The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key)

by Gillian Zane

  “No, I think this is it, this is what she was talking about. I have to do this. She also said only one other person would hear the cry, and only if that person came with me would we be able to succeed. I think you’re that person. I think we have to help him together.” She looked at Owen earnestly. She was convinced. Owen wasn’t as sure. He did feel a strange draw to this woman standing in front of him. He was chalking it up to a serious case of lust, but deep down he knew it was something more than that. Something about her drew him in. He’d encountered hot chicks before, lusted after them, even managed to get them into his bed a time or two, but he’d never been pulled into their sphere so quickly. He felt like he knew Sierra. Not as far as her memories, or life, but knew her motivations, feelings, who she was. It was creepy, scary, but strangely comforting. He didn’t want to be away from her. But he wasn't convinced they should go into the creepy house.

  “I have to help him and I need you to come with me.”

  “I can’t…” he tried to say. But she was looking at him with those big eyes and he couldn’t say no. Fuck it. He was going to jump into a steaming pile of shit for this woman and he didn’t even know her last name.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Your last name? I figure if we’re going to be crazy, might as well know a little more about each other. Mine is Thomas. Owen Thomas.”

  “Sierra Azar,” she said.

  “Pretty name, Sierra Azar. I like to hike, that’s my hobby. My favorite food is pizza and I hate wearing shoes. Tell me about yourself,” he said nervously.

  “Is this really the time for this?” She looked back at the house.

  “Yeah, I guess not. What do we have to do? I don’t know anything about ghosts or sultans.”

  “I don’t know much either, but I think this has something to do with it.” She took off a necklace she was wearing and held it up. It gleamed in the street lights, the sparkle of crystal confusing him for a second. He finally figured out that it was a key of some sort. A skeleton key. The head of it was fashioned in a skull. Not very reassuring.

  Owen broke eye contact and looked around, another cry for help floated over the air and his entire body clenched up. He wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. Sierra stepped onto the raised sidewalk and into the house’s shadow, moving toward the front door.

  All he could do was follow her. The closer he got to the house, the more his stomach churned in anticipation. Trepidation shivered down his spine. Not a good idea. Not a good idea was the mantra that was going through his head. The air thickened and felt more and more oppressive with each step. He moved forward and gripped Sierra’s hand, he didn’t know if it was to reassure her or himself.

  The house loomed over them. The closer he got the more fear trickled through his system. The only way he could describe the place was evil. It was so dark and black he could taste it. Acidic and cloying. The house was a black stain on the area. He stared up at it and realized it was darker than the houses around it, a black hole, sucking away the light, sucking away the good around it. Even the houses next to the Gardette Le Pretre house were gray and worn down compared to the other houses on the block. This area was a mess. The house was evil and the man trapped inside needed help. And the chick he was with wanted to go in there and help him.

  Damn. Owen was pretty sure he was screwed.

  Chapter 7

  Sierra stopped in her tracks. The front door of the building was only a few paces ahead of her. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to go into this haunted house? Help some Sultan guy that was the victim of a mass murderer?

  She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to do this. Something in her gut told her that she was the only one who could do this.

  She crossed the remaining few steps, pulling Owen along by his hand. The security door remained open, revealing an intricate wooden door that looked out of place in the drab building. The exterior door was made up of two large wooden panels that each had beautiful carvings from floor to ceiling. The carvings were of a fantastical landscape with an Ottoman landscape on the horizon, minarets and domed buildings dotted the skyline, while intricate lace patterns framed the borders. It was truly beautiful.

  In the center of the door was a single key hole. There was no handle. Only the keyhole.

  Sierra gripped the glass skeleton key in her hand and calmly inserted it into the hole. With a turn of her wrist, her ears popped, as if she had suddenly gone too deep underwater. The door swung open.

  The smell of jasmine and lavender washed over her and she breathed in the scent, greedy for the feeling that it brought with it. Pleasure. It was a purely pleasurable smell. It was clean and fresh and couldn’t be a sign of evil. There had to be good here.

