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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
FEVERED FALL
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Chapter Thirteen
The Sultan turned to his mother. ÒI apologize for the obscene
behavior of this white dog, mother,Ó he said to her. The old Arab woman
nodded. ÒI shall have his penis lopped off at once.Ó
ÒNo!Ó I shrieked. Bits of the pie on my face flew from my lips and
landed on the SultanÕs expensive robes, but I didnÕt care. I began sobbing.
The Sultan looked at me in alarm.
ÒChloe,Ó the Sultan said, in a grave, measured voice. ÒYou are
making me jealous with your constant outbursts on this criminalÕs behalf.
First you save his head from the block. Now you cry out to save his
worthless cock--Ó
ÒIt isnÕt worthless!Ó I said, mustering my nerve. ÒItÕs imporatant!Ó
My words came out all mangled and mistaken (a manÕs cock important?
Yes, but how silly to put it that way!) The Sultan grinned at my tears and
the way I was trying to speak, the bits of pie flying off my face and the
tears rolling down my cream smeared cheeks.
ÒAlright, Chloe,Ó the Sultan relented. ÒIÕll do you the favor of
sparing this manÕs cock. But on one condition-- I shall have his cock used
on you in the coming days however I please, even to the point of torturing
you with his cock!Ó
I sniffled. The old Arab woman cursed. ÒFear not, mother,Ó the
Sultan said. ÒIf little Chloe agrees to my bargain, justice will be done.
But she will have to bear it, instead of Rutland. Do you agree, Chloe?Ó
I gulped and, to be honest, I had to think about it a minute. Good
Lord, what was I agreeing to? It wasnÕt me whoÕd peed all over the floor.
Nonetheless, on the gamble that whatever might happen to me wouldnÕt be
as bad as what was about to happen to Jim, I agreed. I shook my head and
said Òyes.Ó
ÒOh, God, Chloe!Ó my aunt blurted. ÒPlease! HeÕs just some man! A
criminal!Ó
ÒI donÕt want to see him hurt, auntie!Ó I cried, mournfully.
ÒI donÕt see the problem,Ó Jim said. ÒI mean, I was looking to use
the latrine, and when I saw this place, I figured, ÔHmmm, this must be it!ÕÓ
ÒOh, shuttup!Ó my auntie cried at Rutland, her voice sounding terribly
frightened.
ÒHmmm, more insults,Ó the Sultan said. ÒI shall not forgive you
again, Rutland. You have my absolute word on that. You will obey, do you
understand?Ó
Rutland looked down at the puddle heÕd made on the floor. ÒAh,
fuck!Ó he swore. He spit. The SultanÕs face reddened with rage. ÒShit,Ó
Rutland said. ÒIÕve never looked out for anyone but myself before, but--
shit!Ó He looked at me. I trembled. Then he looked at the Sultan. ÒOn
account of this girl here, IÕll do as you say,Ó he told the Sultan.
ÒThank you,Ó I said, meekly, to Rutland. I heard my aunt exhale with
a sigh of relief.
ÒVery well,Ó the Sultan said. ÒYou are a prisoner for one month,
Rutland, just like these two girls. You will do all thatÕs expected of you,
and more. You will be constantly ready for sex. I mean it! I expect that
penis of yours to be erect at all times. You will be a stud to these two
females, and they will be made to work your cock repeatedly. You will be
fed large meals and exercised daily by Glenda, to make your physique as
perfect as it can be. Any laziness in your exercising, any refusal to fuck
whatever is presented to you, and I will reconsider your fate. You will be
eating plenty of eggs, and drinking goatÕs milk straight from the teat, to
ensure a constant supply of sperm for your balls. When you are not
required to exercise, your arms and legs will often be bound. This will
leave only your penis hanging naked and free, so that you might focus all
your attention upon it. Even then, if I am dissatisfied with your
performance, I may, after your month is up, cut off your dick anyway.Ó
ÒOh, please!Ó I moaned, on RutlandÕs behalf. The Sultan gave me a
cross look. He held up his hand. I bit my lip and said nothing, fearing IÕd
plunge us all into even deeper straights than we already were.
