by Anne Jacobs
She only wanted to experience her fantasy. To chase it and her sexy Arab sheikh out of her mind so she could get on with her life.
Shana tried to remember that when Bear closed the heavily tinted window that separated them from the driver.
When he lifted her onto his lap and impaled her on his hot, hard cock, she decided there was something to recommend these loose Arab robes.
Especially when lovers were naked underneath them.
She slipped her hands behind him, cupped the satin-smooth cheeks of his tight ass and ran her fingers down the dimpled cleft that separated them. His growl disappeared down her throat when he clamped his open mouth over hers and thrust his tongue inside.
His huge cock throbbed so deep inside her, she couldn’t say where he ended and she began. She flexed her vaginal muscles when he started to lift her off, let them go slack seconds later when he brought her down on him while he flexed his hips and stuffed his entire length in her.
Wet, hot, velvet-covered orbs. That’s what his testicles felt like against the outside of her pussy now that her own juices flowed around his cock, over his balls. So delicious. So arousing, the first waves of an incredible orgasm took her breath away.
“Come for me. Again and again. Milk me dry,” he whispered against her mouth.
Delicious sensations centered between her legs. Her clit swelled where the base of his swollen cock and his clean-shaven pelvis stimulated the sensitive tissue each time he thrust deeper into her weeping pussy.
Then he nudged her hijab aside, grazed her neck with his teeth. His hot breath sent frisson of excitement to her breasts.
Her nipples beaded and hardened, seeking his mouth but finding only the heavy black fabric of the abaya. Her clit spasmed again.
Wave after wave of luscious sensation swept over her, through her, leaving her slumped against Bear’s powerful body.
He seemed insatiable, nibbling her earlobes through the fine silk of the hijab while he fucked her faster, deeper, harder. Shana reached under his soft white robe again, tweaked his flat male nipples.
“Fuck me harder. Make me come.”
He took her mouth after that anguished plea, while he grabbed her at the waist, lifted her, and slammed her down on his cock.
It felt as though he was sucking the breath out of her when he stiffened and shuddered with the power of his orgasm. Feeling his semen spurt deep in her pussy triggered the most powerful climax she’d ever experienced.
* * * * *
After a couple of hours, most of which they’d spent on a roller coaster of sexual arousal and satisfaction, they arrived at an ancient fortress set high on a hill overlooking the Khalij, as Bear called the Persian Gulf. Made of pale stone that blended into the sandy terrain, it rose suddenly in their path, as though it were an illusion.
Maybe it was. An illusion come to life, part of the fantasy that had brought Shana to Bear’s home. His bed.
Some long-ago sheikh had built the villa around a walled courtyard paved with ancient-looking tiles whose bright colors had faded over the centuries to soft tones of blue and rose and sepia. Shana and Bear passed brambles of long-neglected rosebushes and towering date palms. Yellow blossoms that smelled like exotic perfume trailed along the marble that surrounded a sparkling fountain.
“The women’s quarters await you. You will pleasure me tomorrow. I must make up to my other women for having neglected them these past months.”
Jealousy gripped Shana, but she reminded herself this was her fantasy—to become a sheikh’s houri, maybe even a kadin.
Of course that wouldn’t happen. She wasn’t going to swell up with Bear’s child.
But for a few days she’d indulge that fantasy, pretend she wasn’t on the Pill.
“My lady Shana?”
“Yes?” The slight, soft-spoken servant wore loose trousers gathered around his ankles and a vest that looked like a woman’s multicolored bolero. He wore a matching turban.
Shana couldn’t resist glancing at his feet, expecting to see fanciful curly-toed shoes out of an illustrated translation of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Learning he had on beach thongs disappointed her.
“I am Selim, master of my lord’s harem. If you would follow me…” He turned on his heel, obviously expecting her to come along.
Her eyes widened at the opulence of a large, sunny central room with potted plants and a steaming, sunken marble bathing pool. A voluptuous blonde lay naked on a couch beside the pool, where two other women—servants, Shana guessed by their simple robes—massaged her pale, ivory skin.
