After a time, the woman laid Amelia down again and began to kiss her, draping her breasts against Amelia’s lips and then chest. The woman began to reach under Amelia’s robe.
Amelia felt a wave of panic, not knowing why. She took the woman’s wrist and started to shake her head, vehemently, saying “No. No. I don’t want to.” But she knew that wasn’t true.
The woman didn’t understand. She kept trying to get under Amelia’s robe, to unfasten it. The woman made a gesture with her mouth, as if trying to convince her. Amelia felt her stomach go weak, churning uncontrollably, her body aching for the woman to repeat the gesture against her. She remembered another person making that same gesture. . . . Amelia shook her head vigorously and motioned the woman away.
Impassively, the woman adjusted her garments. She took the tray and left the room while Amelia lay there, unmoving. Tears had formed in her eyes.
She could not remember the mores, the social fabric of upper-crust New York society which had prevented her from making love to the girl. All she knew was that she could not do it.
Amelia drifted for ever. She had begun to forget the experience with the woman, but it came back in lush, sensuous morsels, making her squirm on the mat. She was fed and washed several times. She was much neater after the first time, requiring less cleaning afterwards. Amelia was vaguely aware, the third time she was served, that this was a different woman, as it had been the time before – three women, equally beautiful and equally different than Amelia. Each time, after she had been cleaned, Amelia would find herself kissing the woman, hungrily devouring her tongue, reaching out for her body. But she refused each woman in turn, prevented by some unknown force from making love with her, however much she wanted it.
After the third meal, Amelia slept for a time. She awoke to the scent of sandalwood and musk incense. It was dark outside, and there were no lights in the room.
She felt the mask being removed. Someone was kissing her – it was a man. She tasted his tongue and felt the surge of her need. With a curious enthusiasm, Amelia realized that she was going to be taken. She felt an aching hunger. While she suddenly knew that she could not remember the color of her mother’s eyes, or the address of her childhood home in Long Island, or the name of the man with whom she had travelled to this country, and that she should be able to remember these things, she knew, deeply, instinctively, that her giving herself to this man, or more accurately, being taken, did not spell decadence the way it would have to give herself to the women. That is why, she knew, she must succumb, dissolve, submit. That is why, she knew, she must be devoured by him.
That is why she became his.
Amelia’s back arched, and she presented her lips for his consumption. She felt his rough hands on her robe, unfastening it, opening it up. He did not remove the mask yet. Amelia’s head whirled in conscious surrender.
The robe came open, and he removed it from Amelia’s body. He unfastened the sash around her breasts. She felt an explosive freedom. He had considerable trouble with her cotton slacks and shirt, as if he had never seen such garments before. But Amelia did not assist him. She lay passive, allowing him to take rather than giving herself to him, not wanting to break the spell of freedom that her inaction offered.
The pants and shirt joined the robe on the floor. Then her undergarments.
The smell of sandalwood filled her nostrils.
She moaned softly as she felt the man’s hands on her breasts. His caress was strong, insistent, but there was an underlying gentleness, as if she were a profoundly important person, but belonged wholly to him. Amelia was still blind, but her mouth was exposed and he kissed her briefly before disrobing himself. Then he lay upon her, his naked form against her, as she presented herself for him. With his hands and his mouth and his body, he took her. He possessed each part of her body with sensuous fervor, starting with her breasts, continuing to her mouth, slowly working over her belly and back, then gently entering her with his fingers. Amelia remained passive, delighting in the sensation as his fingers slid smoothly into her. It was after that that he pulled her body against his. He guided her mouth to his shaft and, giving herself fully, her eyes still shrouded, enveloped by darkness, Amelia began to feed.
This was a transgression against her social code, but somehow its context was different than her other desired transgressions. Inexplicably, she pictured herself smoking in a bathroom somewhere; then the momentary image faded. The man guided Amelia onto her back, coaxing her legs open. She knew that the time had come. He laid himself fully on her, and she felt a sharp pain as he penetrated her. It had indeed been a very long time; she suddenly remembered the last time she had made love – it was in a hotel in Algiers with a man named Jean; then that memory dissolved and she only knew that she was making love now. A curious wave of fear went through her as she felt him settle down on top of her. Then her fear dissolved like the memory.
