Obviously this continues the Dilara/Harem stories. This one is particularly heavy on the logistical details of the harem, in case anyone finds that interesting. I would not be offended if anyone kind of skims that of course!
But I hope the sexy parts are good and naughty.
Enjoy!
——————/—————————
Dilara and Jasmine sit, nervously squeezing each other's hands for support, awaiting the Spyke call from the "Princess" admissions team of
El Paraíso de las Doncellas Bellas
(the official name of what most of the world simply calls "Raoul Cock's harem").
"You're gonna get in," Jasmine assures her. "I know it. I can feel it."
——————/—————————
The past month has been "an absolute blur." Besides the normal senior spring high school experience, Dilara's application to El Paraíso has been progressing quickly.
Early one Saturday morning barely two weeks earlier, some women from "the Princess Team" of admissions officers, including her old friend Carla Kachmar, had flown her to their office in Tijuana for an interview. She'd received ten thousand dollars — even to a middle-class American eighteen-year-old, that is an almost incredible windfall, and she can only imagine how it would feel for a less fortunate girl — as a stipend for the trip, part of which she'd used to take Jasmine out for dinner, part to buy herself a completely new outfit, and part to get her hair and nails done. In her black satin Servace mini dress and lacey Sergei Rosso pumps, she felt prettier than she'd ever felt. She even splurged for some very naughty Janice lingerie that made her feel sexy and confident.
They picked her up in a limo — by far the most luxurious vehicle Dilara had ever been in — from Jasmine's house because Jasmine's mom, as usual, was out of town on business and Dilara definitely did not want her own parents to have any idea what she was up to!
In the limo they chatted lightly over coffee and amazing gourmet chocolates. Dilara knew that they were already evaluating her, but they seemed so friendly and kind that within minutes she felt like she was among friends.
It was a trick, as she knew from reading
Raoul's Samizdat
. You get so comfortable with them, you let your guard down, and you catch yourself admitting things you'd never intended to share with anyone.
The limo took them to an airport where a private jet was waiting for them — also a first for Dilara, of course. Rather than waiting in long lines at immigration and security (and if you want to see
real
airport security, fly from the US to Iran and back, as Dilara and her family do almost every summer), she just handed her passport to someone who returned with it a few minutes later, smiling as politely as if Dilara had done her a great favor.
The plane was much smaller than she would've expected, but the seats were like huge soft sofas, and as soon as they were in the air, where Dilara could legally drink alcohol, they were clinking crystal glasses of rosé champagne over oysters and caviar.
Then, about halfway through the flight, they served huge mudslides with salted caramel ice cream and who knows how much liquor. The plane landed on El Paraíso's private runway, but after another pleasantly smiling official stamped her passport, they didn't go to El Paraíso. They went in the other direction, into town.
They had lunch at a lovely restaurant overlooking the sea — marlin tostadas with delicious little margaritas in all kinds of flavors — with six of the thirteen members of the Princess Team.
Two of them had actually been among Raoul's lovers in El Paraíso: a Colombian woman named Damaris and a Japanese woman named Sakura, both so strikingly beautiful that Dilara immediately gave up hope of getting in. From the samizdat she knew that only about one in ten women who get an in-person interview are actually invited to El Paraíso, and after seeing them, she knew she was going to be one of the other nine. So she'd excused herself to go to the restroom, looked at herself in the mirror, sighed deeply. It was just a dream anyway, she told herself, resolving just to enjoy the experience while it lasted.
Which meant why not have just a few more margaritas? And maybe one more after those? It was a hot day and they were sitting in the sun, and the cold, sweet drinks went down so easily....
At one point she wondered, did they intentionally put her in this hot sun with these delicious cold drinks? It seemed like something they would do, based on the tales in the samizdat, but she couldn't figure it out. She seemed to be thinking through a haze.
One thing she could figure out for sure, though: the mango-passion fruit margaritas were
particularly
good.
And so, as you (dear reader) will have guessed, Dilara soon realized that she'd certainly had rather too much to drink. Everything was so exciting that she felt perfectly alert, but she also felt herself laughing too loud, slightly exaggerating her gestures, and saying things a little strangely.
By then they'd already discussed her childhood, her family in America, her family in Iran, her friends in America, her hobbies, her favorite this and her favorite that, her religion and life-philosophy, her dreams for the future, her taste in clothing, her eating habits.... What was left to talk about?
Sex, of course, as it turned out.
After lunch, in the office, they got straight to the point:
"Dilara," a white woman named Janet (although not the white woman named Janet from her first Spyke interview) asked her, "do you really want to have a child with Raoul Cock?"
"Of course," Dilara, grasping her last little remaining bit of hope, flinched as if they'd insulted her, as if they should have already known how she felt about that: if she could express enough enthusiasm, maybe they'd choose her after all. "I would
love
that."
"Do you want to have sex with him?"
"Are you kidding? I would even if I couldn't have a child."
"If you have any hesitation or reservations, you should let us know. You can be honest with us. You
should
be honest with us."
"No," Dilara promised. She was more than halfway from tipsy to drunk, yet only more earnest for it. "I've thought about it a lot. I watched the videos and talked about it with Jasmine, and we've read everything we can find about it in the samizdat, and, honestly, if I could just get a chance to be with him, I'd be so grateful, and I would do my very best to please him. Not only sexually, but in any other way I could."
The women interviewing her nodded, and Dilara realized she had forgotten something. Silently blaming the alcohol, she continued:
"And May too. Obviously I'm more focused on pleasing Raoul and having a baby for him, but I'm kind of in love with May too. They seem like such a sweet, loving couple, and I just want to be with them. I know they would make me happy and I want to try to make them happy too."
"Dilara, we think you're a very strong candidate," Carla said. "You have so many of the features that Raoul loves. He'll love your face, your figure, and your personality."
Hearing that, Dilara immediately felt that it couldn't possibly be true, but her heart exploded anyway. Her breath stopped and her skin burned with the feeling of beauty.
"Thank you," she barely managed to say, her voice mouse-like.
"You've clearly read the samizdat carefully, so you know that we've closely scrutinized every curve and cranny of your body, every feature of your face. Not just waist-hip ratio or body mass index. We've measured the interocular distance of your eyes, the lengths of your fingers, the pitch of your voice, the angle of your nipples, everything.
"We've compared every part of you to the women who he's chosen over the past few years, and although we can't promise anything because no one can know in advance how Raoul or May will feel about anyone, we really believe you could be an excellent candidate. And we can also tell that you have prepared yourself very well, which we appreciate, so you know exactly what we want to hear, but the only thing holding us back is that we don't know whether you