  Owen, who had been scowling and acting protective a moment earlier, was now smiling and eager to enter the house. It welcomed them. It called to them. They wanted to be here. It wanted them here.

  They crossed the threshold. Again the popping sensation in Sierra’s ears. Colors faded in and out until the sharpness around them felt unreal. Yellows popped, and red fed the eye like a feast. The room around them shimmered in light and sound. They were standing in a brightly lit atrium. It was carefully styled and arranged; murals of a lush harem were depicted on two of the walls. Men and women were wrapped around each other, while voyeurs looked upon their nude bodies with smiles. Beautiful men played the Saz while women danced seductively in front of them. It was magnificent, but it was unreal. Sierra and Owen realized they had been transported somewhere else. They weren’t in their own time and place. The whole world had changed around them. Colors popped in their eyes as time and place shifted. Sunlight filtered in through stained-glass windows high above. Sunlight. It had been dark when they crossed the threshold.

  What was once plaster walls, dingy from grime, were now sumptuous wood paneling with intricately carved relief patterns along the base. Rugs were piled upon the floor, thick underneath Sierra’s thin sandals. Red and gold drapes hung from the ceiling, and the tinkling sound of music beckoned from down the hall.

  The two moved deeper into the house. Following the draw of the music and the smell of mouth-watering aromas. The front hall opened into a large room, windows that went from floor to ceiling broadcast sunlight into the room, revealing decadence and over abundance. They had entered the harem.

  Sierra glanced out the window and noticed the street had changed. The day was bright and she noticed lavishly dressed women in dresses, big hats and parasols strolling down the street arm in arm with gentlemen.

  It was a different time. She was in the past. How could that be?

  She looked around the room; it was massive, meant for entertaining. Low sofas were scattered along the walls, and thick carpets were strewn over the wood floors, double stacked in some places. Large overstuffed pillows were everywhere, patterned in ornate, thick materials in deep burgundy and navy blue. They were stacked in welcoming piles throughout the room for sitting or lying. Low tables, equipped with incense burners and hookahs were also placed strategically throughout the room, discarded drinks and ashtrays covered them in haphazard patterns. The smell of hashish clung heavy in the air, the pungent smell and tantalizing elixirs a salve to ease Sierra’s disturbed mind.

  This was the past. This was the time of the Sultan. Today, in her world, the place couldn’t look like this. It was run down and a hot mess of an apartment complex. This was decadence to the extreme. This reflected the house’s name; this was a Sultan’s palace.

  A woman, wearing only a flowing skirt, her nipples erect and dusted with gold, greeted them. She spoke in a warm language that Sierra couldn’t understand. The woman smiled mischievously and beckoned them into the room. She pulled on Sierra and Owen’s hands, enticing them to join the festivities, to go further into the illusion.

  The man, the same man Sierra had spotted on the balcony, lay back on a mound of pillows. He was smoking from a long tube connec
ted to a hookah and watched as a nude man danced in front of him.

  “Bonjour,” he said in thickly accented French, the music coming to a stop the moment he spoke. When both Owen and Sierra didn’t respond the man spoke again, “Francais? Anglais?”

  “English,” Owen spoke up.

  “Ah, the English of the Americans. I speak well English. Welcome guests. I have not had pleasurable guests in a very long time. Come, please, sit.” He gestured to the pillows around him and Owen sat down, pulling Sierra down with him.

  “My home is your home and my home is pleasure,” the Sultan said and smiled. The music began again and with it the nude man resumed his dance. He was a beautiful specimen of a man. He was of African descent, his skin gleamed like obsidian, his muscles were toned to perfection, but they were for fashion. His perfect skin and soft features spoke of a life of leisure and not of labor. As a testament to that, jewels glittered on his wrists and ankles and there was even a gold ring around his cock. The large organ, adorned with gold, jutted out, hard and erect from a nest of thick dark hair.

