The desert night is clear and cold; across the campsite the fire flickers low.
The soldiers are sleeping; their soft snores rise like smoke into the sky. At the camp’s edge the horses shuffle and stamp. Only the Sultan’s guard remain vigilant; massive and wordless, they stand either side of his tent like
djinn.
They watch me as I push the door-hanging back. They’re not permitted to touch, but there’s an intensity to their look… Imperiously, I ignore them and duck into the tent.
My jewellery sparkles as I let the hanging fall.
Sheltered from the empty vastness of the desert night, the air is spicy, welcoming. Layers of rugs shield cushions and drapes from the sand; the brazier is a comforting touch of warmth. A deep swath of colour blossoms from the central tent-pole – the Sultan’s silken hangings have made his travelling home as lush as the Kasbah itself.
He is not here.
The tent is lavish; the air heavy with musk. The scent is as warm as his skin. As always, I’m ready for him; the thought of his touch thrills in my throat. Knowing no-one would dare spy upon me, not here, I run my hands across my bare belly, over my breasts. Anticipating his presence, I am breathing more quickly.
He likes to watch me; to watch the subtle expressions of pleasure cross my face, to watch my hands and fingers as I part my own thighs and caress myself to openness.
The cushions are deep and inviting; beside them a filled
hookah
and brass bowl of warmed oil. I know he will not be long – the guards would not admit me otherwise – and I loosen the lacings that close the front of my brief, silk top. Shrugging it from my shoulders to a bright puddle on the rug, I raise my hands to my bared breasts.
My hands are chill from the night air – my skin shivers, pleasure shocking through me. Raising my fingertips to my mouth, I run my tongue and lips over them before stroking and pinching my nipples to hardness. I find myself gasping. A rush of warmth flowers in my belly.
Perhaps he is watching me, even now.
The thought is exciting. Kicking off my sandals, I tumble backwards to the cushions’ embrace, my long hair splashing out behind me. Almost involuntarily, my hands are sliding down my belly towards my twitching, eager hips. In the light of the brazier, the jewel in my navel glitters - but my hands stroke past it to pull aside the soft fabric of my skirts.
I am naked beneath, shaven and oiled; my lips are half-parted and they feel smooth and good. Softly, so softly – I must wait for him. My other hand pushes my hair from my face and I imagine he’s watching.
That’s it
, he says,
my beautiful slut
…
It feels so good. I close my eyes, let out a long breath as I arch my back and my fingers begin to explore deeper. My cunt opens, getting wetter. Gods I love doing this; I raise my fingertips to my mouth, then with a long, sweet sigh, I begin to slowly fuck myself.
I imagine I can feel his eyes on me, exploring me. My other hand caresses my breasts, showing off their softness. My nipples are hard, demanding; I roll one between thumb and forefinger and my body thrills a response.
Yes!
I hear his voice.
Show me…
I sit up to dip my fingertips in the warm, scented oil. My lips are open now, moist with impatience; I lay back, part them further and run one gentle finger over my clit.
I want his mouth, his hands. I want him to fuck me, teasingly. I caress myself in the same way, wanting more – I feel the warmth in me spread, the pleasure and anticipation build. Oh my
Gods
, this is good…
A little more oil.
I
want
--
There’s a hand on my thigh, sliding upwards. Another is closed over my mouth, silencing me. They’re chilled, callused and strong.
Very
strong...
Eyes afire, one of the Sultan’s guards is standing over me. As I glare at him, struggle to rise to my elbows, the hand on my thigh tears my skirt from my body. The guard looks down at me, his expression a thousand layers of pleasure.
Behind him, his colleague stands on the inside of the doorway. He’s looking at my spread thighs and hot cunt. His expression’s anticipatory; he’s going to savour this… and then he’s going to take his turn.
A noise outside makes him glance sharply at the door-hanging. It billows, subsides – just the desert wind.
Scrabbling for dignity, I slap the hand from my mouth and sit up, folding my legs modestly under me. I pick up a cushion to cover myself.
‘What in the name of
Heaven
do you think you’re doing?’ I’m impressed my voice remains steady, even fierce. ‘My Lord will have your—‘
The guard places a hand across my throat – hard enough to push me to the cushions. ‘My Lord,’ his voice is husky, ‘gave us his
Blessing
’. He leans over me, his other hand roughly caressing my shoulder. He cannot take his eyes from me; oddly, I realise he’s shaking. ‘You’re ours ‘til he gets back – so long as we don’t hurt you’.
What..?
The second guard smiles mirthlessly at me, at my inane attempt to cover myself. ‘He’s not coming for you.’ His eyes come to rest on my mouth. ‘But we will.’
‘This is madness.’ Realising I’m cowering like some innocent virgin, I discard the cushion indignantly and stand up, my hands on my hips. ‘You’ll be less than men if you’re caught in here!’
‘Watch the door, Az.’ The guard before me is grinning like a scimitar – whetted, sharp. ‘I’m Imayho, lady. Saved my Lord’s life, fighting raiders, couple of days ago. Asked me what I wanted…’ He surveys my jewelled nakedness, head to foot. ‘…I said you.’
