by Brian
3
Tarsis
Chapter One Grand Bellamy Hotel, Upper East Side New York, USA, April 19th, 1932
hat a day that was! A day full of the exotic romance and mystery of the the Far East. The Sultan Akbar ben Zahli Amal, monarch of the small but oil-rich country of Zahara, was visiting America for the first time. Everyone wanted to know all about him, and Lisa Carlisle, intrepid girl reporter for the Daily Star, was right on top of the story! Unfortunately, Unfortunately, so was every other reporter in Manhattan.
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This was Lisa’s last chance. Despite her Kansas journalism degree, the Times had refused to see her, and the Star had told her not to come back without a blockbuster story. She’d been in the city a week, spent all her savings on cab fare, and still the Big Story eluded her. If only the Sultan would notice her! It seemed for a moment that that he had, but then he passed on, regally oblivious to the furor around him. “Such despair in so tender a face!” said a soft voice from close beside her. Startled, Lisa turned to see a tall, beautiful woman in black. “I cannot bear to see such pretty eyes clouded by tears,” said the woman. woman. “Perhaps I can help.”
In the face of such kindness, Lisa could hold back nothing. Over coffee, she told her whole sad, desperate story.
The woman in black was sympathetic. “I believe I may be able to help you, my dear,” she said. “I know the Sultan personally. personally. I may be able to arrange a private interview.”
4
Hours later there was a knock on the door of Lisa’s Soho summer sub-let. “The Sultan has agreed to see you,” said the turbaned chauffeur in a heavily heavily accented voice. “Will you come?” “I’ll get my camera!” exclaimed the elated girl. The mysterious woman in black was waiting for her in the Sultan’s limousine. limousine. As it sped quietly uptown, the woman introduced herself. “My name is Natasha,” she said, “but you mustn’t write about me. I... arrange things for very important people, you see, and it just wouldn’t wouldn’t do to have everyone knowing who I am.” “I promise I won’t tell a soul,” said Lisa sincerely. “I know you won’t, won’t, Darling,” said Natasha. She handed Lisa a robe and turban. “The sultan doesn’t wish it known that that he is seeing a member of the press,” she explained. “It is his request that you enter his hotel in disguise.” “Gosh, this is exciting!” said Lisa as she wrapped herself in the robe. “You have no idea,” agreed her new friend with a smile. Wrapped in her disguise, Lisa walked right past the swarm of reporters hovering in front of the Sultan’s hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. A couple of them even even snapped her picture, but none of them could even suspect who she really was! Inside the Sultan’s Sultan’s suite, Natasha was allowed into his royal presence first. Then, finally, Lisa was ushered in.
“Kneel on the kneeling rug,” Natasha whispered. Lisa obeyed quickly, which pleased the Sultan.
The interview went well right from the start. The Sultan was warm and genial, answering even her most personal questions without reservation. He seemed like a very nice man, and Lisa was soon getting along famously with him. “What do you think of America?” she asked. “It is a beautiful country,” he responded, “yet wild and untamed... and it is full of beautiful, untamed women. I see all this beauty, and I desire to take it home with me.”
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“What is it like in Zahara?” she asked. “In Zahara I am Sultan,” he said with a smile. “The sun shines for me. The wind blows blows for me. The desert itself obeys my every every wish. Zahara is a marvelous place!” “I know all the ladies in America will want to know... Is there a special woman in your life?” The Sultan chuckled. “There are no special women. women. Some are better than than others, but none are special.” Lisa became flustered. “Let me rephrase the the question,” she said. “Are you married?”
“‘Am I married?’” he laughed. “My dear, dear, I am more married than you you can even imagine. I have thirty-seven thirty-seven wives!” “Thirty-seven?” repeated Lisa, astonished. “That’s an awful lot of wives!” “One might think so,” said the Sultan. “And yet, yet, I am about to have thirty-eight!” “You’re getting married again? Oh, how exciting!” said Lisa. “Who’s the lucky lady?” “Why, you are, my little Dove!” said the Sultan. “Abdul, “Abdul, Rakin, you may bind her he r now.” Suddenly two grim-faced servants in loincloths were were behind her. One of them took her firmly by the elbows and pulled them behind her back, and the other one started wrapping rope around her wrists. “Wait,” said Lisa uncertainly, “perhaps I’ve given you you the wrong impression. I’m not available! available! I mean, you’re a nice man and all, but I don’t want want to marry you! I was only asking about your marital status because that’s the sort of thing American Americ an women want to know...” “It does not matter what you want or don’t want,” the Sultan said, his friendly smile fading. “All things are available available to the Sultan! I have chosen you, you, and you you are mine.”
“But-but you don’t understand!” Lisa cried. “This isn’t how we do things in America!” “I do not care how you do things,” he said. “I am Sultan. I take what I want.”
6
The implications of Lisa’s situation began to sink in, leaving her speechless. She turned appealing eyes to Natasha, who seemed apologetic but made no move to stop the proceedings. “Abdul, open her clothing,” said the Sultan. “Allow us to examine the breasts of our bride.”
Desperate, Lisa tried once more. “You can’t get away with this,” she said firmly. “I’m an American citizen! They’ll catch you and arrest you!” Yet, even as she spoke, her brassier was torn from her body, her naked bosom revealed. “She does have lovely breasts,” said the Sultan, eying the exposed milky globes. “But she is, I think, becoming tiresomely noisy. Gag her.”
7
Effectively silenced by the thick wad of cloth tied into her mouth, Lisa could do nothing but watch as the rug on which she knelt was rolled up, revealing a wooden platform to which she was quickly and inescapably bound. Rapidly her prison was assembled around her, her body bound by more and more rope. She was helpless, hopelessly immobilized, and yet still more ropes were wound, cinched and knotted tightly about her body. Then, the final blow... a wooden shipping crate was lowered over her and nailed in place, sealing her fate!
When the hammering was done, Lisa was sealed inside the box, the weight of her utter helplessness settling over her like a leaden blanket. She squirmed in her bonds, achieving no more than an inch of movement. Through the cleverly hidden breathing slots in the sides of the box she could hear the Sultan speaking: “She is all that you said she was, Natasha. I am pleased. You will see to it that she is waiting for me in Zahara upon my return.” “Of course,” said the woman in black, her voice light. “Congratulations, Sultan Zahli Amal! May your marriage be as blissful and enduring as the first thirty-seven have been!”
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Chapter Two At the Manhattan docks, the luxury liner Jewel of Shalimar prepares to cast off
bove all the bustle and tumult of the great ship’s departure, one last crate was loaded aboard, unnoticed by the waving, cheering throng.
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The wooden box was lowered, raised, turned, tilted, wheeled down corridors, hoisted up and down and moved about so many times that Lisa began to think it would never end. When at last the box did stop moving, there were several minutes of thumping and rending noises, and suddenly, unexpectedly, the front came open, revealing a smiling familiar face framed by soft lamplight. “Hello in there!” said Natasha cheerfully in her lilting, slightly accented voice. “Want to come out and play?”
