What She Needs

by Lacey Alexander

  Maybe it’s because of the kisses.

  Peering out over the sea, where a nearly full moon shone down to make the water sparkle, she tried to laugh that off as a ridiculous reason, but the truth was—the man knew how to kiss. He’d kissed her better than anyone ever had.

  Quit thinking about kisses and make your lists.

  Half an hour and lots of lusty, tingling memories later, she had compiled them, and though it had been difficult to be totally honest, especially knowing he’d see them, she’d succeeded. Admirably so, she thought.

  Things That Made Me Feel Sexy (Not Necessarily a Complete List)

  The way I looked in the bra and thong in my room

  The way I looked in the schoolgirl outfit (which surprised me and makes me feel a little weird, actually)

  Wearing such sexy shoes (another surprise)

  Seeing in your eyes that you liked the way I looked, too

  The way you looked at my breasts

  The way you looked at my pussy (not when you acted mad, but other times)

  Hearing you moan and groan because of me

  Having you kiss me after you pretty much just said you shouldn’t kiss me (and now that I’ve written this down I hope it wasn’t some sort of pity kiss)

  Things That Turned Me On (Also Not Necessarily a Complete List)

  Shaving my cunt (very big surprise)

  Your voice, when you walked into the room

  Looking at you

  Being spanked (but I’m not sure why)

  When you put your finger in my asshole (is there some dirtier word for that I should be using?)

  When you sucked my nipple into your mouth so hard

  When you forced my legs apart

  The first time I saw your cock

  Watching you put it inside me

  Right now, writing the word cock for you, sort of (but that still doesn’t mean I’m into talking dirty)

  The way you kissed me at the end

  She knew she probably could have thought of more, but she was tired—such strange sex had worn her out—and she wanted to go to bed. After folding the lists and putting them in an envelope, she wrote Brent’s name on the outside, called the front desk as instructed, then slid the envelope partially under the door, so she wouldn’t have to bother getting dressed to open it.

  As she closed her eyes, she thought once more about the day. Had it changed her inside? Sexually? In other ways? It had certainly shown her a few unexpected things about herself, but in her mind, it was far too soon to recognize any far-reaching results. As for how on earth she’d been sucked into going forward with more of this, she wasn’t sure. As much as she’d loved his kisses, she would have liked attributing her cooperation to that as well—but she’d agreed, or not argued anyway, before he’d kissed her.

  And maybe that was all the proof she needed to know this experience had already changed her, more than she could have conceived of just a day or two earlier—that seemed like a lifetime ago. Lord, how changed would she be after two full weeks of Brent’s fantasies?

  You Are Invited to a Fantasy

  Where: The Sheik’s Palace (map included)

  When: Tonight, 8:00 p.m.

  You are a newly acquired slavegirl in the sheik’s harem.

  Appropriate attire will be provided at the palace, as will an evening meal.

  Do as the sheik instructs and unthinkable pleasures await.

  (Your safeword is Amelia Earhart.)

  Brent sat on a large ruby red throw pillow in the harem room, reading the invitation he knew Jenna had received a few hours ago—guides were always given a copy of their own invitations as a matter of course, allowing them to make sure everything was right.

  The large area was draped in colorful satins and silks, jewel-tone draperies spilling down walls and drooping from the ceiling like waves. Thick carpeting covered the floor, which was home to mounds of various-size pillows in more rich, saturated colors, taking the place of furniture. To give a sense of greater dimension, the room had been built on two levels; three steps descended into a square “pit” to one side and stretched along its length. And Brent’s clothing, of course, fit the setting—he was the sheik, complete with a small white turban and billowing white pants. For this particular fantasy, he wore no shirt.

  Around him, people bustled about, arranging pillows and adjusting lighting. He looked up to see two pretty girls enter the room in their harem costumes. The taller one, a shapely blonde, met Brent’s gaze and playfully jiggled her tits within the sky blue chiffon bikini-type top that held them. “You like?” she asked.

