by James Grey
It’s a little annoying, though, when he throws Priya off his lap and puts Gabriela, the new Mexican girl, on his cock instead. I could understand him defaulting to his old favourites, but a girl who’s been here less time than me?
He doesn’t come in her, either, though. Nor the next, Kimiko. He only comes in the fourth girl who rides him, Cindy. English, Indian, Mexican, Japanese, Ghanaian…wow. I’m sure part of the fun for him is sampling so many different pussies from so many different parts of the world, all in one session.
Kudos to him for hanging on as long as he does. Most of the men I’ve dealt with back in London can’t come close to his staying power. But then, those men aren’t princes!
By the time he pushes Cindy off him, his white semen shining on her dark thighs like a full moon on a starless night, I’m furiously masturbating as usual. I notice the stunning Annika just a little higher up the amphitheatre, and decide that if I’m not going to have Yousuf, I’m going to have her. One of her pretty feet is just in front of my face, and I take it in my hand, watching a smile spread across her lips while she, too, touches herself with abandon. I kiss her ankles and her heels, revelling in the naughtiness of what I’m doing.
I’m going to make a ‘sexual advance’ on her. And she doesn’t look like she’s going to need much convincing. I crawl my way up the slope, nuzzling her legs apart as the room starts to empty out following Yousuf’s exit. Soon it’s just us, the dazed and gasping Cindy, and a couple of other frustrated girls – masturbating or playing together – left in the little chamber. We’ve got room to play now, and play we do.
Annika is your stereotypical lad’s mag cover girl, but she really, really does it for me. If all the women in Sweden look like her, then I’m seriously going to have to spend some time over in that part of the world. With her wide cobalt eyes, full lips and rounded features, her beauty is more earthy than poetic – she’s just a babe, plain and simple!
Imagining she’s as hungry for cock as I am after another incredible session with the prince, I shove three of my fingers hard up her pussy, curling my wrist until I feel the roughness of her G-spot. Once I start to pound her there, a spare hand beneath her butt stopping her from sliding about on the slick tiles, she doesn’t last long.
It makes me want exactly what I’ve just given her, and she obliges. As I build towards my massive climax I notice a couple of the other girls, Kimiko among them, circling their clits with their fingers, approaching a high moment of their own as they watch the two of us in action. I’ve never seen so much masturbation in my life as I have in this place!
One afternoon on the first week, while enjoying a few post-massage laps around the atrium pool with my room-mate Rebecca, I hear a rolling roar that’s a lot like the lion’s roar. But it’s not quite our alarm – bloody hell, that’s thunder!
I’m even more surprised when heavy rain begins to fall on the pool. What the hell? I thought there was a skylight!
“Hey, what happened to the glass up there?” I sputter to Rebecca as heavy drops splat on my face.
“Oh, you didn’t know the roof’s retractable?” she asks in surprise. I shake my head, enjoying the decadence of swimming in the rain. There’s a lot to be said for being naked when it rains. You really can just enjoy the feeling, without worrying about your clothes getting ruined. “Well, it is! And I guess you didn’t know that the dome above the central chamber opens as well, did you?”
“You’re shitting me!”
It’s her turn to shake her head. “Oh no I’m not! The rain comes in there just like it’s falling now, like a giant warm shower. And you need to see him when he’s drenched.”
She makes a drunken sort of expression that suggests extreme arousal. I can totally imagine what she means. And a few days later, I’m treated to exactly that sight, as Yousuf times his visit with one of the increasingly regular afternoon storms. His drenched body and soaking hair are mesmerizing as the water keeps splashing over him, and I think he knows it too. The oil doesn’t last long under the rain, but it makes a nice change. There’s a special kind of decadence to an orgy in a thunderstorm.
I learn that the prince usually likes to have a shower in the atrium whenever he’s done with a session. That’s why a few girls like to trot straight after him the moment he leaves the chamber, hoping for the chance to soap him off. There’s enough body to keep about three girls occupied with a sponge. One time, I seize the chance to dry him, which is a special pleasure too. I look him straight in the eye as I do so, and as I gently dry his penis, I feel it begin to harden again. He gives me a pregnant, animal look, but says nothing before he dresses and retreats to the palace.
I feel like we had a moment there.
And I think we really did. Because that night, when I’m solidly asleep, the prince returns. There’s no alarm this time. Just a gentle stroking on my cheeks. I blink my eyes open, wondering what in the world is happening and who has switched on the light at this time of the evening. And I see Prince Yousuf looking directly in my bleary eyes, unmistakeably hungry.
Holy fuck – he’s in the dormitory!
I’m wide awake the moment I take on board who it is. I’m instantly flooded. Please, God, can this be my moment?
“Stay back, the rest of you,” he whispers to the other girls, who are stirring into wakefulness and starting to look wide-eyed themselves. I’ve heard about these bedroom visits, but until now I’ve not witnessed one. Now it seems I’m central to the scene.
He’s wearing just a shirt and tight black boxers. I suspect he may have come from a party somewhere. But wherever he’s been, he’s giving me that same look he gave me when I dried him off this afternoon. And I can see that the erection he had then has gone nowhere.