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Lisa was limp and malleable as Natasha carefully removed her bonds and clothing and laid her out on the bed in her luxurious stateroom. Gradually the girl’s limbs came painfully back to life. At last Natasha removed the gag from her mouth and gave her some water, and she was able to find her voice. “How could you do this to me?” she asked. “You seemed so nice... I trusted you!” “Poor little innocent!” said Natasha. “So much to learn about the world! Ah, but I will teach you all you need to know. Life in the harem is so much simpler, you shall be far happier there. You’ll see.”
“But I don’t want to live in a harem!” Lisa protested. “It won’t be so bad,” soothed Natasha. “And besides, there’s nothing you can do to change it! You are now the property of Sultan Akbar ben Zahli Amal, absolute monarch of Zahara. So long as you obey, he will take good care of you. It would be best if you just accept it, and learn to appreciate the sensual delights that harem life has to offer.” “I’m a reporter, not a harem girl,” said Lisa firmly. “I have no interest in sensual delights, and I don’t want anything to do with you or the harem.” “Silly girl,” said Natasha, smiling. “I don’t think you’ve ever experienced sensual delights. Let’s do something about that, shall we?”
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Without another word, Natasha began tying Lisa’s wrists. Lisa struggled, but Natasha proved to be much stronger than she was. The rope was quickly looped through the headboard, and tied off where Lisa couldn’t reach it. Natasha hummed as she worked...
“Why are you doing this to me?” Lisa demanded finally, slightly out of breath from struggling. “Why?” echoed Natasha, her fingers idly tracing the contours of Lisa’s bottom and the panty-covered crevice between. “So many reasons!” she said finally. “Because I like you. Because you are so lovely, and so innocent. Because I don’t think you’ve ever submitted to another person, and because that’s something you must learn. And because you know nothing of sensual pleasures, and I want to be the one to teach you.” “I don’t understand,” said Lisa, her breath catching as Natasha’s fingers strayed into regions she was pretty sure they ought not to be. “I know,” said Natasha softly, allowing her fingers to stray still lower. “I know...” Quite a long while later Natasha stood up and stretched, then smiled down at her gently squirming captive. “These panties,” she said as she slowly pulled the clingy cotton under-garment down over Lisa’s hips, “have become quite soggy. I’m afraid they shall have to come off.”
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With the panties gone, Lisa felt a breath of cool air touch her exposed wetness, and a wave of shame rolled over her. How could she lie here squirming and moaning while another woman touched her there? It was wicked and wrong, and she simply couldn’t endure it! She wriggled and kicked in an attempt to close her legs, but it was no use. “Now, Darling, don’t fret so!” said Natasha, and before Lisa could protest her wet panties were being stuffed into her mouth, then tied in place with a long strip of cloth. “There, you see? No need to feel guilty! You are completely helpless. Just relax...” Lisa jerked and squealed into her gag as cool fingers suddenly touched her naked secret flesh. It was a violation, such an intimate touch! It just wasn’t right that this woman she hardly knew should touch her there, and yet it felt so... so very...
Gently, Natasha stroked and teased her, and once more the pleasure spread through her body, the heat and wetness increasing. Lisa tried with all her might to resist, but nothing seemed to work. Her face burned with shame, and yet her sex seemed to be begging for more! She had never been so wet. Soon she was whimpering and moaning in spite of herself. Her hips began to roll rhythmically, as if they had a life of their own. Her own body was turning against her, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure bit by bit! It was so humiliating to lose control of herself like this at the hands of the evil woman who had betrayed her, and yet...
12
Lisa’s battle with her body had already been lost when Natasha sank down and nuzzled her face between the girl’s damp thighs. Her hips lifted instinctively when that skilled tongue teased and tickled the swollen pink nubbin that was the nexus of her pleasure. Gradually the muffled moans that filtered through her gag began to rise in pitch. She felt the climax rising and knew she couldn’t stop it. Her cries became gag-dampened shrieks and her body bucked wildly as she came, and came, and came...
Limp and dreamy-eyed, Lisa made no protest as Natasha dressed her in fresh silken lingerie and tied her arms behind her once more. She lifted the girl onto a stool and tied her there, then lay back and watched her squirm slowly and sensuously in her bondage.
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That was how it began. After a while Natasha took Lisa down from the stool and tied her up in a different position, and then a different one after that. Soon Lisa couldn’t even remember how many times she’d been tied up. The mysterious woman bound her this way and that, and dressed her and posed her like a doll, all the while teasing her, fondling her and playing with her body at will. Lisa became her plaything. She kept the girl bound and helpless in her stateroom for the duration of the entire voyage, feeding her when meals were brought, bathing her before tying her to the bed for the night, then continuing the game in the morning. She never hurt her, but she never gave her a moment’s freedom, either. Lisa learned what sensual delight meant. Natasha kept her always aroused, and always immersed in the state of dreamlike sensuality that being in bondage seemed to cause.
As the days passed, Lisa forgot about trying to escape, a pervading sense of submission overtaking her. Accepting her helplessness freed her to enjoy the pleasures of her captivity. Each new bondage position brought its own unique sensations, and all she yearned for was the next intimate caress that would bring her just a little bit closer to orgasmic release. Her world consisted only of her own body, the simmering passion within her, and the things Natasha did to her.
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Sometimes Natasha would idly tease her, and sometimes a wellplaced rope was all it took to keep her simmering on the edge of ecstasy. For a girl who had never indulged in the pleasures of sensuality before, this was a powerful, even life-changing interlude. Always in bondage, she found herself completely dependant on Natasha for everything, most particularly for maintaining her perpetual state of dreamlike euphoria, and providing the occasional culmination of orgasm.
It was a tremendous shock to Lisa when it all came to an end. “Time to go back in the box, my sweet little toy,” said Natasha regretfully. “The ship is docking now. There’ll be a truck waiting at the port to carry your box to the Sultan’s palace in Zahara. Just a few short hours and you’ll be home!” Noticing Lisa’s expression, she stroked her cheek and reassured her. “Don’t fret, Darling! It’s not going to be so bad. This was a little taste of what is to come. You see, in the harem, life is lived for sensual pleasure!”
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Chapter Three In an inner courtyard of the Sultan’s palace in Zahara
he second time Lisa was released from her box, she found herself in the hands of two hard-eyed, leather-faced Arab guards who had no regard at all for her cramped muscles or frightened glances as they drew her forth into the bright sunlight.
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She caught only a glimpse of the exotic, alien towers and terraces, tasted only a whiff of jasmine and eucalyptus, before she was halfdragged from the elegant, sun-drenched courtyard and into the dark warmth of the palace. She was led, stumbling, down dim passages and through resplendant, high-arched halls until at last she stood before the heavy, eunuch-guarded doors of the Harem. Those immense portals opened slowly, grudgingly, like the gates of some long-forgotten world, to admit one last abandoned soul into its mystery-shrouded recesses.