“That is Alexandria. The other one practicing the dance she will do for my lord Dahoud is Iris. Regrettably, having been at university in a country that frowns on our way of life, the sheikh has only them—and now you. I expect he will fill his harem again ere long.”
Iris, a top-heavy redhead whose outfit looked like what Jeannie wore in the old TV show, I Dream of Jeannie, undulated to the sensuous rhythm another servant beat out on the tabla, a drum similar to the one Shana’s belly-dancing instructor used.
No way would Shana share her few short days with Bear. She’d find some way to have her sheikh all to herself. Unless…
Unless she got herself invited to join in the fun. She got wet, imagining Iris dancing and the blonde running her tongue over Bear’s gigantic cock while he took care of Shana’s own dripping pussy with his mouth.
When had she quit thinking of him as her fantasy sheikh and started thinking of him by the nickname his teammates had given him?
She suspected it was about the time her pussy fell head over heels in love with his slick tongue. And his clean-shaven, enormous cock. That would have been the first time they made love, thirty thousand feet over some southeastern American farmland.
“My lady?” Selim looked nervous, as if he didn’t know how to proceed. “May I help you disrobe?”
“I can manage.” She grinned. Head-to-toe black looked out of place here, where it seemed the sheikh’s women relaxed naked, or darn close to it. Still, she wasn’t strictly comfy stripping down in front of a man, even Selim who seemed safely asexual—and that’s exactly what she’d be doing if she took off the abaya, since she had nothing on under it.
“Would you mind finding me something to change into?”
Selim glided to an anteroom and gestured at the selection of garments. “May I select something that will please my lord?”
“Go ahead. Then leave. I’m not stripping down for your entertainment.”
He selected a filmy rose-colored pants-and-bolero combo that looked as if her most interesting parts would be covered by pearl and crystal beadwork. Then he met her gaze. “Entertainment? My lady, I am a eunuch. Were I not, I could not enter the women’s quarters and live.”
They still cut off men’s balls to provide guards for harems? Shana had thought that practice ended a century or more ago. “Tell me the sheikh did not order you—” she searched for the right word—“gelded.”
“No. It is forbidden for a Muslim to unman another. Eunuchs are made by infidels.”
Infidels. The Arabs’ catchall word for all human beings who weren’t Muslim.
The word for people like her.
What a strange society. Fabulous wealth from oil apparently had resulted in a dual sort of life for sheikhs like Bear, who seemed as at home in western dress playing American football and flirting with modern college women as he did here in his homeland where he accepted his right to keep his houris in this opulent prison called a harem. It was difficult to believe he could be oblivious to the pain men like Selim went through to provide protection for his property.
Of course, Shana thought as she stripped down and stepped into the steaming bath, there were inequities in all societies.
Why did she try to justify such barbarism? This was not a lifestyle she’d consider embracing. She’d known from the start, and so had Bear, that their relationship could go nowhere. He belonged here; she belonged in Houston.
; She lay back, let the warm water swirl around her. A sweet, faintly musky fragrance rose in the mist, saturated her pores.
Roses? Shana didn’t think so. The heavy, exotic scent fit the ancient women’s quarters, made her think of the tales she’d devoured. She pictured hundreds of houris and their servants crowding every corner of this magical villa on the sea. Too bad for Bear there were only the two bimbos—and her, for the next three days—to see to his sheikh-ly pleasures.
Of course he only had one cock—the only cock the women he kept in his harem could ever hope to enjoy. Why did the idea of him having no variety not disturb her as much as the thought of sharing his big pleasure tool?
Idly, she bit into a fat stuffed date. The tartness of the iced, nonalcoholic fruit drink Selim gave her contrasted with the date’s sticky sweetness.
Boob job, she thought uncharitably when Alexandria got up from her couch and slipped into harem pants and a matching bolero that didn’t come close to covering her hennaed nipples. Nobody had tits that round, that big—without a plastic surgeon’s help.