He switches into animal mode, forcefully flipping me over by the shoulder, then ripping the sheet off my body. I lie there, trembling with excitement, and I don’t have to wait long before he straddles me, holding my knees in place with his shins and wrapping his strong fingers around the base of my skull as he forces my forehead into the pillow.
I hear him whisper something to one of the other girls, and I hear her move over to where we are. I can only guess what’s happening, but when I hear a bottle cap being flipped, I begin to get an idea. I know these sounds only too well now. The girl is lubricating his penis, and he’s telling her to hurry up.
My heart beats wildly and my thoughts flood with sex. My hips grind into the mattress with impatience. I love how he’s pinning me down.
“Hold her feet open,” I hear him tell my room-mate, whoever it may be. Hands grip my ankles, and spread my legs as I lie there. He moves his knees to the space between my legs, but his mighty hand stays right there on my head.
His fingers probe for my anus only for a moment, before he pushes his – thankfully slick – cock into my tightest cavity. I bang my head on the pillow – or at least in my mind I do – at the intense mix of deviant pain and primal pleasure. Shaken awake to be butt-raped by a prince. I have no words.
He builds up slowly, savouring the feel of me as I – finally – enjoy the princely penis inside a part of me. Oh, it’s been too long! But my moans are muffled as he continues to hold me down, playing a rape game that I’m all too happy to play along with.
Then he begins to tear into me, moving towards a crescendo. Every time he swells I think I can’t possibly take any more, but somehow I find room. He plunges deep, pushing his power, his strength and his will into me whilst someone holds my legs open. There’s nothing I can do about it – and that knowledge doubles my pleasure.
He lets go inside me, finally making me wholly and completely his. In the most animal, lordly way he can. Then he quickly and deliberately pulls out, stands up, leaves the room and switches off the light. Less than thirty seconds after he comes in my butt, he’s gone.
It’s all part of his game. He preys on you, feasts on you, and then he leaves you without a word. I’m breathless, and I can feel the air pouring into the gaping hole he
just left.
“Holy shit!” whispers Rebecca when she’s sure the prince has gone, letting go of my legs. “How are you?”
I can’t answer for a while, as I try to absorb the cavern in my rear and the savage emptiness I feel now. She gently runs her fingers through my hair.
“You did fucking well, girl,” adds Cindy, crawling over to join us in the dark. “I’ve only taken him once in there – and I know exactly how huge that thing feels.”
I begin to smile into the pillow as the girls soothe me back down from the clouds. I prop myself slowly back up onto my elbows.
“My God…” is all I can manage. They both giggle in response. “Oh. My. God.”
“That good, huh?” asks Rebecca.
I just give a throaty little chuckle, which I think answers their question.
If nothing else happens while I’m here, that episode made the flight worthwhile. Christ, it was hot!
I don’t sleep at all the rest of that night. Instead the three of us and Kimiko sit up and chat, comparing the kinkiest stories from our escort work and the harem. My anal rape, as one might imagine, was quite a good bonding experience for our little dormitory.
I lose track of time while I’m in the harem, where one days feels exactly like another. Even the storms arrive at the same time. The only day that stands out is, of course, Fridays. Town turns out to be quite disappointing. There’s not a lot going on, apart from shopping malls, and I barely even use the credit card we’re given. The one thing I don’t need in my life is more stuff, so I make do with sunglasses, some of my favourite cosmetics and a couple of small trinkets for folks back home.
It’s not a particularly inspiring place, Dunei, but it’s definitely nice to be driven out of the palace gates each week – always in a humble Toyota – and see something that isn’t the inside of the harem. We’re only allowed out in groups of three, so it’s pleasant enough to walk around and enjoy an iced coffee or two on the promenade. It’s weird being out in the world and it’s weird wearing clothes. It’s almost a relief to strip off again when we get back ‘home’.
By the third week my tile, along with those of the other newcomers, is already up on the wall. Artisans keep having to replace regular tiles with photo tiles here, and they only do it on Fridays, during which time there’s a barrier preventing us from accessing the corridor to the atrium.
“His Majesty will not allow any other men to see you ladies while you are in the harem,” explains Monosira when she catches me looking at the barrier in confusion. “So if there’s work going on in the atrium, you have to stay back here in the living area.”
Even the photographer was female, come to think of it. I guess the only exceptions to his rule must be his aide-de-camp and security guy. And even then, seemingly, that’s only when they’re travelling.
But I’m immensely proud of my tile. I ask if I’m allowed a picture of it, and Monosira replies by handing me a pack of postcards, which are exact replicas of my tile. It’s a really nice touch. I think I do the pose well, and look the part. There’s a come-hither look in my eyes that’s a perfect fit for purpose, and I wonder if I always have that going on.
It’s kind of cool to be told that these tiles are one-of-a-kind. And the only way to see them is to work in the harem, or, well, be the Prince of Dunei. It makes me want to come back again. I do hope I can be one of those girls who gets called back every year. I wonder how many get the chance?