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All around her, feminine voices whispered in an alien tongue from behind gauzy veils. Expanses of perfumed and gaudily-decorated brown flesh distracted and dazzled her senses. Suddenly she found herself being scrutinized by a fierce-eyed woman whose stance and manner denoted authority. She spoke in harsh, heavily-accented English: “So you are the little American wench! Hmmph! Not much to look at now, but we shall see what can be done with you once you’ve been cleaned up!” She clapped her hands, and a pair of naked identical twins le d Lisa away. They chatted and giggled as they stripped their frightened charge, re-tying her wrists with soft, silken cord. She was then urged into a tub of hot, scented water, where, despite her outraged protests, they merrily proceeded to bathe her cringing nude body.
Their touch was bold and openly curious, and Lisa’s involuntary responses and futile attempts to evade their soapy explorations amused them. “I think the Sultan like you very much,” said one in broken English. “Too bad for you... Zamannah very cruel if he like you more than her!”
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Being bathed by the twins proved to be only the first of Lisa’s trials. Next, she was turned over to another group of women who fussed endlessly with her face and brushed scented oils into her hair, pinching her bare breasts to make her behave when she could no longer hold still for them. Then came the worst indignity of all. She was made to sit with her legs spread wide while a woman knelt between them, brushing shaving soap liberally over the soft golden down that scarcely covered the tenderest, most intimate treasure of her body. Then, with calm, sure strokes of the razor, she meticulously divested the nervous American girl of every last curl.
Lisa had never felt so utterly, so mortifyingly naked in her life. Her pulsing little pubis felt enormous, and she was certain that every woman in the room could see her palpitating state of arousal at a glance. Then, to make matters worse, she was tied down to a table while the women rubbed warm oil into her skin, stroking every inch of her helpless flesh until it gleamed like polished wood. Finally, a strange yet elegant garment was brought for her, an odd sort of vest, and they began to dress her. She was relieved after being naked for so long...
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Lisa’s relief was short-lived. The costume they dressed her in, instead of covering her, only emphasized her nakedness! Even the veil was transparent. Zamannah was pleased. “Now,” she said as she clipped a short leash to the collar on Lisa’s neck, “you are fit to be seen! But there is still one lesson you must learn, little one. To obey! Always, and without hesitation. Do this, and life will be good.” She pulled back Lisa’s veil. “You may now demonstrate your obedience. Kiss my slipper!” Lisa knelt to comply, all too aware of how she had to display herself to accomplish it without falling on her face. As her lips touched the woman’s shoe, there was a whistling sound...
The whip struck her in the most tender of places, the lashes curling around the soft curve and biting into the delicate pink flesh. Lisa’s shriek echoed through the hall, frightening a flock of doves from the rafters. “Remember how that felt, girl,” Zamannah hissed. “That was nothing, a mere flick of the wrist. I can do that to you any time I please, as often as I wish. Remember that.”
Lisa shuddered as the supple leather thongs were slowly dragged away from her stinging flesh. “Now,” Zamannah said in a satisfied tone, “it is time for you to meet your new sisters!”
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Chapter Four In the heart of the harem, Lisa is presented to the other wives
ll the women of the harem had gathered in a spacious plaza, covered by a vaulted cupola yet open to the surrounding courtyard. Their dusky flesh, brightly-colored silks and glittering golden ornaments filled the covered expanse, their dark, lusty eyes appraising Lisa’s helpless nudity as she stood before them. She squirmed beneath their bold gaze, her pale skin flushed with embarrassment, her own blue eyes fixed on the floor at her feet.
A
Zamannah spoke to them in their own tongue, presumably introducing Lisa to them, though what she told them the mortified American girl couldn’t imagine. The introduction brought flurries of tittering laughter and buzzing whispers from the assembled wives. When Lisa was able to muster enough courage to steal a glance at the women before her, she was awed by the sight of them. Every woman in the harem was dazzlingly, incomparably beautiful! Never had she even imagined such a diverse gathering of exquisite, exotic loveliness. There were women of many races, yet nowhere in all that collected beauty was there an inch of skin as white as hers, and that fact made her feel all the more naked and vulnerable before them.
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“She’s a virgin!”
Fascinated by Lisa’s creamy white skin, the dusky beauties of the harem dragged her into their midst. The frightened girl squealed and fought as they unabashedly caressed, pinched, prodded and probed at her naked, defenseless body. Giggling and cooing, they pulled her down amongst them, touching her everywhere at once. Her knees were ignobly drawn up to her shoulders, and one girl sat on her chest, pinning her in that position. The moist pink treasure she’d hidden and protected all her life was thrust upward and split asunder for all to see, a dozen marauding fingers plundering its every nook and crevice. It was then that her final secret was revealed...
A hush fell over the plaza, followed by the rising buzz of feminine whispers. The invading hands pulled away. Somehow, it seemed, the fact of her virginity changed things.
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Lisa was released, and she sat up, her face crimson. Zamannah and the others spoke quickly and at length, and finally a gleaming girdle of polished brass was brought. It was threaded between her legs and locked in place with a click, covering her naked loins like metal panties, a tight-fitting modern chastity belt. “In the harem,” Zamannah said, “access to one’s sex is a privelege that must be earned, yes? But in your case, you can never earn it. your virginity belongs only to the Sultan, and must be preserved for him until he returns from America!”
Lisa was taken to a small room and locked inside. Here she ate and slept alone until the following day, when Zamannah came for her again.
“Time to begin your education,” she said as she led her, naked and gagged, into a new area of the harem. “In this wing are those who have earned the right to pleasure each other without their belts. Here you will learn to give pleasure to others. You will spend every day here until the Sultan returns, and you will service any and all who desire you...”
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Lisa found herself surrounded by naked women, their curious hands touching and stroking her body, lascivious smiles on their faces. As they began to unbuckle the harness-gag from Lisa’s head, Zamannah spoke once more: “Now you learn another of our laws,” she said. “Each wife that the Sultan takes becomes the slave of each of his preceding wives. I am his first wife, so I answer only to him. You, on the other hand, are the newest wife, so you are the slave of every woman in the harem! You must obey each of them, and you will please each and every one of them to the best of your ability! You will begin with these few...” Zamannah departed, leaving Lisa alone with the naked beauties. As they led her toward a pillowstrewn couch, their eyes dancing with wicked possibilities, she remembered what Natasha had told her. “In the harem,” she had said, “life is lived for sensual pleasure!” She had failed to mention that it would never be her own pleasure...
And so it was that Lisa’s “education” began. Most of the women spoke no English, but they nevertheless managed to get across to Lisa what they wanted of her. Under their none-too-gentle instruction, she learned first the basics and then the finer points of pleasuring a woman. At first she resisted, the thought of putting her mouth between another woman’s thighs seeming unnatural to her, even repugnant. She quickly learned that it was the least unpleasant alternative being offered, and reluctantly she did as they demanded. As it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as she’d at first thought it would be. The second woman wasn’t as hard as the first had been, and by the third she was really getting the hang of it. By the time she’d satisfied all seven of the women, her poor tongue was exhausted, but they were all ready for a second round and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer...
