjoying letting it play out, and she had determined that the sultan would not look like her husband. Carla was right. Being naughty was what the Channel was really all about, wasn’t it?
“Princess, your royal brother says that the sultan is asking for your presence,” her slave woman said in a soft voice.
“Tell my brother that I have traveled for ten days to arrive at this meeting place. If the sultan still wishes to have me as his wife, he will come and fetch me,” Hestia said. “I am not some peasant woman to be sent for.”
The slave woman looked terrified at her mistress’s words, but she obeyed the directive and delivered the message to Prince Omar, crying out as he slapped her face in response. “Ask my sister if the heat has driven her mad. She is to come at once!”
Having heard her slave woman’s cry of pain, Hestia stepped from her curtained chamber. “I am a princess of Cinnabar,” she said to her brother. “The sultan should come to greet me, as you will go to greet him and his sister. How dare he demand my presence? Sherazad may be strong, but Cinnabar is an older and more respected kingdom. It is proper for you to greet Princess Shalimar in her brother’s tent, but I am not some slave girl to be sent for by this sultan. And you, brother, lose face for Cinnabar, for our father, for yourself by allowing it. You and the sultan must greet each other on an equal footing. You must not appear the supplicant.”
Prince Omar considered his half sister’s wise words. Then he nodded. “The sultan shall come to you, Hestia. I thank you for thinking of Cinnabar first, as you have always done. I shall tell our father of your loyalty. Now, pull your veil across your features, and when I have done what must be done, the sultan will come to you.”
The prince left her. Hestia waited patiently, lying amid a pile of pillows. Her slave woman watched at the entry of the tent for the approach of the sultan. Suddenly she hissed, “He comes, Princess!” Then she scuttled into a dim corner. Hestia arose to greet her new husband, for the contracts exchanged between Cinnabar and Sherazad before her departure from her father’s palace had already made their marriage a fact.
He strode into the pavilion in a swirl of white robes. Upon his head was a white turban, the length of silk falling from it concealing his face from her. He was a tall man.
Hestia stood, crossed her arms over her breasts, and bowed from the waist in a gesture of respect. The air between them almost crackled.
“So,” the deep voice said, “you would have me come to you, Princess.”
“It is proper that you do so, my lord sultan,” Hestia replied. “I am your bride, the Star of Cinnabar, not some woman of the streets.”
“You are my wife now, Princess of Cinnabar. This is the one and only time that I shall indulge such bold behavior,” he warned her. The dark eyes above his face covering locked onto her violet blue eyes. Then, reaching up, he unveiled her. For a long moment he stood staring at her beautiful face. Then he nodded. “It is an acceptable bargain I have made,” the sultan said, “although my sister is fairer than you.” Then he took her hand. “Come! The wedding feast is to begin shortly.”
She was astounded by his words and by the fact that she had yet to see his face. Oh, please, don’t let it be Joe this time, Tiffany silently prayed. She couldn’t imagine her sweet practical husband ever being this insolent. But the Sultan of Sherazad’s audacious manner led her to believe that he was going to fuck like a stallion. Hardly able to wait, she felt a tingle of excitement in her clitoris.
In the sultan’s great pavilion, she met Princess Shalimar, and Tiffany had to admit to herself that the sultan’s sister was an extraordinary beauty. Her skin was like a gardenia in color. Her long hair was the blue-black of a raven’s wing. Her eyes were like fine sapphires. Her features were delicate. A slim nose, thick dark eyelashes, a generous mouth, high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face. Prince Omar was already entranced with his exquisite new wife.
Seeing her brother reenter the pavilion, Shalimar laughed aloud. “Oh, Ahmed, do unveil your handsome face so your bride may see it. He can be so wicked sometimes,” she remarked. Then she kissed Hestia upon her cheeks. “I hope you will be as happy in Sherazad as I intend being in Cinnabar.”
“I hope so too,” Hestia replied, but her eyes were on the face of the sultan, which was now uncovered. He was every bit as handsome as his sister was beautiful. Black hair, and the dark eyes she could now see were deepest blue. Strong but elegant features that included a long, narrow nose, a sensuous mouth, and a squared chin with a cleft in it.
“I assume you find me pleasing,” the sultan said drily.
“I assume you find me pleasing,” Hestia countered.
Shalimar laughed again. “Oh, Ahmed,” she said, “you have been given a wife who will, I suspect, never bore you.”
The feast was quite generous, considering where they were and how long it had taken them to even get there. There were roasted lamb and roasted chickens. There were saffron rice, hot flat bread, minted yogurt, fresh fruits, crisp honey cakes, and sweet wines. And when the meal was finished, slaves brought around basins of fragrant water and linen towels to wash the excesses of the meal away from hands and face. The sultan had brought a troupe of acrobats to entertain them. But then the sun began to set.