In between all the sex, endless eating, massages and non-stop movies, I make swift progress with Dickens. One day, just for a break from the old boy, I begin the audiobook of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. The audiobook experience is a pleasant surprise, and the tale of a strong and independent Victorian woman is one I can hardly switch off. Except when I have to run out and open my legs for the prince, of course.
Is that some kind of weird contradiction? At first glance, it sure is. But I’ve never felt stronger and more independent as a woman than I do now. Everything I’ve done since quitting my job, including imprisonment in a harem, has been my own choice. One that would not have been nearly as possible, and certainly not as rewarding, in Jane Eyre’s time. I never go to work without a strong sense that all the power lies with me.
And speaking of opening my legs, my pussy finally gets what it’s been craving somewhere in the third week. Not just the prince’s remarkable cock, but his tongue and soft stubble too! It all falls into place one night when I manage to position myself in the very middle of the central chamber, right at his eye level, and put my feet up in the air so he can see how spread my legs are. And instead of getting in his line of sight, my kind room-mates Kimiko and Cindy each hold one of my pussy lips open with their fingers, leaning to one side so he’ll have a clear view. I guess they know it’s about time I really got some.
The prince’s eye falls right on the pink cleft between my legs, and seems to appreciate the considerable effort I’ve taken to position myself in this oily room full of flailing limbs and breasts. He climbs up in front of me and lets me enjoy his tongue on my clit, letting the girls hold me open.
With hands groping my breasts from either side, and Gabriela kissing me upside down, I’m in heaven! The prince doesn’t take long to make me explode, my head thrown back to the high dome above us. And this time he doesn’t move on to somebody else. Though other girls ride his back and kiss his legs and feet, he doesn’t move. He just slides me down the slope and directly onto his penis.
It’s every bit as good as I imagine. It’s almost as much of a challenge for my pussy to take as it was for my anus – but for all the right reasons. That was totally worth the wait! On my way out afterwards, I run my hand across my fresh tile once more. It’s been there for a few days, maybe, but I feel I’ve truly earned my place on his wall now.
Dreams of home are few. To be honest, I don’t give Charles a lot of thought – which I guess is all the answer I need about what I should say to him. But after I hear nothing for a few days, he does finally send me an answer to my question.
Dear Emma,
It’s good to know you’re in Dunei and doing well.
I’ve had to give your request quite a lot of thought. It’s quite a reasonable request under the circumstances, and I’m keen to address anything that may come between us. I have spoken with the gentleman concerned and he understands your point of view.
He has agreed that it would be permissible for you to know his identity, provided you swear on your life not to share it. Do we have your undertaking? I completely trust you, I just need your word.
Yours,
Charles
The searing irony of his using the word ‘trust’ is not lost on me. I’m tempted to say something sarcastic about whether he actually understands its meaning, but I resist the urge. Instead, I write back the following short note.
Dear Charles,
You have my undertaking. His identity is for my personal knowledge only.
Emma
I wait. It’s nine in the evening here, which means it must be the middle of the working day back home. The email’s going to ping into his phone, wherever he may be. And I’d imagine that even if he’s in a meeting he’s going to want to answer this.
I pass the time reading the Wikipedia page on harems for a little while. I chuckle at its lofty claim that what we’re currently experiencing is some kind of mythical misconception. But nothing arrives in my inbox except an email from Lucy, which contains the ticket details for my flight home. It looks like I’m going to be travelling commercial this time – albeit in first class.
Then the message from Charles pings in. I look over my shoulder to see if anybody might be watching my screen – though I can’t think why they’d be remotely interested. But right now the lounge is sparsely populated – just a few girls gathered around a screen showing some stupid series or other. Nobody else is anywhere near the computer terminals. I’m safe.
I gulp, and begin to read.
Dear Emma,
&nb
sp; Very well. This is the least we can do.
I trust you are familiar with Gerald Sparks? He is your mystery man, and also owner of that house.
I hope this helps.
Yours,
Charles
Who? Oh God, Charles must be seriously over-estimating my knowledge of celebrities and current events. The name rings no bell whatsoever. And it sounds like neither a sportsman nor someone who might have taken part in Britain’s Got Talent. Gerald is a bit of an old name, after all. But whoever he is, at least he’s not Spurring. And that’s a relief.
Rather than asking Charles who the hell Gerald Sparks is, I turn to Google. And a quick search tells me that he is no less a man than the Governer of the Bank of Britain. He’s been quoted dozens of times on all of the major news channels, and there’s a load of video of the guy speaking at a variety of press conferences.
Okay, so I guess the guy really is quite famous. But only if you’re into reading the news and that sort of thing. I’m a bit of an ostrich when it comes to current affairs.
He’s actually not as old as his name makes him sound, but I am glad I was blindfolded. With his unkempt whiskers and rough-looking skin, he’s not a particularly attractive man. But when I see the face, there’s a faint familiarity there. I scratch deep in my brains for that long-lost connection, but come up with nothing.
Considering I hadn’t heard of him, his identity as such is neither here nor there to me. But I do have an urge to know how it is that he actually knows me. Which he implied he did, on more than one occasion.