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In the days that followed, Lisa learned more than she’d ever imagined about the art of pleasuring women. There were endless depths of nuance and subtlety, and it seemed every woman wanted it done a little differently. She soon became adept at gauging their reactions to her efforts and finding the techniques that pleased them most. She also learned that the women of the harem desired other things of her than sexual pleasure. Their tastes were very strange indeed, and they often required her to participate in perverse and painful games. These jaded beauties seemed to enjoy cruelty for its own sake, and delighted in any bizarre activity that evinced squeals and cries of pain from her. She first experienced this penchant for sadism in the communal bath, where she was made to wear a blindfold while the women circled her with switches, slashing her naked body at will and laughing at her attempts to protect herself.
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Lisa’s days and nights in the harem were filled with acts of erotic servitude and sensual torments, and often combinations of the two. The Sultan’s wives were endlessly inventive in finding new ways to amuse themselves at Lisa’s expense, with years of tradition to call upon. She was like a new toy to them, fascinating for her milky white skin and blonde hair, and they all wanted to play with her. She was never given a moment’s respite, for there was always someone waiting to make use of her lithe, pliable body or obedient tongue. Even at night she was allowed no peace, for it seemed as if every time she fell asleep she was awakened again by another hot-skinned, lascivious beauty demanding to be satisfied. She was indeed, as Zamannah had said, the slave of every woman in the harem. She recalled an old saying, that a slave cannot serve two masters. There were no sayings, she was pretty sure, about serving thirty-seven!
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Lisa’s trials never seemed to end. Always there was another beautiful, coffee-skinned body to satisfy, another excruciating ordeal to endure, or another personal inhibition to overcome. It was as though she had been reborn in a new life, one she had never even suspected the existence of, and it was a painful rebirth.
Yet, through all of her tribulations, there was a common thread of forbidden sexuality. Lisa was not immune to the lush, voluptuous physical beauty of her tormentors, or to the heat of their desire. Always pleasuring the others with her tongue, fingers and other things, listening to their unrestrained cries of ecstasy under her ministrations, stirred her own desires to fever pitch. Being forever helpless in their hands, being repeatedly bound and made to squirm and squeal beneath their cruel fingers and whips, affected her deeply in a very sexual way. Lisa had been raised to believe that sexuality of any kind outside the marriage bed was sinful. All her life she had done her best to repress any such feelings. Thus she found herself entirely unprepared for such an intensely sexual existence. The flames of her desire burned hot inside her, barely contained and often threatening to consume her. Living in the midst of such raw, wonton, unapologetic sensual indulgence was driving her mad with arousal, and she was allowed no release. The metal girdle she wore allowed no contact with the core of her simmering need. She could do nothing but burn in silence...
26
Lisa had long since lost track of the days of her servitude when a letter arrived from the Sultan in America. Zamannah read it to her with great relish, since part of it referred to her. “The Sultan has succeeded in making a deal with the Americans. They will buy our oil, and we shall become very, very rich! To commemorate this deal, there shall be a day of celebration throughout all of Zahara!” She nudged Lisa’s cheek with the heel of her shoe, just to make sure she was listening. “This part is about you!” she said. “He gives me permission to use you to create a symbolic display here in the palace. You shall be dressed in the ethnic garb of your people, and mounted on the fountain in the central square.” The ‘ethnic garb’ turned out to consist of black stockings, garters, five-inch heels and opera gloves, items she would never wear on her own.
The gushing spurt of water was shut off, and Lisa was dragged into the fountain’s center. There they tied her tightly, her thighs spread wide in a sort of obscene squat over the fountainhead. It dawned on her slowly what was about to happen, but her protests were ignored.
Naked but for those items, Lisa was taken to the fountain. It looked European, probably Italian, and was oddly out of place here in the palace. Perhaps it was a gift, for it occupied a very central location in the palace. This was outside the forbidden enclosure reserved for the harem, out in the palace proper. The room appeared to be a hub, where eight broad passages met, with a domed skylight overhead that tinted the sunlight with a thousand sparkling hues. Men and women passed freely through the room, some hurrying on their way to someplace else, and some, mostly women, pausing to wash themselves in the fountain. It was a busy place, and Lisa was all too aware of her nudity. She blushed crimson under the lustful gaze of the passing men. “Here is where you shall be displayed,” said Zamannah with a smug smile. “You shall appreciate the symbolism of it once we bind you in place, I’m sure.” With that she clapped her hands, and Lisa was led toward the fountain.
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It was worse than she’d imagined. When the fountain was re-activated, the gush of cool water shot straight up into her naked womanhood! She squealed at the first contact, dancing and jiggling desperately to escape the overwhelming sensation. It was no use, of course. She was bound so tightly that there was no escaping the diabolical assault. Gradually the shock of the watery violation wore off, and its more insidious purpose began to take effect. The rushing w ater became a pleasurable thing, and her little virgin pussy, so long enclosed within the metal girdle, quickly began to respond to the unwanted stimulus. The pleasure mounted rapidly, and Lisa’s eyes widened with horror as she realized the inevitable outcome...
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That intense, wild, wailing, bouncing orgasm proved to be only the first of many. Lisa’s humiliation was profound as the gushing, probing jet of water made her come again and again and again, while the palace staff walked by laughing, amused by her predicament. All afternoon Lisa rode the fountain’s spout, and she soon became delirious with the devastating combination of ecstasy and degradation. There seemed to always be a small crowd before her, palace officials and errand boys alike, pausing to watch the fountain drive her to her next climax, then walking away grinning. All the women of the harem came to see her, as well, their familiar faces swimming before her dazed eyes. One face swam out of the crowd, familiar yet out of place, and it took her some time to realize she was looking at Natasha, the mysterious woman in black! “Hello, Lisa darling,” said that purring voice she knew so well. “I’ve had a change of heart about you. I’ve decided you’re far too sweet a present to allow the likes of Akbar to open you. I’m going to steal you away from here! When they take you to...” Caught in the rising swell of yet another crashing, hip-thrusting orgasm, Lisa heard no more. When she opened her eyes, Natasha was gone. Lisa suspected she’d dreamed the visit.
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Chapter Five Lisa is brought before the Sultan isa had once again settled into the teasing, torturous, sensual yet frustrating routine of harem life when word came that the Sultan had at last returned from America. All the wives excitedly prepared themselves for him, but for Lisa there was special preparation. Once more the maddening girdle was removed, and she was bathed, shaved and oiled. She was again dressed in ‘the ethnic garb of her people,’ the suggestive black lingerie only emphasizing her nakedness. A leather sleeve was locked about her arms, holding them tightly together behind her back, which made her thrust her bare breasts forward as though she were offering them to all and sundry. A gag harness completed her outfit, filling her mouth with a huge soft leather bulb and sealing her lips around its base.
L
Thus was she brought at last before the Sultan.