  “Du vin,” the female who had greeted them at the door said and handed them chalices of fragrant smelling wine. Sierra took a big gulp and reveled in the unique flavor. She had never sampled wine like this. The taste was rich and spicy, delicious and overpowering. She breathed in the incense burning around her and sipped the wine, feeling pleasure infuse every pore of her being. This was amazing. Surreal and intense.

  She was in a different time, a different place. She should be nervous, worried, and scared, but she had never felt so at ease. Her limbs felt heavy, and her body tingled in awareness. Owen’s fingertips trailed along her shoulder and she focused in on that touch, on the feel of his fingertips, rough, yet soft. Her consciousness narrowed to only where her skin met his skin. She was so aware of him, her breath hitched when his fingers trailed lower. Everywhere he touched burned, it ignited a path down her spine and directly to her core.

  Movement brought her attention back to the man that danced. She watched as he moved suggestively, femininely, his hips thrusting forward and moving in a circle. His eyes never left the Sultan’s. It was a dance for him.

  The topless woman joined the dance, her body wrapping around the man like a snake. She slid down his body, her hands on his chest, moving her body in a wave of motion, even though she was in a squat position. She moved to her knees in one fluid motion and looked up from the supplicant position at the big man above her. She took him into her mouth and Sierra moaned. This was the first time seeing another couple engaged in anything sexual. It was so carnal. So intense she felt her insides clench in want. Her core flared with arousal and she chewed her bottom lip, wanting it to be her mouth on the man. Her lips wrapped around his huge length.

  She couldn’t remember another time when she was this turned on. None of the boys she had been with before had made her feel this way. The rushed and fumbling sex she had in the past, in dorm rooms and the backseat of cars, was nothing like what she was witnessing.

  “My house is pleasure,” the sultan said in his rich and sexualized voice. He smiled at Sierra and lifted himself from the pillows. Sierra's eyes were drawn to the tent of his pants and the obvious sign of his erection. “Everything here is about pleasure. If you are here, within my walls, you shall be about pleasure too.” He crawled across the pillowed ground and pulled the woman’s skirt to the side, revealing her slick and ready sex. The Sultan got to his knees and maneuvered behind her, blocking the view of what they were doing from Sierra. As the Sultan's body began to move back and forth in exaggerated thrusts it was obvious what they were doing.

  Sierra was disappointed her view was blocked but quickly forgot as Owen’s hot lips touched her neck. The feel of them burned her skin and she gasped. She turned to him. She didn’t want his lips on her neck. She wanted them on her own lips. She pulled his head up to hers and took his lips with a hunger that couldn’t be sated. He kissed her hard. He was just as hungry and much more eager. His mouth scorched hers and his tongue pushed past her lips, delving in and claiming her. She moaned into his mouth, her whole body heavy with desire. She was wet with need, dying to be taken like the topless woman. Her need was so great that she trembled under Owen’s kiss.

  He fumbled at her back, the bells of her costume jingling everywhere he touched her. He continued to kiss her as his fingers unclasped her top and the sparkling bra fell away. She was drunk with need, thrusting her naked breasts up for him to touch. She wanted him to taste them. He broke away from her mouth with a gasp and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” she moaned gripping his hair and pushing him to her breast.

  He bit down on her nipple and sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue across the sensitive nub. He moaned against her hot skin and wrapped his arms around her body. He pulled her onto his lap so her breasts were aligned with his face and her hot core was right on his rigid cock, trapped within his jeans. Sierra cried out from the sensation and she ground against him, wanting the material gone. Owen palmed one breast while he licked the other. He pinched her nipple with his fingers and chuckled as Sierra moaned loudly and rubbed herself against him.

  “Bring her pleasure,” the Sultan purred.

  Sierra wanted the pleasure. She wanted every ounce of it. It was all she had ever wanted. All she could think about.

  Pleasure.

  Chapter 8

  Sierra. Sierra. Sierra.