His lovemaking was gradual, as if he sensed that she had been slightly afraid. But Amelia’s passivity gave way as his slow thrusting grew more deliberate. She pressed her thighs together around his body, feeling an astonishing sense of well-being. Perhaps it was that sense of well-being that caused the curious shaking in her belly and thighs. She began to moan, and it felt like she was having some sort of attack. But it felt curiously good. The curious feeling grew stronger and stronger, the pleasure blotting out all else. Her buttocks pressed against the mat as he made love to her, thrusting deep inside; then she lost all control of her body and it seemed that she passed into a world of sensation, her skin tingling. She felt a sudden shock of guilt and shame, which then dissolved to an oddly satisfied feeling. It was not unlike being extraordinarily drunk, as she could just barely remember having been once or twice, but the newness of the sensation fascinated her. After a time, she lost the feeling – it slipped away through her fingers like grains of sand scattering about her. When she did, she was aware that the man had finished inside her and was kissing her neck hungrily. He seemed very pleased.
The sensation had been unpredictable – like nothing she had ever heard about. As if she had passed into a new realm of the spirit. Perhaps she was dead, and this was Heaven. Or Hell?
Definitely Hell, she thought, caressing his back as he kissed her, hard, nipping her lip so that she tasted blood with a frightened thrill.
The sensation returned to her, briefly, in a gentle spasm inside her. It was most certainly a horrible transgression against the laws of her tribe. But she no longer remembered what those laws were, or who had made them.
Abdelsaid was unwilling to let them do it, at first. He had told his three wives that they were to provide the French visitor, Monsieur Breton, with food, to ensure that he was properly taken care of, and see to his physical needs if he would allow them to do so. They had offered, but each time the Frenchman had refused.
“You see,” Abdelsaid told them. “As I told you. They have many of them in France. They fill the streets there, I heard it from the man who tends the camels. It is no surprise. Why not let me have my peace with him?” Abdelsaid smiled mischievously.
The three wives were like snakes, though, always possessive. Always acquisitive. The Frenchman had seemed so eager at first, they said. All three reported the same experience. He desperately sought their lips, their breasts, their bodies, wanting to touch them. But he had refused when they offered to provide for him.
“Monsieur Breton wants me to provide,” said Abdelsaid angrily. “That is their way. Why else would there be such a thriving French market in the Black Lily, that would allow us to live with such finery?”
But his wives were insistent. “The Frenchman expressed such interest! Allow one of us to be present, in case such needs arise!”
“No! I forbid it!”
The voices of his three wives rose in cacophony, like a terrifying anti-song, something from Europe played on one of those portable boxes. Something horrible. Abdelsaid finally gave in, having known from the start that it was hopeless.
Amelia continued to drift in and out of consciousness, floating in the curious pleasure of a life without memories. There was nothing before the man. Nothing before the harem. Nothing but the sensations of the sun streaming through the high window, the taste of the food the women brought, the sensations of Abdelsaid taking her. She knew only surrender.
Abdelsaid. He had wanted so much to know her name. She had known that from the way he had spoken to her, in Arabic, caressing her ear with his tongue. The way he had pointed to himself and said firmly, “Abdelsaid”.
She had wanted very much to tell him her name, as well. She felt for a moment that something was there, that there was a place where she had had a name, that she had once been named. Perhaps she had known her name just yesterday, or only a minute ago. But it slipped away like it was nothing, and she just looked sheepishly up at Abdelsaid, wishing he would kiss her and caress her and enter her and make love to her once again. Abdelsaid waited patiently for the woman to tell him her name. But she did not. It was as if she did not know. He pointed at her and said over and over again, “French?” Amelia looked at him blankly, feeling that she did not know what the word meant. Finally she nodded and said “French,” pointing to herself. Abdelsaid shrugged and seemed to accept that.