The woman probably had liposuction, too. Chiding herself for her small-minded thoughts, Shana stepped out of the tub.
Suddenly the sound of a gong split the silence. Selim clapped his dainty hands. “My lord sheikh summons the ladies Alexandria and Iris to his chambers. Come now, my pretties.”
Shana clenched her fists, fought the rage that had built inside her, and whispered her own plan in Selim’s ear. She might have to share her sheikh, but she’d not languish here alone while he had his fun.
She’d never in her life had a murderous thought.
But the idea of stuffing the bimbos into silken pillowcases and tossing them into the sea suddenly had great appeal.
* * * * *
The actors Asad had hired were obviously bored, but the women perked up when Selim explained the sex scenario Shana wanted to act out.
Lying naked on a towel-covered couch while two servants removed a week’s growth of his body hair, Bear held up his hands. “Cease the discussion. You will act out the lady Shana’s fantasy with me tonight.” The fistful of dinars he planned to give them would hopefully keep word of this debauchery from reaching his mother’s ears.
“I’d gladly share your couch,” Iris said, her long nails tickling him when she traced a pattern down his freshly depilated chest to his cock and balls. “Alexandria and I can show you a good time. Better than the American.”
Bear modified his impression. The women apparently were call girls, not actresses. Hookers as the guys in Texas called them. The blonde obviously enjoyed plying her trade.
“Do not forget me, my lord.”
When the eunuch aimed a hungry gaze at Bear’s groin, he got the uncomfortable feeling he was being sized up for a potential meal. “My appetites do not include eunuchs,” he growled.
“I’m no eunuch.”
Fury rose in Bear’s chest, made him clench his fists. This man had looked on Shana’s nude body. “Then what the hell are you?”
“An actor hired to play a eunuch. Oh, do not fear. I have no interest in women. Your lady is quite safe. Now, you, on the other hand…”
Bear squelched the sudden urge to snatch up a towel and cover his nakedness. If his temporary harem master was as gay as he acted, Shana should be safe. She qualified as one hundred percent delicious female.
Still…he didn’t like the idea of another man looking at her.
Damn it, he’d told Asad to hire a eunuch.
He practically laughed out loud at his own stupidity. This was 1990. No more markets existed to purchase houris and eunuchs. Harems didn’t exist, except in the most isolated and backward parts of the Muslim world.
Obviously Asad had found it difficult to re-create exactly a world that existed only in Shana’s dreams. Bear’s orders had been too daunting, even for his highly efficient assistant.
Bear had embraced Shana’s fantasies because he wanted to embrace her. Somewhere between Austin and here, he’d decided he wanted her permanently, not just for a brief interlude.
With luck he’d play out that scenario tonight so he’d have two days left to sell her on the reality of loving him—and sharing his life.
“You two. Stay. You may show me the good times you promised—later.” Bear turned to Selim. “Go back to the women’s quarters. Wait an hour, then fetch the lady Shana. If you touch her, rest assured you will become a eunuch, in truth.”
Selim laughed as he made a show of bowing his way out of Bear’s presence.
Waving away the servants massaging fragrant oil into his skin, Bear turned to his temporary houris and told them what he wanted them to do.
Chapter 3
Shana wanted to kill the bimbos.
She wanted to kill Bear.
She wanted to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment because her pussy dripped at the prospect of joining him and the others in a ménage a trois.
Not trois. There would be four of them.
What was four in French? Too back she’d forgotten. If she hadn’t, she’d be able to figure out what one called that.
Group sex?
Shana tittered nervously as she followed Selim through the courtyard. Muffled beats of the tabla wafted through the air, along with the reedy sounds of some other instrument.
Exotic sounds that made her want to dance for Bear. To ride his cock to pleasure.
“Enter.”
Selim opened the door, bowed, then stepped aside.
