(My language is Spanish and I don't speak English very well, so I sincerely apologize for any mistakes that may occur).
(All the main characters are over 18 years old, and these stories are the fruit of my imagination).
I never thought it could be so hot, for the seventh consecutive day temperatures exceeded 40 degrees Celsius, with a humidity of over 90%. The clothes stuck to the body like a second skin and thoughts of buying one of the typical skirts of the area and walking around dressed only with that garment and high heels had crossed my mind again.
This thought would have been impossible in my native New York with the wave of conservatism regarding women, which prohibited any clothing that might be 'provocative' to the new ecclesiastical authorities that had come to power ten years ago.
Although at first all this puritanism was taken as a joke, when dozens of women began to be arrested for exhibitionism and sentenced to various penalties of slavery, protests began, although it was too late to turn back.
Every day as I walk to work I see some woman arrested by the so-called Morality Patrols for any petty excuse; a skirt too short, too much cleavage, too much make-up, even a smile as a man passes by can be taken as lewd and cause the young woman's arrest.
Luckily I am in Istanbul, and although slavery has also been reinstated as in the rest of Europe, there is no dress code, and both free and slave women can show off their bodies. This past week, the high temperatures have caused virtually all local women to walk the streets dressed only in the traditional linen skirt and knee-high strappy sandals.
Only a few tourists like me keep our clothes on, although I have given up my bra, stockings and suit jacket, still not daring to go a step further for fear that the Morality Patrol will show up anywhere.
Even my travel companion Carol has taken to imitating the local customs and walks around half naked in the streets, not caring that in New York she is just a warning away from ending up with a necklace around her neck.
Carol is not made to live with the restrictions of the United States, for her it is very difficult to hide her body from others, at 18 years old thanks to her 1.80 meters of height, her long curly blonde hair, her firm and tight tits that a man does not cover with his hands and her blue eyes she was already one of the most sought after models in the world and all these new moral standards ended with all those magazines and publications, forcing her to take a boring job as an office worker.
In her thirties she pushes her dress so far that she has already been arrested twice by the Morality Patrol; as required by law, the first time she was stripped naked in public and forced to suck the dicks of a dozen passers-by, the second time she was placed in a public pillory for two hours to be used by anyone who wanted to.
If she were to be arrested a third time, she would be enslaved on the spot and would never wear clothes again, sometimes I wonder if this is not really what she wants.
As I was saying before Carol is happy in Istanbul and every night she tries to drag me into one of the sexual adventures she is having with the young man called Osman she met the first night we arrived. This very afternoon she tried again to make out with me; 'Come on Gina, Osman won't mind if you go with me, these days I haven't seen him refuse a beautiful woman, just yesterday we ended up ten people celebrating a sort of orgy in his garden; Osman and three of his friends, two Italian tourists, three slaves and me. 'It's been a long time since I've enjoyed sex so much,' Carol tells me as she steps out of the shower naked.
'You always were a fucking slut;' I tell Carol smiling, though I add in a serious tone, 'be careful you don't end up enslaved by that Osman.'
Carol smiles at my words and pulls something out of her purse, when I see a metal collar similar to the slave girl's, I fall silent in surprise as Carol speaks to me: 'This is what makes it so exciting Gina, all of Osman's female guests wear one of these collars, only he knows we are not slaves, the rest of the male guests have no idea, three days ago a French tourist was taken out by one of the guests dragged by a leash and with her hands tied behind her back and we haven't seen her again.'
'Fuck Carol, you're worrying me with these games you're playing,' I tell her.
'Don't be a prude Gina;' Carol yells at me, 'How long has it been since you've enjoyed a good cock, I'm sure your last orgasm was six months ago when we got drunk and ended up in bed. A body like yours is made for enjoyment.'
That comment from Carol makes me so angry that I leave the room without saying goodbye to her. I've been wandering around the bazaar for an hour now and I can't help thinking that Gina is right in what she said, in the last four years I've had just four dates, and all of them quite unsatisfying, and my last orgasm really was thanks to Carol's tongue.
I am starting to get dizzy from the heat when I see an old building with the letters public baths on it, as I look at the building I remember the tour guide's comments when we took the guided tour the first day. The baths were part of the Harem of the Ottoman Sultans and are maintained pretty much as they were when the harem was in use.
As I walk through the door I pause for a few seconds, with a strange feeling that I should remember something about the baths, though a young woman's voice brings me out of my thoughts, 'Good afternoon Madam, welcome to the pleasures of the harem, for $5 you can enjoy the bath, for $10 a sensual massage and for $20 you can enjoy one of our slaves.'
I am tempted to pay to enjoy by one of the slaves, but in the end I choose the bath with the massage. A slave escorts me to a room where I undress and put my clothes in a locker and then go into the baths.
The sensation of the hot water and the bubbles, mixed with the ambient music makes me relax immediately, and I focus my attention on the walls of the bathrooms, where there are painted numerous explicit sex scenes starring the harem slaves. I don't know if it's because of the words Carol said to me or because of the images in the paintings, but soon I start to feel horny and in my mind the images on the wall start to play, but with me as the main character.
'Your massage is waiting for you, Mistress, if you would be so kind as to join me;' she says to me with a mischievous smile on her face.
I immerse myself completely in the water before getting out and covering myself with a towel, I don't know how much the slave girl has seen, but I feel a little embarrassed. As I walk behind the young woman I notice the barcode on her lower back that marks her as a slave, though what strikes me most is the crescent mark on her right buttock, made no doubt by a branding iron.
As soon as I lie down on the stretcher, the slave begins to massage me by applying aromatic oils over my body, the slave's hands are very skilled and soon begin to move around in places out of the ordinary.
I try to protest, but the slave speaks before I can, 'Easy Mistress, you need to relax and a new orgasm will help you do that.' The slave's fingers in my pussy convince me to surrender to her caresses.
When I reach orgasm and I think the slave has finished the massage, she orders me to lie on my back on the table and starts massaging my breasts, pouring more oil over my body. In a few seconds, the slave's hands are replaced by her mouth and my nipples become hard at once, the next thing I feel is the slave's tongue in my pussy searching for my clitoris and ripping me a new orgasm.
You can stay a while resting if Mistress wishes, when you want to leave, go out that door on the right to pick up your clothes;' the slave tells me leaving me alone.
As soon as the slave leaves, I get up from the stretcher and place myself in front of one of the mirrors in the room, I haven't felt so good in a long time, I don't know if it's the water or the massage, although I guess the three orgasms I've had have something to do with it. Seeing my reflection in the mirror I can't help but agree with Carol, although I'm shorter than her, I'm not as slim and my curves are more pronounced, now with my body shiny from the oils, I'm sure any guy would want to fuck me on the spot.
I look for the towel to cover myself without finding it and decide to leave even though I am naked, when I walk through the door and start walking down the halls, I don't remember coming that way, coming to think that I have lost my way. After ten minutes of walking I cross an ornate archway and find myself in a huge bathing room.
The bathing room where I find myself is nothing like the room where I have been before, except for the explicit paintings on the walls, this room is pure luxury, marble floors and marble bathtubs, gold taps everywhere, champagne buckets, tables full of expensive food.
Seeing all that I get hungry and start to eat some of the canapΓ©s on the tables, I pour myself a glass of champagne and get into the water up to my waist.
Suddenly I hear someone enter and I turn around, seeing the slave who has been giving me the massage I smile at her, although her serious gesture tells me that something is wrong.