Lisa had never been more agonizingly aware of her nakedness. Hesitantly she shuffled down the long, pillar-lined throne room, toward the Sultan and the little knot of favored wives that lounged all around him, preening and posing. When at last she came to a halt before the dais, the Sultan sat drawing on his hookah and gazing at her displayed body for a full minute, saying nothing. Zamannah, as though eager to demonstrate her favored position, thrust her hand boldly into his robes and began to stroke him lewdly. The Sultan’s eyes burned with desire as he surveyed his prize.
“You have done well with her, Zamannah,” he said at last. “She is lovely to behold. I can barely contain my desire until the ceremony!” He shook his head and smiled. “Ah, but the taking of her little American maidenhead shall be sweet indeed, and well worth the wait!”
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“If you are to be my wife,” said the Sultan, addressing Lisa directly for the first time, “then you must have a name. Who you used to be does not matter. From now on your name shall be... Opal. Like the opal, your skin is milk-white, but beneath I see the flush of many different emotions, warring with one another inside you. I see your fear, your indignation, your anger, your confusion, yes, but also I see your excitement and your desire.”
“Let me help you to resolve these conflicts within you,” he said, and snapped his fingers. Instantly all the beautiful harem girls leapt toward him, as though desperate to please him. The ones who arrived first threw aside his robes and plunged their faces into his lap. Sucking sounds ensued, their heads bobbing energetically. Lisa stared in amazement. “You have but two choices, Opal,” said the Sultan, his voice and gaze steady despite the enthusiastic ef forts of the women. “Obedience, or disobedience. It is that simple. You can submit to my desires willingly, or you shall be made to do so. This is what the first choice is like.”
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“And now,” said the Sultan, “I shall show you what disobedience is like.” He gave a brief command in Arabic, and pointed his finger at the girl who had arrived last to please him. Instantly the others turned on the unfortunate, grabbing her and pinning her to the floor despite her desperate struggles and pleadings. Her chastity girdle was removed, and the other wives, who had seemed to be her friends moments before, splayed her naked body wide. Zamannah strutted forward then, a leather whip in her hand and a sadistic smile on her lips. The poor victim begged for mercy, but no one paid the slightest bit of attention.
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Zamannah brought the whip up, and Lisa held her breath, her eyes wide in horror. The whip came down hard, striking the girl’s taut buttocks with a resounding crack. The victim convulsed, but her agonized wail was cut short by a second, much more devastating blow. Zamannah had simply reversed the swing, bringing the whip back in a sharp underhand stroke that lashed straight up between the girl’s spread thighs. The poor slave let out a short, terrible shriek. She bucked violently but was held fast by the others as the whip rose for the next blow. Again the cruel whip pounded down against her bottom, then snapped back into her open sex. The tortured girl jerked and writhed, but there was no escape for her. Her agonized screams told the tale of her suffering beneath the burning lashes. For many long minutes the whip rose and fell, striking both ways each time. The victim’s hoarse screams were soon broken up by desperate, pitiful sobbing, but Zamannah was unmoved.
Lisa was horrified by the spectacle. The girl had done nothing! She was suffering this terrible punishment simply as a demonstration for Lisa’s benefit! Though it truly wasn’t her fault, Lisa felt responsible. Even worse, there was a part of her that found the girl’s martyrdom exciting. She tried to deny it, but her arousal was self-evident, and she felt awful about it. She hoped no one would notice. At last the whipping was over. Zamannah turned and looked significantly at Lisa, then returned to her place beside the throne. The Sultan told Lisa to think about what she had seen, and to make the right decision. Then she was sent away.
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The following night found Lisa chained up in an exotic terraced garden under a full moon. Her time had come at last, for this was the night when the Sultan would finally take her virginity! Lisa was nearly petrified with anticipation. She was no longer the young, naive midwestern girl who had so carefully saved her virginity for her marriage bed. Now she was Opal, a harem girl who had been teased and denied for so long she was fairly bursting with desire! Frightened though she was, she could hardly wait for the Sultan to come and make her a woman at last! As the ceremony unfolded, three of the Sultan’s favorite wives came and began to anoint the trembling sacrifice. By the time the Sultan arrived, she was so well anointed that she couldn’t keep still. She whimpered and squirmed, her toes curling, the golden chains jingling as she undulated against them.
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Eyes clouded with desire, Lisa watched the Sultan approach as if in a dream. He was so graceful, so regal that he seemed a god, and when the velvet robe was lifted from his shoulders and away, her eyes widened in awe. The Sultan’s mighty instrument was fully rampant and ready, a fierce, fleshy battering ram fit to assail the very gates of paradise! “Now, Opal,” he said, his voice like distant thunder, “the moment we both have waited for is at hand!”
The Sultan drew closer, his royal truncheon bobbing with every movement. Delicate female hands reached out to grasp it reverently and anoint it with sacred oil. Meanwhile, the long cloth that had covered Lisa’s loins was drawn aside, revealing her glistening pink oyster in all its tremulous innocence. Lisa shifted fitfully, helpless in her golden chains. “This sacrifice,” intoned the Sultan, “sanctified by Allah, shall forever seal you to me as my wife. From this day forth, no male hand shall touch your perfect white flesh save mine. Always shall you be mine, to have, to take and to use as I wish. This I swear!”
Lisa gazed up at the Sultan silently, appealingly, though what she appealed for she could not have said. Release? Fulfillment? She was beyond thought. It didn’t really matter, anyway. The Sultan was going to take her at last! He stepped forward until Lisa felt the hot, bulbous head of his tool brush against her open lips. Trembling, she braced herself for the inevitable thrust that would unveil the final mystery... At the very last second, just as the Sultan was about to bury himself in the tight, moist, virginal channel of his panting bride, they were interrupted by the cries of a palace guard. “How dare you!” the Sultan snarled. “Exalted one,” cried the guard, “it is the Jackal! He and his men are in the palace!” “The Jackal!” The Sultan reached for his robe. “Long have I waited for a chance to trap that godless cur! This will have to wait!” With that, the Sultan rushed from the room, leaving his bride quivering on the cusp of revelation, but now left disappointed.
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The Sultan had no sooner left the garden than the western wall came alive with swarthy, fierce-eyed men! The three wives who had been assisting with the ceremony barely had time to scream before they were caught, their cries muffled by tight gags, their limbs pinioned with rope. The raiders’ leader was a tall, straight, muscular man with a commanding presence that rivaled the Sultan’s own. Lisa was sure that he was handsome, even though a mask covered most of his face. Suddenly Natasha appeared at Lisa’s side, dressed in white desert robes. She spoke softly to Lisa while the men tied up the naked harem girls, her voice sultry as satin. “Poor little Lisa! Did I not tell you I’d rescue you?” she purred. “I just had to recruit a little help from an old associate of mine.” She indicated the tall masked man. “Lisa, meet the Jackal! He’s a notorious outlaw, and he’s been a thorn in the Sultan’s side for years. Just wait until the Sultan finds out that his virgin bride has been stolen by his arch-enemy... He’ll be furious!” She chuckled to herself as she pictured it. “I almost wish I could be there to see his face when he finds out!”