Prince Omar arose, drawing his bride to her f
eet as well. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lord sultan,” he said, “but the time has now come for me to take my bride to my tent so our marriage may be consummated. My father looks forward to his grandchildren, and the assurance that his grandson will follow me onto Cinnabar’s throne. We will bid you our farewells in the morning before we go.” Then Prince Omar led Princess Shalimar from the sultan’s tent and across the compound to his own.
The slaves had cleared away all evidence of the meal. The acrobats were gone. The oil lamps had been trimmed and were now burning low. Outside the pavilion, the encampment had grown quiet with the night. The sultan’s voice cut the silence.
“You have been married before, I was given to understand,” he said.
“Yes, to the son of my father’s vizier. My father did not wish to lose his only daughter,” Hestia explained. “My husband died when his horse stumbled in a race and threw him. Ali’s neck was broken. He died instantly, the physician said.” Tiffany felt a bit guilty, for the unfortunate Ali had had Joe’s face.
“Did you love him?” the sultan wanted to know.
“Yes,” she said, “but the truth is, we had grown up together. We were friends.”
The sultan nodded. “He took your virginity,” he said. It was more a statement than a question.
Hestia nodded. “Yes.”
“Good! Initiating virgins is a boring project at best. All the hysteria and weeping. I do not have a large harem, and I have abstained from my women ever since this treaty between your father and me was initiated. I intend to spend the next few days here at the oasis with you. Understand that you will be on your back much of that time. You are more beautiful than I anticipated, and I am eager to fuck you. And there is the matter of an heir for Sherazad.”
“Of course, my lord,” Hestia murmured.
He led her through a curtained hallway in the tent to a separate chamber. “Do you need your woman?” he asked.
Hestia shook her head as she stepped into the curtained space. Looking about, she gasped, amazed. There was a small pool with a low rock waterfall in one corner. “How . . . ?” She looked to the sultan.
“We know this oasis well,” he replied. “I had the pavilion set up in such a manner that the pool with its falls was enclosed. I am pleased that you like it.”
“I do!” Hestia told him. Taking her gaze from the water, she saw that the chamber contained a large mattress covered in black silk that had been set upon a platform, some low tables, and a number of silk pillows in jeweled shades of ruby, emerald, amethyst, sapphire, and aquamarine. Ohh, Tiffy thought, this place is just made for seduction. The princess turned to face her new husband. “Shall I disrobe for you, my lord sultan?”
He nodded. “And when you have, you will undress me, Hestia.”
“As my lord wishes,” she replied obediently. The kaftan had a keyhole neckline, and below it was a row of cleverly hidden buttons. She undid the buttons, stepping from the garment when they were all undone and laying it aside. Next she quickly undid the narrow braids on either side of her head, putting aside the bejeweled chains that had been plaited into them. Then, shaking her head slightly, she shook her long golden hair free.
His deep blue eyes followed her every move, admiring both the perfection of her body and the beauty of her long hair.
Now she turned to undress the sultan. First she removed the turban from his dark head, smiling as she ran her fingers through his thick, wavy hair. Next came the white shirt, which opened to reveal a smooth bronzed chest. She ran her hands over his skin, pushing the shirt over his broad shoulders and from him. She undid his bejeweled sash and, kneeling, drew down his full pantaloons, lifting his feet in turn from the legs of the garment to find herself facing his swelling cock.
His hands rested upon her shoulders. “Do you know what to do?” he asked her.
“Yes, my lord sultan.”
“Then do it, Hestia. Slowly, using your tongue skillfully. When I command you to cease, you will do so immediately, arise, and go to the bed, where you will lie upon your belly with your bottom raised for my pleasure. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord sultan.” God! He had a wonderful cock. It was long, and it was thickening before her eyes. Hestia took it between her thumb and forefinger and circled her tongue around the edge of its tip two or three times. Then she took just the tip into her mouth, sucking hard on it, hearing his sharp intake of breath. Slowly, slowly, she engulfed him bit by delicious bit until she had almost absorbed his entire length. She might have taken him all into her mouth, but it would have made it difficult to suck. She began to work her mouth and tongue over, around, and about the fleshy peg between her lips. She felt the fingers of one hand kneading deeply into her scalp.
Hestia heard his quickened breathing, and even a groan of satisfaction, but then his deep voice commanded her, “Stop!” She did so reluctantly. Then, rising to her feet, she went to the bed and lay upon her belly, drawing her knees up beneath her. She was wet, and she was eager for him now. He came up behind her, a big hand reaching beneath her to cup her mons. To her own surprise, she moaned eagerly.
