by Sahara Kelly
Alana snorted.
“Of course. Why do you think I did it? How else could I get him to listen—short of physical violence? I needed to make a point, and I had to use the weapon at hand, which was—” she flexed her fingers, “—my hand.”
“And a beautiful hand it is, too…” said Sami, crossing to her and picking it up. “May I finish your cleansing routine for you?”
He raised her hand to his lips and began to suck and lick each of her fingers, running his warm tongue over each groove and curve.
She shivered as he placed a final kiss on her pinky.
“We never finished our dance, Alana,” murmured Hari, waving his hands and nodding at Sami.
“The space is now shielded—let’s—what’s the word—’groove’.”
Turning up the radio, the sounds of the Rolling Stones thumped into the room. Before she knew it, Alana was naked except for her cushi bell, along with both Sami and Hari, who were swaying to the earthy beat of “Honky Tonk Woman.”
Sami pulled her with him into the living room.
“Dirty dancing is about to begin, Alana-love, are you ready?”
He pulled her hips tight against him as Hari thrust at her from behind. She was the filling in a Djinn oreo. She had never been happier.
Chapter 10
They danced. Oh—did they dance. Alana couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced like this, but thought that perhaps it might have been her junior high prom.
Twisting and sliding to Mick and the boys belting out “Satisfaction,” Alana laughed aloud as she shook her hips. There was a tremendously liberating feeling about dancing nude—it was sort of like skinny-dipping (which she’d done exactly once in her entire life, at a friend’s pool under cover of darkness).
This celebration of rhythm, however, was something else again.
Of course, the fact that two lip-licking gorgeous male bodies were brushing up against hers all the time might have had something to do with it—and the fact that they were both getting really nice hard-ons from the touches was a kick, too.
The music changed—the beat slowed and the drum picked up. Suddenly it wasn’t Mick any more, but probably Ahmed and the Camel Ravers.
“Now we will show you how we dirty dance, Alana-delight,” panted Sami.
“The beat is carried by the dumbeg, or drum,” said Hari, closing the space between their bodies. From behind her he reached around and held her hipbones in his strong hands.
“It’s covered with camel skin, and the drummer holds it firmly between his knees, the way a woman holds a man when he’s deep inside her and throbbing like a drum…”
Hari’s hands pressed and moved against her hips. She found herself moving along with him, swaying in a loose movement in time with the beat.
She heard the different tones of the drum as Hari helped her hips thrust more— first to one side then the other. She felt like the most exhibitionistic belly dancer as her cushi bell jingled wildly in response to her hips.
“Listen to the drum talk, Alana…” he encouraged.
“Dum tek-a-tek, tek-a-dum dum tek-a-tek…” Hari breathed the words along with the beat the drummer was pounding out.
A musical riff threaded through the air over the beat of the drum.
“And now the oud,” said Sami, brushing his hands from her shoulders to her wrists.
“An oud? It sounds like a mandolin or a—what’s that Russian instrument—oh yes, a balalaika.”
Sami pulled her arms away from her body and raised them into the classic dance pose above her head. He interlaced her fingers and helped her arms flow in time to the music, freely and seductively.
“An oud is many thousands of years old. It is believed to have come from Mesopotamia, but no matter where it started, it’s part of our music—in fact most music of the Middle East. It’s the father of the lute and other instruments, but nothing quite sounds as fundamental as the dumbeg and the oud, especially when a woman is dancing to them.”
Hari’s hands slid off her hips and down towards her groin, still pulling and pushing her into figure eights and incidentally making her pussy tighten and relax in a very stimulating way.
Sami’s chest brushed against her nipples. They stiffened and she felt the air caressing them as they moved with her body to the beat of the drum.
Then both Sami and Hari let go.
“Let your body take over, Alana—dance the shifte telli with us…” said Hari, slithering his back seductively up and down hers as he bent low at the knees. He held his arms wide and snapped his fingers on the beat.
Sami did the same, turning his back and glancing over his shoulder at her as he caressed her breasts with his hard flesh. She felt the moisture pooling between her thighs, and her hips rolled all by themselves.
“This is a dance of seduction, Alana-love,” murmured Hari. “You are the slave maiden who must convince your master that you are worthy of being his concubine.”
Alana closed her eyes and swayed, the thump of the drum echoing the thump of her blood through her veins.
“You must seduce him with your dancing, your skin, your breasts, your hips, show him that if he should deign to fuck you he will never want for another woman—you can be his harem of one.”
Caught up in the fantasy, Alana let herself go.
The drum pounded, the oud cried out its passionate song, and Alana danced.
Danced like she never had before.
Her arms caressed Hari and Sami then swept across her own breasts. She turned and rubbed her back and buttocks against male flesh, feeling their cocks firm and aroused against her. Her hips couldn’t keep still, as if the drums were inside her pelvis and she had to thrust and gyrate to keep the rhythm going.
She felt her heart pounding and the sweat breaking out on her brow, but she kept on, watching Hari and Sami as they too began to feel the sensuality of the dance.
Their cocks hardened even more, they licked their lips and panted, beads of moisture rolling down across their broad shoulders.