  Yes, he liked, very much, and gave her a wink in reply. “Very nice, Sasha.” Sasha was twenty-eight and working at the Hotel Erotique while she wrote her thesis—she’d soon have a master’s in social psychology with a focus on sex roles. The girl at her side, Barbie, was in her early twenties and had a BA in psychology, but was busy rebelling against her parents for a few years—after which Brent expected she’d get a job in counseling, a plan that had been sidetracked when her rich father cut her off unless she pursued a more lucrative position in the field.

  Just then, Ryan came in bearing trays laden with finger sandwiches, chocolate-covered strawberries and chunks of banana, and a ceramic jug filled with wine—he lowered the tray to the wide step just above where Brent sat. Brent had heard Ryan had waited on Jenna at the beach yesterday. “Food and drink for the new slave girl,” Ryan said with an easy wink. “Kirsten’s bringing the cups.”

  “Good man,” Brent said with a nod. Ryan wouldn’t be participating in this particular fantasy, but Brent would likely pull him in later if he found a role he thought fit. For tonight, it would be only he and a number of female facilitators.

  And it was good that he’d already planned to bring more people in on this second fantasy, since . . . shit, what had he been thinking, kissing her last night? He’d always been in full agreement on the rules about guides and guests, but now he understood why more than ever before. It was easy to get too involved, to start caring on a personal level. Worse, he was realizing just how easy that made it for the guest to get attached, too.

  So what had he done? Kissed a girl who he knew was already prone to getting attached to people she had sex with. Smooth move, Powers. He gave his head a disgusted shake.

  Just then Kirsten entered, carrying a tray of small ceramic cups without handles, designed with colorful Middle Eastern flair, which she lowered to the carpet. She looked stunning in red chiffon, rows of gold coin-shaped medallions draping from the bottom of her revealing top, her long dark hair pulled up in an I Dream of Jeannie ponytail. At thirty, she was one of their most skilled and experienced facilitators and would soon likely advance to being a guide. “Anything else we need?” she asked.

  He looked around, then shook his head. “Nope, the sheik is pleased,” he answered teasingly.

  When Kirsten walked away, though, his mind returned to kissing Jenna—and it forced him to remember the way those kisses had figured into her lists.

  Otherwise, though, she’d done well, and a number of the entries had made him smile. No, sunshine, calling it an asshole is fine. Other list items had relayed to him in subtle or not-so-subtle ways that much of what he’d hoped to achieve last night had worked. She was learning to more boldly take pleasure from her own body, and to recognize taking that pleasure. She’d enjoyed aspects of the kinkiness involved—even though she might not fully realize it. She was learning to talk more frankly about sex, without shying away from language, and he was pretty sure she did get off on dirty talk—she just didn’t know that yet, either. And—key for right now—she was adapting well to obeying his instructions. She hadn’t even balked about making the lists—and he’d fully expected her to. Despite her general protests and arguments, she was becoming a much more malleable, docile Jenna very quickly, and that would aid his work immensely.

  Tonight’s fantasy would expand on what they’d accomplished yesterday. The activities would again rely
on discipline—on him taking a controlling role, compelling her to obey. And it would once more be about him using that control to make her take what he needed her to experience—but this time he wouldn’t be the only person delivering pleasure to Jenna.

  So tonight she’d have to open up a lot, trust him a lot. He wasn’t sure she’d do everything he asked, but he hoped she’d find the boldness inside her that he knew was there—she’d greatly enjoy the harem fantasy if she could just let go of her inhibitions.

  Moments later, the other players in Jenna’s carefully designed fantasy came in, greeting him and one another as they took their places. Music that fit the scene wafted softly from hidden speakers, adding to the sensual setting. Wine was poured into cups, and he saw Kirsten getting in the mood by rubbing her curves playfully, provocatively against Amira, a lovely Palestinian girl who was probably the most extreme case of a rebellious facilitator he’d seen in all his years here. She’d come as a guest while attending college at NYU, and she’d soon returned as an employee.