  Owen had to clench his fist, stabbing himself with his fingernails to stop himself from ripping the clothes from her body and burying himself inside of her. All he knew was her, her smell, the taste of her, the sexy noises she made as she tempted him.

  He was so aroused his dick felt like it was going to explode. It pressed against his jeans, hurting him it was so hard. The smells in the room were doing something to him. His vision was blurry and all he could focus on was this girl. This woman. Sierra.

  All he wanted was Sierra. He didn’t need to eat. He needed to fuck her all day and all night.

  He needed to be inside her.

  She was everything and so much more. He lapped at her breasts, the perfect dark areolas tasting of spice and sex and everything nice. He squeezed one with his teeth and she cried out, her hips thrusting against him again and again. He couldn’t resist any longer. He was going to come in his pants like a horny teenager fingering his first willing partner if he didn't get inside of her.

  She was wearing nothing more than panties under a little filmy skirt. He pushed her up and away until she stood over him. He pulled the little scrap of fabric down her legs and brushed aside the thin material of her skirt, then pulled her down to the ground again, pushing her back against the pillows behind her.

  She was spread before him. The fabric of her skirt cascaded around her golden legs. Her hair had come undone from the clips she had it in and spread out over the pillows. She was mesmerizing. A succubus. He couldn’t get enough, but his eyes trailed over her body until he found what he wanted. That sweet pussy he wanted to explore.

  She was shaved, and the bare lips of her pussy glistened from her arousal. She was dripping. He stroked a finger over her clit, once. All it took was once. And she came.

  She screamed her pleasure, her hips jutting against his hand over and over again. His name was on her tongue. He was that good. He had never had that happen before.

  He was lost.

  He fumbled with his pants, shedding his clothes in a haphazard dance. He needed Sierra. He needed her so much he would die if he didn’t take her.

  Chapter 9

  Owen stood up to remove his pants while Sierra lay back on the pillows shivering. Nothing like this had happened to her before. She should be embarrassed, self-conscious about being laid across the pillows, her pussy exposed for everyone in this room to see, but all she knew was she wanted Owen. She wanted to see him. See his cock. She wanted him. She wanted the pleasure he could bring. The pleasure she knew he would bring to her.

&nb
sp; When he kicked his jeans off, his dick sprung forward, hard and ready. She pulled him down, pushing him against the pillows.

  “I need you,” she moaned.

  Her ears popped. And she blinked. Blinked over and over again, fast and disjointed.

  Blood. There was blood everywhere. It dripped down the walls. The smell of acrid smoke and burning wood bit into her nose. The disgusting aroma of rotting flesh and the distinct ammonia scent of urine bit into her consciousness. There was so much blood. How could there be this much blood?

  The taint was washed away with the tang of incense and the underlying smell of marijuana. So much better than the smell of blood. She wanted to hold onto that smell. She didn’t want to smell the blood anymore.

  Owen’s mouth on her tits brought her back to pleasure. To the heady smell of jasmine.

  “Oh God,” she moaned. Owen drew her to him and her vision became blurry. All she knew was Owen.

  She wrapped her legs around him, pulling herself onto him. She aligned her sex with his hard dick and took him into her. She was so wet, so slick with need that he slid into her without any resistance. They both screamed as their need overtook them.

  “Sierra,” he whispered as she moved on him. Taking him into her in a violent rocking motion. He licked her breasts as they bounced against his face.

  She faded in and out of reality, only staying aware of Owen. Of how he fit inside of her. Of the way their bodies joined together. It was bliss. It was pleasure. She came with a scream, but continued to pump over him. She didn’t ever want this to end. She could ride him until she passed out.

  He flipped her onto her back and his big body spread her legs. They kissed as he plunged into her. He whispered her name in her ear as his body emptied into her. His orgasm was intense and she felt it deep within her core. Hot. Liquid. Perfect. This was pleasure. This was right. This was where she needed to be.