Swaying hips and swaying cocks—Alana was mesmerized. Finally, the need for full contact overcame her and she turned her back on Hari, thrusting and swinging her buttocks backwards towards his crotch and leaning against his chest.
His hands automatically grasped her and slid towards her curls.
Sami raised his arms and touched her hands, putting them around the back of his neck. His fingers released hers and followed the undersides of her arms to the sides of her breasts.
The drumbeat roared to a crescendo. Alana’s hips shimmied and shook, feeling Hari’s cock sliding over her butt and around and through and between and everywhere except where she desperately needed it to be.
With a rolling conclusion the drums finished, and Hari fell back towards the couch, dragging Alana with him.
It took one thrust and he was inside her—oh so deep inside her. The heat of his body pressed against her back as she sat on his lap, his thighs between hers spreading them wide. She felt the air on her swollen tissues and moaned as Hari’s hands came around to spread her flesh apart and feather touches on her aroused clit.
Sami stood before her, but didn’t kneel to her pussy as she’d expected.
Instead he placed his hands on either side of her breasts and pushed them together. They were just the right height.
With a move any belly dancer would have envied, Sami thrust his cock up between her breasts with a gasp of pleasure. He palmed her nipples as Hari bounced her on his cock and ran his fingers over her now frantic clit.
Sami and Hari moved to their own syncopated rhythm—Hari’s upthrust in concert with Sami’s downpull.
Alana felt she had no say in the matter, but honestly didn’t care. She was trembling on the edge of a mighty orgasm—who cared who was doing what to whom, she just needed to come, dammit.
Hari deepened his penetration, along with his fingers, driving her entire nervous system into a state of panic.
Sami’s thrusts brought
the tip of his cock just to her chin, which clearly did wonderful things for Sami—she felt a drop of his juices moistening her skin as the swollen head brushed against her. His balls swung heavily against her torso.
Alana’s buttocks clenched in arousal, her juices flooding Hari’s thighs. He spread his legs even further, stretching Alana’s pussy to the limit and sending her clit into spasms of ecstasy as the little pearl jutted out and away from her body—swollen and sensitive and oh-so-ready to meet the sure touch of Hari’s slippery fingers.
Sami moaned and closed his eyes.
They broke within moments, and there was fog. A lot of fog.
* * * * *
Alana coughed and Hari’s relaxing cock slid wetly out of her.
“Geez, guys, this fog thing…” She waved her hands to clear the air, trying to pull a breath into her panting lungs.
Hari unpeeled himself from her back, and Sami turned slightly from where he’d collapsed facedown on the couch next to her.
“I’m hungry,” said Sami, still not moving his body. “I’m completely wiped out, but by the Gods I could eat a camel.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of camel. How about frozen pizza?”
Hari’s eyes lit up, but Sami frowned.
“Not today, Alana-love. Today we must treat the body as a temple and offer nutrition that will enhance and improve its overall performance. Pizza—“ and he slanted a grimace at Hari, “pizza will only fill your stomach and slow your digestive system. You will be depleted of the energies you will need for tonight.”
Alana, who had been listening to Sami with one ear while the other registered the fact that her heart was actually approaching a normal rhythm again, dropped her head forward and closed her eyes.
“Dear heavens above—I haven’t the energy…” she moaned.
Hari grinned. “You will have, dear one, never fear. But Sami is right—we need a slightly different routine to prepare for this evening.”
He shifted to his feet and pulled Alana up with him.
“A nice shower will restore your balance—and while you are doing that, Sami and I will prepare a list of things for you to buy for us. It is acceptable for you?”
Alana looked at the two of them, and humphed.
“Providing you keep it simple—no camel balls or anything.”
Sami looked quite green.
“Not me. I hate those.”
“You don’t mean you actually eat…Oh, God, never mind. I’m gone.”
Hari’s rich laugh followed her into the shower, where she found the guys had been right—she felt full of life and ready to take on the world.
Of course, there was one thing missing—her clothes. Her closets had mysteriously emptied themselves, along with her dresser. She knew she should be irate but had a hard time summoning up anger for these two wonders who clearly had her best interests at heart.
Sighing, she wrapped herself in her towel and went to do battle with her two clothing-impaired guests.
She found them in the kitchen, fresh coffee in their mugs and a list on the table next to her cup.
“Um, fellas—about this clothing thing—I can’t shop in just a cushi bell, and I think a silk caftan and nothing else would attract the wrong kind of attention at the market.”
“No problem…” said Hari, studying her for a moment and then waving his hand.
Gasping, Alana felt clothes materialize on her body. A really strange sensation. Looking down, she saw she was now the proud possessor of a nice pair of denim cutoffs, cut a little shorter around the butt than she was used to, but otherwise a perfect fit. They were topped with a cropped top in a delicate blue floral print, and left a nice expanse of midriff bare. Her chain twinkled on the bare skin.
“Well—so far so good, but haven’t you forgotten something?”
“Ooops, sorry…” said Hari, snapping his fingers.
A lovely pair of openwork leather sandals appeared on her feet. Soft and comfortable, Alana realized she’d never had shoes that felt so wonderful. Hey—could they do Ferragamos?