An antique Persian rug felt warm against Shana’s bare feet. Its jewel tones echoed those in tiles along all four walls. Opened double doors let in the light of the crescent moon that hung over the Khalij.
A gentle breeze ruffled Shana’s hair, ballooned the diaphanous fabric of her harem pants and made her damp pussy pucker from the sudden chill. It made thousands of fragrant candles flicker, casting the huge chamber in shadow, then in soft, sensual light.
Smoke curled from a brass container. Incense. Sandalwood, with a touch of something exotic, erotic.
Her mouth went dry when she saw Bear, reclined in all his naked glory among dozens of colorful pillows on the biggest sleeping couch she ever saw. His satiny olive skin glowed. Every tiny movement of his massive chest muscles when he breathed tempted her to touch him, feel his potent male energy.
His dark eyes were closed, his sensual lips slack. A picture of total relaxation except for his cock.
It was wide awake, a giant carved phallic symbol rising upright from his hairless groin. It twitched, as if to say it knew it made her salivate. Her nipples tingled and her breathing grew ragged.
Alexandria sucked the toes on his left foot while Iris undulated beside the couch to the rhythm of the tabla.
The heavily beaded bolero Shana wore chafed her nipples, got her even hotter than she’d been before. Needing relief—needing Bear—she started to climb onto the couch.
Selim pulled her back. “You must approach the sheikh from the foot of the bed, my lady.”
Shana stared at Alexandria, then at Bear’s other foot.
“Okay.” Bending, she sucked his big toe into her mouth.
She’d start here, but she intended to make a fast trip to his cock. Or his talented tongue. If she didn’t, she’d go berserk.
Shana stroked his foot. His muscular calf. His inner thigh. She followed her hands with her tongue the way she’d done right after they’d boarded his plane, loving the faint smell and taste of sweet almonds on skin as satiny smooth as her own, skin that stretched tautly over powerful male muscles.
The erotic beat of the tabla, the high, reedy sounds of some other unseen instrument, and the clicking of coins as Iris danced aroused Shana almost as much as lying at Bear’s right side, consuming him inch by inch while Alexandria lay at his other side and continued sucking on his toes.
Allah, but her touch inflamed him. Restraining himself from reaching down and grabbing Shana was as hard as anything Bear had ever done, but he made himself stay still.
Maybe if he opened his eyes…
At his eye level, Iris danced the raks baladi, or dance of the people. The old ones said watching it would make a dead man’s cock rise from within the grave. Bear looked impassively at her undulating hips, not half as turned on by the suggestive movements as by the gentle bites Shana placed along his inner thigh. Or by her warm, damp breath that tickled his freshly denuded ball sac.
His cock strained. His balls tightened.
Alexandria finally let go of his toes and started inching up his left leg. Surprisingly, it didn’t take all that much self-control to avoid reacting when her fingers raked his inner thigh.
Her touch should have had him on fire. But it didn’t. The gorgeous call girl didn’t excite him the way Shana did. He reached down, drew Shana up the bed. “Give me your yoni, love,” he said, helping her position herself above his hungry mouth, facing his throbbing cock.
“Wait. My clothes—”
“—were made for this.” With his hand, he spread apart the crotch of her harem pants and ran his finger along her wet, weeping slit while he aligned his mouth with her throbbing little clitoris and flailed it with his tongue.
“Ohhh.”
He loved her familiar taste and smell, the mix of some exotic fragrance and her own unique musk. Her responsive nipples stabbed against his palm when he took the ivory globes, one in each hand. When she strained as if to bend and taste his cock, he held her back.
With his tongue he followed the beat of the tabla, alternately stabbing at her clit and lapping up her hot juices as they flowed from her pussy. When he felt the other woman’s tongue on his balls, he moved one hand off Shana’s breast, insinuated a finger between the folds of her nicely rounded ass.
His finger slippery with her juices, he very gently worked the first knuckle of his index finger past her sphincter muscle. Waited for her to get used to the unfamiliar invasion. Slid in farther.