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Unfettered from the altar, Lisa stumbled in a whirl of confusion. She didn’t know how she felt about this sudden rescue, nor did she trust this woman who called herself Natasha. It was all happening too quickly! She had been so ready to be taken by the Sultan... she felt a pang of disappointment, a sense of emptiness for what had almost been. Yet, she knew she should be relieved that she’d been rescued in time. The naked wives, bound, gagged and helpless, squealed in panic as the men tossed them casually over the wall to the desert floor far below. “Come, Lisa,” said Natasha. “These men will take us to Marak, where I have a car waiting. We will be out of Zahara before dawn.”
Without warning, Natasha was suddenly grabbed from behind by the masked outlaw! At the same moment, Lisa was also seized. “Hassan!” Natasha gasped. “What are you doing?” “So sorry, Natasha,” said the Jackal. “This is where our partnership ends. You see, the American girl is far more valuable to me than you are!”
“Traitorous dog!” Natasha cried. “How many times have I helped you? How many times have I risked my neck for you, covered your tracks...” “And made a large profit by doing so,” he replied smoothly. “You would betray me in a moment if it suited your plans. Abu! Hammad! Take her and strip her!” He chuckled as Natasha struggled hopelessly against the hardened desert raiders who were ripping her robes off of her. “Let’s prepare a little surprise for the Sultan, shall we?” he said. “You did say you’d like to see his face...” While his men carried out his orders, he turned his attention to Lisa, watching with narrowed eyes as she was stripped naked before him. Naive she might be, but Lisa knew he wasn’t thinking about how valuable she was!
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Bound hand and foot, the glass ballgag that she’d worn for the deflowering ceremony still filling her mouth, Lisa was most unceremoniously tossed over the wall! She squealed into her gag all the way down, certain she was falling to her doom, but at the bottom of her fall she was caught by raiders who held a canvas sheet like a net. As she was thrown over an outlaw’s shoulder and carried away, she wondered what would happen to her now. She couldn’t help wondering, also, what was going to happen to Natasha...
Some time later, the Sultan returned to the garden, his step slowed by frustration and disappointment, for the outlaws who had sneaked into the palace had escaped again before he’d even been able to ascertain whether it was truly the Jackal or not. When his eyes lighted on the naked, helpless figure on the altar, his pace quickening with renewed anticipation. At least there was still his little American virgin to attend to! Deflowering her would certainly take the edge off of his disappointment. Her eyes widened in fear as he approached. He liked that. He also liked the little whimper of dread that issued from her gagged mouth as he drew nearer. Smiling, he opened his robe, revealing a royal scepter that was hard and ready for the task at hand...
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With a flourish, he swept aside the long, ceremonial cloth that covered her loins, revealing the glistening pink vestibule he was about to desecrate. But wait! There was something wrong! This was not his young blonde American bride!
His face darkened like a thundercloud, eyes narrowing. The enchained woman sat motionless before him, wide-eyed, fearing even to breathe for one endless moment... Then the Sultan ripped the veil from her face and stared, rage distorting his features. “NATASHA!” he roared. “Where is my bride? WHERE IS OPAL?”
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Chapter Six An outlaw camp somewhere in the desert
awn found Lisa fed and somewhat rested, but still in captivity. She had not seen the Jackal since the end of their long, moonlit desert ride. He had kept her face-down over his saddle the entire distance, his hand making free with her upturned naked bottom. Now she found herself sitting in a spacious and well-appointed tent, naked and expertly tied with soft rope, awaiting the convenience of her new captor.
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The other women who had been kidnapped from the harem with her had been given to the outlaw’s men. She could hear them in the next tent, moaning and whimpering under the none-too-gentle ministrations of one lustful desert bandit after another, a continuous symphony of lubricious ravishment. But she herself was as yet untouched.
At long last the tent flap opened, and the Jackal entered. He was an imposing figure in his muslin desert robes, his face still hidden behind a tight swath of fabric. He spoke not a word as he slowly unbuckled his belt and removed his scimitar, his hot, dark eyes devouring Lisa’s helpless nudity. Then he threw aside his robe, baring broad, powerful shoulders and a massive, rippling, swarthy chest the likes of which Lisa had never seen. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating a little faster as she gazed up at the mysterious outlaw. “At last we are alone, my little dove,” he said in a deep, cultured voice. Gone were the rough Arabic accents he had used earlier, replaced by the smooth enunciation of an English gentleman. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said. “Might I offer you some wine?”
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The outlaw poured dark crimson wine from an ornate decanter and knelt beside her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He put the glass to her lips, and reluctantly she drank. She was not used to drinking wine, but the potent liquid soothed her throat and warmed her belly. “I know what you want from me,” she told her hot-eyed captor. “I only ask that you be gentle. I’m...” she swallowed and took a deep breath. “...a virgin.” “Ah, good,” he responded with relief. “I had hoped that we rescued you in time!” His choice of words stirred Lisa’s outrage. “Rescued?” she stared at him. “I’m not rescued! I’m still a prisoner! I’m still bound and helpless! I’ve only exchanged one captor for another!” “I think you like being bound and helpless,” said the Jackal, completely missing the point. His swarthy hand reached casually out and cupped her naked sex, his fingers gently stroking the soft pink petals and releasing a pocket of hot, thick honey that had been trapped between then, thus confirming his supposition. Lisa gasped at the sudden intimate contact, her outrage swept away along with her train of thought. The bold caress continued, bright streamers of pleasure distracting her further as her desire rose. She squirmed against his fingers as though trying to evade them, but she couldn’t seem to close her legs or roll away from him. “You bastard,” she panted. “You... you cad! You’re... just like... the Sultan...” With her words, the Jackal paused, then abruptly removed his fingers and rose to his feet. Lisa cowered, afraid she had angered him to violence, but when she looked up at him, he didn’t seem angry.