“Do you guys do designer knockoffs?”
“Pardon?”
Alana sighed. It would be a challenge, and she wasn’t sure if she was up to it.
“Actually, I was talking about underwear. You haven’t created any.”
Two identically evil grins crossed their faces.
“That’s right.”
“Why bother? You don’t need it.”
“Hey—excuse me, this isn’t the South Pacific. It gets damn cold here in the winter, and I’m not running around with my butt cheeks hanging out when it’s ten below zero,” complained Alana, hands on hips.
Sami chuckled, and Hari leaned back in his chair with a smile on his face.
“We’re not suggesting any such thing, Alana. We are simply helping you explore your sexual side—a side that, now and again, skips the whole constricting underwear thing. Your breasts are beautiful—firm and upright, with nipples that would make Sheba envious. Why restrain them in your equivalent of armor when you are not going into battle, only to the store?”
“And as far as panties go—which isn’t far…” added Hari, “today is a lovely warm day, the sun is shining, and you’ll only be gone for a short time. Why ruin the line of those lovely shorts by slipping anything between them and that soft skin that covers your woman’s treasures?”
Her “woman’s treasures” throbbed and dampened.
Alana sighed. “Gimme the list. I’d better get out of here, before you talk me into naked grocery shopping as an acceptable hobby.”
She looked at the scrawled words and frowned.
“Sorry—my ancient Arabic is kind of rusty—any chance you could write this in English?”
“Oh—Omar’s balls. Sorry, Alana.” Hari quickly wrote a new list that she could read.
“Hmm. Mostly fruits, I see. I think I can get these for you—I don’t know about the fresh figs, though…I’ll have to check. If it was Saturday, I could get most of this from the market, but seeing as it’s…what the heck day is it, anyway?”
Sami looked self-conscious and glanced at Hari.
“Actually it is still Saturday, Alana.”
Silence fell in the room as Alana’s brain refused to accept that statement.
“But…but—I’ve slept—we’ve slept. It’s been days that you’ve been here. I’ve seen the sun rise and set…I don’t understand…” she almost wailed in her confusion.
Hari left his chair and came around the table, drawing Alana to her feet. He enfolded her in his strong arms and cuddled her into his chest. She felt Sami behind her, running his fingers gently through her hair.
“Don’t be disturbed, Alana-love,” gentled Hari in his most seductive tones.
“We don’t truly understand it ourselves. But there is something about our presence that affects the passage of time. While we are with you, time passes at a different rate. It allows us to spend as long as is necessary with you without seriously impacting the rest of your life or that of your world.”
Sami’s hand continued its soft stroking.
“Time has not stopped, Alana, merely slowed to a different rate while we are here,” added Sami. “There is no reason to be distraught—we do not like it when you are upset like this…”
Alana sighed.
“I suppose I should have expected something like this. Everything else is kind of weird and strange, why not time itself. Maybe I’ll see if I can find ’Temporal Distortion for Dummies’ while I’m out.”
Hari cocked his head.
“What are these books for dummies you mention? Are there so many dummies in your world?”
Alana chuckled against his wonderful chest.
“Probably yes, but never mind. Some things in my world aren’t easily explained either.” She pulled herself away.
“I’m OK now—it was just a shock, that’s all. Give me the list and I’ll head to the fruit market. What are you two going to do?”
; “Well, laundry might be an option,” groaned Sami.
“You mean you can’t just wave your hands and—poof—clean shorts?”
“We don’t wear shorts, Alana, have you forgotten already?” Hari’s voice dropped to the dark chocolate level. “Perhaps I should remind you?”
His hand dropped suggestively to the bulge in his jeans and the ever-open top button.
“No, for heavens sake, keep that tucked away for a while, will ya? I need to shop and take a break here…” She sighed.
“Don’t be long, Alana-delight,” murmured Sami. “We will miss your arousing presence while you’re gone.”
Alana licked her lips and wondered if she could talk them into frozen pizza after all. Her nipples were already hard as could be and thrusting against the soft cotton of her top—she was a walking ad for Sex and Plenty Of It. Plus, her cushi bell was held tight against her pussy by the shorts and was giving her a little thrill with every step she took. God, this was going to be one hell of a shopping trip.
Chapter 11
Alana struggled through the door clutching three brown paper bags full of fruits and one obligatory loaf of French bread—her indulgence for the weekend. Food wise, anyway.
Her apartment was silent.
“Hey guys,” she called, dumping her burdens on the kitchen table. “I got your stuff. No fresh figs, but I got a packet of dried instead. Is that OK? Guys?”
A cold hand clawed at her heart as silence reigned.
“Oh, God, no! Please…don’t leave me yet! Please—no!”
With her heart in her mouth, she rushed into the living room to find it empty. Really scared now, she hurried into her bedroom only to stop short on a gasp.
Gone was her traditional room with its sleigh bed and fuzzy rug. In its place was a mystical and brilliant white space.
The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with a floating kind of drapery, sheer and billowing as she moved past. The floors were white marble, with delicate gold-veined tracery through them—she impulsively kicked her sandals off, needing to feel the cool smoothness beneath her feet.