He laughed, then pushed a finger between her nether lips and found her clitoris. “Is it always this big?” he asked her, not really expecting an answer. “What an eager little bitch you are, Hestia. I think we will very much enjoy each other tonight.” He tweaked the flesh, and she screamed softly as a bolt of pleasure slammed into her. “Do you want to be fucked, Princess of Cinnabar?” he teased her wickedly.
“Oh, yes, my lord sultan!” she admitted to him. “I want to be skewered by that great cock of yours. It has been forever since I have enjoyed a man. Not since Ali died.”
Her admission pleased him. “I will fuck you as he never did, Princess of Cinnabar,” he told her, “and you will scream for the entire camp to hear with your admittance of the pleasure that I, and I alone, can give you.”
“Then cease your talk, my lord sultan, and prove to me your words!” Hestia challenged her new husband. She felt him position himself. Then, without any further foreplay, he drove himself deep into her eager body. She cried out at his fierce entry and the sudden realization that his hand was on her neck, holding her in a submissive position as he thrust deeper and deeper, harder and harder into her.
Wow, Tiffy thought. This guy really knows how to work it. He wasn’t bragging. Geez, Carla was right. It’s better when it’s not Joe.
“Submit to me, Hestia,” the sultan growled in her ear. “Submit to your master!”
“Not yet!” she gasped. “Not yet!”
“You are too greedy,” he accused her.
“Can you not hold your seed in check any longer, my lord sultan?” she taunted.
“I will pour myself into you a half dozen times before the dawn comes, Princess of Cinnabar,” he promised her, and his cadence quickened until she was gasping with the pleasure that was threatening to consume her.
“Scream for me, Princess of Cinnabar,” he said. “I can already feel the walls of your sheath beginning to quiver with excitement. Scream for me!”
She climaxed as she never had before. Waves of pleasure rippled over her, making her dizzy. She felt his cock stiffen and then burst with his lust for her, and Hestia screamed with the delight that they were giving and had given each other. Perhaps not as loud as he would have wanted her to scream, but loud enough for the guards outside the entry to the pavilion to hear and to grin at the vocal evidence of their master’s prowess.
Ping! Ping! Ping! The Channel is now closing.
“Crap!” Tiffany swore softly as she found herself in her own bed again. “That’s the shortest eight hours I’ve ever known.” Well, she thought, I did have to set the backstory for this fantasy. Then she realized she was lying on her belly, which was something a woman rarely did at her age. She rolled over. She felt a little guilty that her fantasy lover hadn’t had Joe’s face. And he sure hadn’t had Joe’s middle-aged body. Still, all in all, it had been a highly successful ev
ening in the Channel. She could hardly wait for tomorrow night to come. Her clitoris twitched with the lascivious thoughts she was entertaining. But tonight’s adventure had to have been the most intense she had ever had in the Channel. And she had liked it. Oh, yeah! She had liked it very much.
Her sultan was a very bad boy, but she had enjoyed his macho tactics. His hand on her nape as he fucked her had been strangely exciting. Tiffy shivered. She had never known the Channel to be quite so thrilling. And all because she hadn’t imagined Joe’s face as the face of her lover. For the first time since she had begun visiting the Channel all those years ago, she felt as if she had done something bad. But she knew she was going to do it again and again. Her sultan was fascinating, and she hadn’t learned enough about him yet to be bored. She seriously doubted that his skillful dick would ever bore her. After she managed to calm her thoughts, Tiffy fell asleep.
Carla called Thursday afternoon. “I’m on my cell in Bergdorf’s loo,” she said. “How was it without the guy having Joe’s face? Tell me you changed the face.”
“I did,” Tiffy admitted.
“And?”
“Dy-no-mite!” Tiffy giggled.
“Details, damn it!” Carla demanded.
“It was the first time I’ve done this fantasy. I put it on the B button, but I had to play out the backstory last night. Still, I managed to get one great fuck in before the Channel closed. He had me on my belly with his hand on my neck holding me down. God, if Joe did that, I’d be so embarrassed, but being the seventeen-year-old princess of Cinnabar with a sultan for a bridegroom, I somehow managed to soldier on,” Tiffy said.
“He did that to a virgin?”
“Princess Hestia, the Star of Cinnabar, isn’t a virgin. She’s a widow,” Tiffy explained. “And not having had a man since Ali died, she was hot to trot with the sultan.”
“You want more of it?” Carla asked.
“You betcha,” Tiffy replied. “This guy and I have only just started to have fun. I’ll be back in the Channel in just four more hours.”
Guilty Pleasures Page 21