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“I am nothing like the Sultan!” he announced, his accent more cultured than ever. He reached behind his head, and with a flourish, he drew the swath of muslin from his face. “I am no mere desert rat, either. I am Hassan ben abi-Zahli Amal, and I am the Sultan’s half-brother!” His brow began to darken with anger as he continued. “While I was away at Oxford, that treacherous dog planted evidence in my house and framed me, naming me a rebel and a traitor. My retainers were put to death and I was banished.” He smiled coldly. “But I have returned as the bandit known as the Jackal. I attack and rob those my half-brother has raised above me, and I support the poor villages he has forsaken. Among the common people of Zahara, The Jackal is known as a noble man, a champion of justice and the enemy of the Sultan. One day I will gain enough support to rise against him, and make Zahara a place where all may live without fear or persecution!” “You betrayed your friend Natasha,” Lisa pointed out. “That wasn’t very noble.” “You do not know Natasha as I do,” said Hassan, sitting back down beside Lisa. “She has betrayed many. You would not have liked the plans she ha d for you.” Lisa looked up into his fierce dark eyes. “What are your plans for me?” she said. The handsome outlaw’s face cleared in a genuine smile of pleasure, and he idly extended a finger to tickle Lisa’s defenseless pink nipple. “I plan to be gentle with you,” he said. “But after you’ve... done that,” Lisa continued, blushing, “then what? Will you give me to your men, like you did the other harem girls?” She could still hear the debouched groans and cries filtering from the next tent. “Of course not!” said Hassan, apparently genuinely shocked that she would think such a thing. “You are far too valuable, and those dogs have no appreciation for such beauty.” “What do you mean, I’m valuable?” she pursued doggedly. “Are you going to sell me like a camel or goat or something?” It was becoming harder to concentrate on her questions, with him teasing her nipples the way he was. Both of them were stiff and puckered now, swelling eagerly beneath his touch. Hassan chuckled. “Silly girl, of course I won’t! You’re worth far more than even the best camel! I’ll simply offer to return you unharmed to the Sultan for an outrageous ransome. He is a very proud man, and you are the finest prize in his harem. It was a great blow to his pride when you were stolen. He will pay a great deal to have you back!” “That’s it, you’ll just... sell me back to the Sultan?” Lisa protested. “How can you call yourself an honorable man?” “There is no dishonor in that,” he laughed. “You are only a woman, and I need gold to build my influence.” “But I don’t want to go back to the harem!” “Enough,” said the desert bandit, shifting closer to her. “I weary of this idle talk. Tell me, little one... have you been taught to pleasure a man?” Lisa wasn’t ready for the abrupt change of subject, but she didn’t want to displease her captor. “What? I... I mean, no, there were only women in the harem.” “Then it’s time you learned, little dove of paradise,” he said, his dark eyes burning hotter than ever.
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With a few deft movements, the outlaw untied the drawstring at his waist and skinned his muslin breeches down over his hips, baring his immense, seni-erect cock to Lisa’s shocked wide eyes. It was the second penis she had ever seen, and this one was larger than the Sultan’s. It would have been even more fearsome, but for the fact that it lay passively on Hassan’s hard belly, and wasn’t about to force itself into her. Still, it was an intimidating sight, a strange and grotesque appendage, frighteningly large, yet oddly fascinating. “This,” Hassan explained with a note of pride in his voice, “is the staff of life. It is the source of a man’s pleasure, and must be treated with the utmost respect. The head and shoulders of it will fit nicely inside your mouth, but your teeth must never scrape against it. Take it into your mouth now, and I will instruct you further.” Hesitantly, awkwardly, Lisa positioned herself before her captor and lowered her mouth toward the huge organ. Hassan took the base of it in his hand and angled it upward for her. Delicately as a bird, she tasted it with the tip of her tongue. Finding the taste a bit salty but not as bad as she’d imagined, she tentatively opened her mouth and took the dusky knob inside. The outlaw sighed with pleasure as her lips closed over the head of his cock, enveloping it in the moist warmth of her mouth. The sound encouraged her, and she began to examine the strange new object with her tongue. It swelled, becoming firmer and larger. She found that when she stroked it in certain ways with her tongue, it seemed to throb in delight, and she could tell by the way Hassan’s breath caught in his throat that it gave him pleasure. Growing bolder, Lisa took a little more of the organ into her mouth, continuing to experiment with her tongue. She had expected this to be an ordeal, but now that she had accepted the thing into her mouth, she found it far more exciting than pleasuring the women of the harem. Hassan’s cock pulsed with power, and she knew that soon it would become the predator when it sundered the gates of her virginity, but in her mouth it was a tame creature, basking in the pleasure she bestowed and responding eagerly to her every ministration.
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Hassan allowed the little virgin to explore the experience of fellatio for some time, enjoying her tentative flutterings against his throbbing member. But as his desire grew, he began to give her instructions, teaching her to create suction with her mouth and slide her lips up and down the hard shaft. She was an avid pupil, her eagerness to please delighting him greatly. He encouraged her, both with his praising words and with his entirely involuntary responses to her efforts. She paid attention to every reaction and focused her concentration on doing the things that pleased him, and before long she was giving him more pleasure with her mouth than any woman ever had.
Hassan had intended to stop her before she took him all the way to culmination. But when the moment came, her hot, sucking mouth felt too good, his mounting pleasure too strong to stop. Too late, he realized he hadn’t warned her of what was going to happen. He grasped her bobbing head tightly in both hands just as his loins began to surge, his throbbing cock swelling even larger. “Suck hard, Opal,” he gasped, “I’m going to fill your mouth with my seed!” It was no sooner said than done. Roaring like a lion, the desert bandit came, firing thick gouts of cream into Lisa’s sucking mouth. The poor virgin didn’t know what was happening! For a moment she thought the handsome Arab was peeing in her mouth. She tried to jerk her head away, but his big, powerful hands held her firmly in place. She tried to swallow the viscous spooge, but in her sudden panic she choked, and semen squirted out the corners of her mouth, splattering Hassan’s thighs and belly. Realizing that it wasn’t pee but not knowing what it was, Lisa dutfully tried to swallow what she could of it, though it seemed to stick in her throat. With a final shudder, the strong hands released her head, and she sat up. She recognized Hassan’s orgasm for what it was, and though she was confused about the details, she realized that she had successfully pleasured her captor.
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When he had recovered his composure, Hassan sat up and grinned at his virgin captive. “You did well, my little American houri,” he said. “And now, as the English like to say, one good turn deserves another!” With that, he gently but forcefully laid Lisa back on the soft rug, drew back her thighs, and then lifted her round white bottom in his strong hands. She didn’t try to fight him, though she was profoundly humiliated at being so casually upended and displayed, and she blushed deeply. She thought the moment of her deflowering had come at last when he spread her soft, moist labia apart with his thumbs, and she braced herself. But instead of being pierced by his giant, spooge-spitting cock, she was treated to another sensation entirely. Lifting her splayed loins to his lips like a chalice brimming with sweet nectar, Hassan delved his tongue between the quivering pink lips. Lisa gasped and trembled at the exquisite pleasure of the unbearably intimate caress. Despite the hundreds of times she had pleasured the other women of the harem with her tongue, no one had ever licked her own tender treasures before. She’d had no idea how good it felt! As Hassan laved, tickled and probed her excited pussy with consummate skill, Lisa wriggled and whimpered helplessly. She had been kept dancing on the edges of arousal for so long, she had no defense at all against such overwhelming pleasure. In no time at all he had her squealing and moaning wildly.
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Hassan nearly drove her to madness with his dancing tongue. He could tell from her mounting shrieks and squeals when she was approaching climax, and each time she was nearly there, he pulled his mouth away until the waves of pleasure had receded. Then he plunged back in and drove her once again to the brink.
Over and over again he almost brought her to orgasm, only to pull back at the last second. Before long she was begging him for it, sobbing with terrible need. It was beginning to look as though she would never be fulfilled!
Then, just when Lisa had nearly given up all hope, Hassan took a firm grip on her hips and began a steady, rolling drumbeat with the tip of his tongue on her turgid clit, and as her climax rose once again, he didn’t stop! She had time for one brief, wild, disbelieving glance at his laughing dark eyes, and then her senses were overwhelmed. Little Lisa screamed like a madwoman, her body thrashing wildly, her heels drumming against Hassan’s shoulders as the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced played itself out, finally leaving her sobbing in relief.