  Nearby, he noticed Sasha settling her head into Barbie’s lap, both stretching out on plush pillows. Across the room lay a sensuous redhead, Lola, and a petite but busty blonde, Candy. Candy was new yet eager, and the more-experienced Lola had been a good teacher for her in the few months since her arrival.

  In total, ten women lounged around the lush room in scant chiffon outfits, looking completely fuckable and making Brent’s cock begin to harden. Only a few would engage directly with Jenna, but all were necessary to set the tone and fully acclimate her to the fantasy.

  Soon, the lighting dimmed—a signal from Ryan, hidden from sight, that Jenna had reached the dressing area to read her instructions and would soon enter the room. In response, Lola and Candy began to gently touch and kiss—falling easily, he noted with amusement, into their roles. Other girls lounged about, beginning to lazily run fingertips over the shoulders or hips of a fellow female facilitator. Sasha turned to playfully lick Barbie’s belly button, which happened to be encircled with a curling scrollwork tattoo. And Kirsten took a place beside him, hanging casually on his shoulder, her ample breasts rubbing against his arm.

  When Jenna entered the room, however, his full attention shifted her way. She wore a pale yellow chiffon bra top, the bottom edge sporting draped rows of gold coinlike beads, and a matching skirt that rode low beneath her navel and sported side slits all the way up to the thick row of gold coin beads that served as a waistband. Numerous gold bangle bracelets circled both wrists and an elaborate gold necklace lay about her throat and the expanse of skin below. From her heavily made-up eyes to the way her curves peeked so enticingly from the bits of chiffon, she looked like a true harem girl—except for the shock in her expression.

  As she glanced around the room at the girls touching one another, she appeared taken aback—but no one acknowledged her presence in any way, and Brent let her use the moment to begin adjusting to the setting, hoping like hell she could handle it and wouldn’t go running away. Her safeword tonight was, like all safewords, something that would never be uttered during this fantasy for any other reason than wanting out. He prayed she wouldn’t say it tonight—and realized he felt that perhaps a little too strongly. Besides wanting her to reap pleasure and proceed toward full sexual freedom, he also wanted to deliver that pleasure, see her feel it. The very thought hardened his dick still more, making it rise to create a tautly stretched tent in his loose pants.

  When finally she looked to him, her eyes brimming with trepidation, he didn’t smile. As much as he would’ve liked to put her at ease, it was time to take on his role. Tonight he owned her. And she needed to understand and accept that if they were to move forward.

  Becoming the sheik in mind as well as appearance, he studied her body unabashedly, noting that she might be afraid but her nipples pointed prominently through the soft top, and that while her cunt was covered by a curtain of chiffon, he could see she’d followed the instruction not to wear anything underneath. He summoned her, his voice low but exercising great authority. “Come sit beside me, slave girl.”

  Timidly, she came toward him across the plush carpet on bare feet, and he hoped the chiffon gliding against her thighs as she walked added to her unwitting arousal. She knelt on the opposite side of him from Kirsten—who still clung sensually to his shoulder, watching the scene unfold.

  Brent motioned to the step rising just above the pit, to the wine and food tray. “Eat,” he told her. “Drink.” And as she began to obey, reaching to pour herself some wine, Kirsten poured some for him, and even lifted a strawberry to his mouth in an example of unbidden slave girl subservience. He watched Jenna observing, trying not to react, and hid his amusement while willing her toward such eager submission, too.

  As she ate one of the small sandwiches provided, he said, “I own you now, Jenna. You are bought and paid for, and your only purpose for existence now is to do my bidding. Do you understand?”

  She drew in her breath, and he realized what he’d said was harsh, but for tonight, it was entirely necessary. Tonight they took a big step forward. Each night would be a big step forward—he had only two weeks to undo a lifetime of negative impressions, memories, and ingrained beliefs about sex.