He spoke for a time to her in the language she did not understand. The language was soothing, seductive, and she found that it was not important that she understand him. Her head came to rest in his lap and he stroked her hair gently while he spoke to her, his voice a rhythmic caress as if he were reciting poetry. She fell asleep with her head in Abdelsaid’s lap, and soon he left her.
“Amelia,” she said after he left; at first she wasn’t sure why she said it, and then she understood that it was her name. Why couldn’t she remember it before? She would have to tell Abdelsaid.
When Abdelsaid returned, he brought the women with him. All three. Identical, lush, beautiful. Their bodies rounded and full beneath the flowing clothes. So unlike Amelia, with her scrawny, underfed body. Amelia looked around blankly, not understanding. The three women set out a second mat in the middle of the room.
Abdelsaid knelt beside the mat and began to kiss Amelia.
The women disrobed silently, setting their clothes just out of reach. They reclined on the mat, their bodies entwining, casually, their arms around each other. Amelia watched, overwhelmed. Abdelsaid was also watching them. But soon he was watching Amelia. Then his hands were upon her as he kissed her and gently coaxed her against him.
Amelia leaned on Abdelsaid and took him into her mouth. The three women caressed each other, their bodies seething, flowing together, becoming one. Amelia’s lips slid deftly over Abdelsaid’s shaft, as they had done before. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her thighs together as she suckled on Abdelsaid’s cock. She felt the curious sensation rising inside her again, though not quite coming to fruition.
After a time, the naked women filled and lit the houkah and Abdelsaid smoked. He gave the houkah to Amelia, who sucked the smoke into her lungs. It was harsh, bringing back vague memories of school gymnasiums and the back seats of cars, but those memories faded as quickly as they flared, and disappeared in the smoke.
After a time, Amelia felt very strange, as if she had fallen asleep but were still moving. Her body was enveloped with pleasant sensations. She watched Abdelsaid’s three wives with hunger and curiosity. Their bodies were so different than hers, though very, very beautiful.
Then Abdelsaid bent down to kiss her, and she knew it was time. Amelia no longer wore the strange, impractical clothes under the robe, the ones she’d been wearing when Abdelsaid first came to her. Not even her underwear. Just the sash, holding her slight breasts flat against her body. Amelia went to take the robe off, but Abdelsaid motioned her not to do so.
He did not undress her this time. Instead, he simply lifted the robe, bunching it around her upper thighs and buttocks. Amelia felt him pulling the robe tight through her crotch. She felt Abdelsaid pouring oil between her buttocks, some spilling on the robe. Amelia watched the three women, who had begun to kiss each other, their limbs twined in a lush menagé.
Then Amelia felt a rush of fear and surrender as Abdelsaid mounted her from behind, but not in the fashion he had done before. The sensations were very different this time – stronger, perhaps because her need was so great. It was then that she became aware of the woman’s smell. The third wife was against her, placing herself on the mat. Her thighs spread around Amelia, and Amelia, without thinking, began to work her tongue between the woman’s legs, tasting something unfamiliar and oddly delicious.
The third wife moaned softly.
Abdelsaid was continuing to thrust gently inside her, silently moving in and out between her buttocks. The sensations were curious indeed, but not at all unpleasant. Amelia’s whole body began to shake. And then suddenly Abdelsaid was finished. Amelia slumped, spent, against the mat.
Abdelsaid motioned toward the three women, speaking to them sternly. Amelia watched, without understanding. She heard the French word “Monsieur,” perhaps it was the name “Monsieur Breton”. She had known a Monsieur Breton briefly, in Nice. He had been a drifter, living nowhere, floating. But was a happy man. Amelia felt sure that she and Monsieur Breton had been lovers; fleetingly, she remembered a pleasant afternoon of sex in her hotel room. The three wives seemed to be arguing violently with Abdelsaid. The third wife was trying to open Amelia’s robe. Abdelsaid grabbed Amelia, shouting, and held her against his body.