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When Lisa returned to her senses, she found herself lying atop a soft round bolster, her legs spread wide, gazing up at Hassan’s swarthy features. His eyes once again burned with desire, and his hard cock was in his hand, ready to thrust into her body. After all her trials and letdowns and endless teasing, she was finally going to be made a woman. At long last, this fierce desert raider was going to lift the final veil and take her virginity from her. Lisa was so ready!
“Sayyid!” said a loud, raspy voice from the tent’s entrance. On the verge of sinking his cock into the beautiful white-skinned virgin laid out before him, Hassan paused. “Yes?” he said irritable, turning to the man who stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright desert sunlight. “Sayyid, I am sorry to interrupt you at such a moment,” said the man, “but a rider has just arrived with a very important message!” “Important enough that it can’t wait an hour?” said Hassan, his voice spiked with impatience. “Under the circumstances, Sayyid, it is most important that you recieve this message right now!” said the man. Lisa could hardly believe it! She had been so close! Was she to be denied once more at the last moment by some interruption? Was she fated to remain a virgin forever? It just wasn’t fair! This could not be happening! Not again!
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“Very well then, Habib,” said Hassan, “but you had better be right. What is the message?” “Sayyid, the Sultan has offered a reward for the safe return of his pale virgin bride. Twenty thousand rajims! But he will only pay if his bride’s virginity is still intact! If it is taken, he will not have her back!” “Twenty thousand rajims!” echoed Hassan in amazement. “That is more than I would have dared to ask for her. The Sultan’s pride is great indeed to be willing to pay so much for his stolen bride’s maidenhead!” “Yes, Sayyid,” said the man, licking his lips as he gazed at Lisa’s splayed nakedness. “You see why I had to disturb you, since you were about to take that which the Sultan is willing to pay so much for!” “Yes, Habib,” said Hassan distractedly, turning to glance down at the naked beauty before him. “You were right to disturb me with this news. You may go now.” “Very well, Sayyid,” said the man as he reluctantly backed out into the sunlight, getting one last look at Lisa before letting the tent flap fall closed again behind him. Hassan turned back to his virgin captive, and gazed down at her with wonder in his eyes. “Twenty thousand rajims,” he repeated once more. “With that I could buy an army! The Sultan must be mad!” He stroked her smooth thigh idly as he thought out loud. “Yet, I had all but decided to keep you as my slave, and let the Sultan stew,” he said, triggering a spark of hope in the bound girl’s eyes. “You are a most unusual girl, with qualities the Sultan could never comprehend. It would be a shame to toss you back into the harem, where those qualities will be wasted. But twenty thousand rajims...”
For the briefest moment, Lisa had dared to hope, but now she could see her future laid out before her. Hassan couldn’t say no to a fortune. She was doomed to be sent back to the harem, where Zamannah and her other thirty-six mistresses would enslave her once more. The Sultan would take her maidenhead to satisfy his pride, and then lose interest in her. She would spend the rest of her life licking the dusky pussies of the harem. She gazed up at the handsome outlaw who still knelt over her, his erect cock in his hand, and imagined what it would have been like to be his slave.
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“To hell with the Sultan and his twenty thousand rajims,” Hassan growled, and plunged his cock into Lisa’s wet, tight, virginal pussy. For Lisa there was a brief, sharp pain as her maidenhead was ripped asunder, but the pain was far outweighed by what it meant that Hassan had taken her virginity! She was his. Of that there could be no doubt. He had just sacrificed a more-than-princely ransome for her. With a single stroke of his cock, he had irrefutably declared his possession and rejected the Sultan’s reward. She stared up at him in shock and amazement as he sank deeper and deeper into her virgin channel, filling her womb with a male cock for the first time in her young life. That sensation alone was enough to take her breath away.
She gazed up into the handsome outlaw’s eyes, and there was more there than simple lust. He understood perfectly the decision he had just made, and if he had any regrets, they were outweighed by his conviction. His focus was entirely on her, and as he looked into her eyes, watching the realization sinking into her consciousness, it was as though the two of them understood each other perfectly. Suddenly, everything had changed. Hassan was no longer her temporary captor, he was her Master, and he had just shown her that he valued her too much to ever give her up. She would be his slave, and it was a destiny that she embraced without reservation. She sighed as she felt his hips settle fully into her saddle, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. He remained there, unmoving, for a long time, and as he gazed into her eyes, he fiercely whispered confirmation of what they both knew already. “You are mine now, Opal,” he said. And when his hips began to move it was like the waves of the ocean, lapping gently at first, filling her with pleasure and desire. Then they began building in strength, plunging harder and deeper, until finally he unleashed the full fury of his passion, pounding her until she sank beneath the waves, submitting blissfully to his power.
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Epilogue And so our little tale draws to a close
pal was not returned to the Sultan. The man who beleved that all he desired was his by divine right was denied, and his frustration was felt throughout Zahara.
O
A white cloth was delivered to him after several days, a tiny stain of blood in its center, and he flew into a rage. He sent his army into the desert to scour every dune, but the Jackal was as elusive as ever. Impetuous as a spoiled child, the Sultan could not accept failure. He disciplined his troops and sent them out again, but the result was the same. When they returned, there were fewer than there had been.
Zamannah, seeing the Sultan’s hold on his kingdom slipping, tried to console him, but the Sultan continued to obsess about the young American beauty, and none of his other wives could satisfy him. Zamannah tried to re-direct his anger and frustration onto his newest wife, and arranged elaborate displays of exotic punishment for his entertainment. But the Sultan remained moody and unresponsive despite all her efforts. He could often be found out on his upper terrace gazing out over the desert, and no one had to guess what was on his mind. He could scarcely recall what Opal even looked like anymore, but that hardly mattered. It was the fact that he had desired her and been denied that tortured him. The Sultan was the victim of his own pride.
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Natasha’s new life as the Sultan’s newest wife was one trial after another. She was the reluctant slave of all his thirty-four remaining wives, and their demands were never-ending. She fell into bed every night exhausted, her tongue aching. The women of the harem were harder on her than they had been on the sweet, virginal Opal, for they knew she was in the Sultan’s disfavor. So they indulged their cruelty with her, and made an ongoing game of tormenting, humiliating and violating her. Worst of all were the elaborate displays of public punishment that Zamannah arranged for the Sultan’s entertainment. Natasha was repeatedly rendered helpless and naked in some prominant place where the Sultan and all his court could see her, then tortured long and hard, usually by Zamannah’s whistling whip. When she had been reduced to sobbing and screaming incoherently, the wives would invariably begin arousing her and penetrating her with their endless collection of phallic toys until she was driven against her will to a wailing, thrashing, shuddering orgasm. Finally Zamannah would offer her to the Sultan for fucking, but it was always his courtiers who ended up using her. Many were the times Natasha regretted the actions that had led her to this, and she hoped fervently that the Sultan would finally find his lost Opal.
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