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he went on. “You are lucky I noticed your beauty and rescued you from the life of squalor you would live as one of my regular slaves. Here, in my harem, you will have every luxury. All that’s required of you is to serve and pleasure me in whatever way I demand.”

  Meeting his gaze, she said quietly, solemnly, “I’ll try.”

  And damn, he wanted to go soft on her then—but he couldn’t afford to. “No, you’ll do it,” he snapped. “You are a sex slave now, like it or not.” Only then did he allow himself to go a little soft. “However, there is much pleasure in it for you, too. Tonight, in fact, I am taking mercy upon you, planning to initiate you into my harem gently.”

  “That’s . . . kind of you,” she replied, still cautious, but he could see her warming to her role now, just a bit—which pleased him greatly, both as her guide and as the lusty sheik who intended to force her into pleasure with or without her consent. Given his dominant tendencies, he’d always gotten into the sheik fantasy, perhaps too much.

  “This evening,” he said, his tone still imparting full power, “all that will be demanded of you is to relax and let me enjoy you, however I see fit.”

  He watched her suck in her breath, then whisper, “All right.”

  So far, she’d eaten only two little triangle sandwiches, and he wanted her to have energy for what lay ahead, so he now did as Kirsten had done for him—he picked up a piece of chocolate-covered fruit and held it to her lips. She bit into the chunk of banana, sighing her pleasure at the taste. After she swallowed, he fed her the rest, gently slipping his index finger between her soft lips. She met his gaze and he knew they both felt it between their legs until he extracted his fingertip.

  Normally, as sheik, he wouldn’t lower himself to feeding a harem girl, but Jenna was different. As a facilitator, he’d taken many women through the harem fantasy, and for most, now would be the time to push them to their backs and take them or to instruct the other girls to pleasure her, but Jenna required just the right care: hardness tempered with a pinch of softness, authority tempered with a hint of affection. And he knew from the look in her eyes that he’d just hit the right note to make her pussy surge with moisture beneath that sexy chiffon.

  In response, Jenna reached toward the fruit tray herself, plucking up a strawberry and lifting it for him to eat. Despite himself, he could have sworn it tasted better coming from her. After swallowing, he closed his grasp warmly on her wrist, using his other hand to take the stem from her and cast it aside. Then he drew her index finger slowly, deeply into his mouth, sucking. Their eyes stayed connected the entire time, allowing him to see her pleasure.

  Finally, he released it, saying, “Good little slave girl. You please me.”

  “I’
m glad.”

  Next, he brought her hand back to his mouth to flick his tongue through the soft, sensitive valleys between her fingers, one by one—and he loved seeing that it excited her unexpectedly. He heard her breath catch; he felt his stiff cock tighten further.

  Reaching up to gently stroke her cheek, now tanned from a few days in the sun, he soon let his fingertips skim downward, his touch just grazing her neck, then passing over her heavy necklace and onto the bared skin below. His fingers swept tenderly between her breasts, the flesh there also on lovely, curving display.

  Raising his attention back to her face, he found a blush staining her bronzed cheeks. Maybe she was embarrassed to be touched in front of other girls. Or maybe she was just pleasured by his caress. Most likely both. But you have to get over the first, Jenna, to really experience the second.

  So he pressed on, intent on forcing the pleasure to overpower the stigma of having strangers in the room. Intent on overcoming many other stigmas, too, but this was the one on his mind as he gently cupped the sides of both her breasts, raking his thumbs over those beaded nipples, a hint of their dark color visible through the layers of pale yellow. She sucked in her breath, sighed audibly. The fact that she willingly met his gaze the whole time caused a soft pride to swell inside him.

  “You have perfect tits,” he said, not sure if he was being himself or the sheik. Another instance when the answer was: most likely both. Despite the staggering number of female breasts he’d seen in his life, he’d fallen in lust with hers last night. Although he’d known her bra size from her profile, they’d appeared plumper, rounder, than he’d expected, and now, it was important for her to know how lovely they were.