His eyes rest on mine.
The tale is true – I’d been hearing it round the campsite. Imayho is young, powerful, a ranking member of the Sultan’s élite. He’s bare-chested but for the small, gold pendant that marks his trusted position. I find I believe him; meeting his warrior’s stare, I also find him exciting.
My body still thrums with heat and anticipation. ‘Imayho.’ I like the feel of his name.
Smiling wickedly, I raise one hand as if to touch his mouth – and let him catch the scent of my arousal on my fingers. He draws in his breath. Watching him, I raise those fingers to my mouth and suck them, then let myself fall backwards into my scatter of cushions. I part my thighs, return to caressing the length of my pussy, from my tight, oiled arse to the swollen need of my clit.
In the light of the brazier, my bare skin glistens.
‘Name of the Gods..!’ Abandoning door duty, Az is staring, jaw forgotten.
‘I
said
, ‘Watch the door’.’
Imayho kneels for me, runs one steel-wire hand up each of my thighs, pausing to push them further apart. Looking down at my exposed cunt, he breathes in - incense, skin, oil, excitement – then replaces my fingers with his long, warm tongue.
A low gasp escapes me.
The touch is savouring. I’m tilting my hips, asking him silently for more; he parts my lips with his thumbs and takes another long taste.
‘You’re beautiful.’ Already, his mouth is wet. ‘And you’re going to come for me. Then, I’m going to fuck this glorious cunt while it’s as tight as your perfect arse.’ One finger tempts me, sliding back and forth along the length of my lips; he leans forward to taste me once more.
I am shivering now; shivering with sensation, expectation, pleasure. While his insistent, responsive tongue softly caresses my clit, he slides one finger, two, into my body – deep and very strong. He begins to thrust with that same, slow rhythm.
It’s gorgeous – and it’s maddening. After only a moment, I find myself sighing aloud, my feet tangling under cushions as I struggle for self-control. His rhythm doesn’t change. He feels my reaction, enjoys it, revels in it, but he takes his time – slowly, slowly. He’s loving how crazy he’s making me; I want more of him, I want to thrust up to meet him, I want my clit in his mouth, his fingers so much harder… I rest a hand on the back of his head but he’s too strong for me. He raises his gaze and laughs.
‘Impatient?’
I can’t speak; if I open my mouth I’ll be asking him for more –
more!
– and I won’t give that satisfaction. Not yet. He smiles, his tongue relishing the taste of me on his lips. The sight gives me a sudden, fierce rush of need.
His laughter deepens; he leans forward – closes his lips over my clit. I cannot help but cry out; my hips twitch and flex. He pulls away once more and returns to his steady, gentle, infuriating rhythm.
Oh Gods…
Unknowing, I’m surrendering, totally attuned; I’m losing myself in his expert cadence. That easy caress of his tongue on my throbbing-hot clit, the agility and strength of his fingers as they reach pleasures that bring cries from my lips – soft at first, then building louder… My hips are meeting him, now, thrust for thrust; I feel a third finger enter me and I’m telling him how good it is – oh
Gods
yes, I want more!
‘Yes… you like that…’
Now, at last, he begins to fuck me harder, his fingers twisting into me and out again. He’s driving them into me forcibly. My hands knot in the decadence about me, my body arches, writhes, fucks his fingers in return. I am tightening round him, I can feel it; I can feel every movement and flickering of his hand.
‘Imayho! Oh, my Gods!’
Faintly, I’m aware that Az is standing closer, now. He’s kicked off his flat leather boots and unwrapped his sash. As he drops his blade to the rug and unlaces the fastening of his silk trousers, I can see how hard he is, bulging rigid against the fabric.
The thought of having that cock in my mouth only makes me hotter.
Imayho’s tongue begins to flicker across my clit, more urgent now – a demanding, not a coaxing. I’ve lost any awareness of what I’m saying – I only know that I’m begging him not to stop, not to stop
please
– and I’m thrusting back against his strength. When a curious, oiled fingertip teases around the edges of my arse, I stop stock-still, taut and trembling at the promise.
Laughing again, he doesn’t stop.
Naked and erect, Az is kneeling beside me, his hard cock in his hand. His dark skin is gleaming in the brazier-light; he’s stroking himself with oil.
Imayho’s tongue flickers harder, his fingers thrust faster. My hips are raised almost off the cushions; I feel those warm, wonderful waves start to wash through me and I’m crying out, oh, Gods, oh, Gods, oh…
The finger that’s teasing me, oiling me, coaxing me to readiness… the finger that’s caressing my tight arse…. as I come, he enters me there, too. It’s a white-hot shock, an incredible intensity, I’m shivering, shuddering in climax; my Gods, I had no idea it could feel this good!
One final, drawn-out cry and I collapse, subsiding against the cushions in relief and wonder. Both guards are grinning – watching me with avid, hungry expressions.
My muscles are shaky; they refuse to do as they’re told. Denying myself the languid sweetness that should follow such an incredible climax, I struggle to focus.