Sheepishly, the three women moved away from Amelia. They dressed in silence while Abdelsaid watched. Then the three women left the room. Abdelsaid followed them, and did not pause to kiss Amelia good-bye.
Abdelsaid cursed the women for trying to engage Monsieur Breton against his wishes. “He was plainly enjoying himself with me,” said Abdelsaid cruelly. “He didn’t need a trio of women devouring him. I already told you about the French!”
“You saw that thing the Frenchman did to Aouicha! He was enjoying it!”
Abdelsaid was losing his temper. “No! That’s a French custom! It is not something they enjoy. It’s considered a duty.” He tried to change the subject.
The women argued with him late into the night. Finally Abdelsaid threw up his arms and forbade any of them to lay with Monsieur Breton. They were to satisfy his hunger, and that was it. But Abdelsaid knew that it would be impossible, that his secret would soon be discovered.
These moments with the French woman, then, were like succulent morsels for him to savor. Like the dried petals of the Black Lily. Their time together was to be brief. It made Abdelsaid very sad.
He made his way back to the French woman’s room, his heart filled with longing.
Abdelsaid came to her again before the next mealtime, without his wives. His passion was incredible, his thrusting almost violent. Amelia was sure that he would break her in half as he possessed her, though there was a delicious thrill to his desire and at no point was she afraid. But she was left hungry and wanting, the aching need inside her. She wondered if it was possible to satisfy it some other way, to bring on that pleasurable sensation. Perhaps to cause it herself? She tried, but found it impossible. She grew lonely and afraid and began to weep in the darkness.
She had never had an identity, never known her name. It did not seem right that it should upset her. For she existed only in the present, only as a part of this elaborate ritual in the Sahara. She was nothing. Amelia had ceased to exist. Perhaps she never had existed. So why did nonexistence torment this nameless woman?
She wept for a time. But when the weeping passed, it seemed that, too, was gone for ever and had never been. Perhaps as a dream.
What happened seemed natural, when the third wife came once again to feed. Once the meal was over, the wife undressed herself and began to kiss the Frenchman. The Frenchman’s lips found the woman’s breasts and he suckled for a long
time while the woman stroked her hair. Then, eagerly, the third wife lay back on the mat, spreading her legs, presenting herself for the Frenchman’s skilled kiss.
Amelia found that as she made love to the woman, her very being was subsumed into the woman’s body. When the woman cried out, Amelia discovered that she had long ago forgotten who she was, or what she was doing.
She lay, in a curious, pleasant warmth, as the woman rolled her over and began to slip her hands under the robe. Amelia tasted the woman’s tongue, and they kissed deeply as the woman’s fingertips traced a path up her thigh.
The woman’s fingers slipped between Amelia’s legs, searching, seeking. The woman’s eyes grew wide.
Flushing red, the woman drew back. It sounded as if she were cursing. She quickly gathered up her clothes, bursting into tears as she carried them away. Sadly, Amelia watched after her, confused, the ache of her desire unsatisfied. She wondered again if it was possible to bring the sensation upon herself, but it seemed as hopeless as before.
This was unacceptable. Abdelsaid knew it would be so. He had been flirting with disaster by bringing the woman here, even disguised as she was. He had become wealthy, by local standards, from the trade and export of the Black Lily. He could certainly afford a fourth wife. But the three existing would not stand for it.
“She will take away your affection!” they shrieked. “She will devour all of your love! They are like hungry beasts – especially their women! It is unfair – we cannot have a French girl here! It is improper! You must send her away!’
The three wives spoke in unison, overwhelming Abdelsaid. He would have fought with them, but he knew it was a fight he could not win. On the rare occasions where the women agreed on something, their collective will was unbreakable. Abdelsaid knew, sadly, that it was hopeless.
But he could not send the woman away. He had lost all sense of reality. He felt that he must make her his, for ever. Abdelsaid had fallen in love with the strange French woman without a name. With Monsieur Breton.
The Mammoth Book of International Erotica Page 48