ÒDo not tempt my temper, Rutland,Ó the Sultan continued. ÒAnd let
this be a warning to you: I may work your cock so hard that, in the end,
you might wish youÕd had it cut off, so you could be rid of it, and all the
work it brings into your life.Ó The Sultan laughed. I gasped. I looked at
Rutland. He grinned, half-heartedly, still trying to be carefree and
insolent. But, to my great relief, he said nothing, and only nodded.
ÒNow we must go downstairs,Ó the Sultan said. He looked at
RutlandÕs dick. His eyes gleamed. He looked at Glenda. ÒIf I cannot whack
his penis off with a sword, perhaps you can whack it off?Ó
ÒOf course, sire,Ó Glenda smiled.
ÒGood,Ó the Sultan said. ÒIt will be his first test. WeÕll see how
quickly he recovers from it. Whack him off with your hands, dear Glenda.
It does quite annoy me to see him sticking his thing out at me like that.Ó
Glenda looked at Rutland. She smiled. ÒNow weÕll see just what
quality of stud you are,Ó she said. Rutland gulped.
The Sultan laughed. ÒHa! See? Already he is nervous. Good. In the
end youÕll beg me to cut your pecker off, Rutland. God, how IÕll make you
beg for it!Ó
ÒOh, Boo! Hoo!Ó I sobbed. The Sultan looked at me. My nude breasts
quivered with my sobs.
ÒSilence, girl!Ó the Sultan scolded. ÒHaving a stud to serve you girls
is most interesting, if his penis is up to the job. IÕll not have you served
by an inferior male, though, no matter how much you cry. Hopefully
Rutland is up to the job.Ó The Sultan smiled, wickedly. ÒAnd remember,
Rutland, I made you no guarantees about what you would be forced to fuck.
Pigs? Goats? Donkeys? Or only girls? Your dick will be put to extensive
use, that I promise. Now you shall begin your trials by enjoying the loving
hands of my servant Glenda. Tomorrow, in the morning, youÕll be checked
to see youÕve recovered. Pray that you wake up with wood. For tomorrow
will be a ball-blasting day.Ó He looked at Glenda. ÒMilk him, my dear. I
want every last drop of his sperm forced out of him.Ó
ÒYes, your majesty,Ó Glenda grinned. She blushed, a little, and
looked at RutlandÕs penis. ÒI think it is a wise choice, your majesty,Ó
Glenda told the Sultan. ÒEmpty RutlandÕs balls, so that we can start him
off with a clean slate tomorrow. By emptying him now, weÕll begin to
gauge how quickly he can replace what heÕs lost.Ó
ÒYes!Ó the Sultan agreed. ÒLet us be at it at once.Ó He stood up. He
took his frail motherÕs arm, and motioned for us to follow. We did,
awkwardly, our faces still smeared with cream, our hands bound behind us.
RutlandÕs penis bounced in front of him as he walked. His testicle sac
hung heavily between his legs. I wished I could disappear with him and
spare him his fate, but I couldnÕt. I shivered. I had no idea where we were
going. I looked at my aunt. She walked with her head bowed, her eyes
lowered. SheÕd already accepted her fate, I realized. Whatever happened,
she was willing to do her best to meet it and survive it. Oh, how brave she
was! I thought to myself. I watched her bosoms sway with her steps. Her
nipples were hard. Her feet, so prettily encased in her heels, moved with
dainty grace. I wished I could be like her; submissive, quiet, accepting.
There was great courage, I thought, in being so utterly feminine. She was
graceful and sweet, even as the Sultan led us into the unknown realms of
his most perverse fantasies!
ÒDo not gaze all about, Chloe,Ó Glenda told me. ÒLower your eyes,
like your aunt has. You are to pretend youÕre a prisoner. A real prisoner,
being taken downstairs for punishment. It is not true, of course, but
appearances are important. Do not gawk at the walls and the ceiling. It is
unseemly. Walk with your eyes toward the floor, but with a certain
smoothness and femininity to your step. Even in the worst of
circumstances, a girl must always strive her best to be feminine. It is
our duty, Chloe, and more than one girl has won the heart of her captors by
being utterly feminine, even in the worst of predicaments.Ó
I obeyed. I looked down at my bosoms, bouncing casually on my
chest, and tried to look nowhere else. The manacles holding my arms were
tight. I wriggled, tried again to curl up my fingers and undo the D rings on
them.
ÒNo, Chloe,Ó Glenda said. ÒDo not fight the manacles. Accept them.
Surrender yourself to your master the Sultan. Do whatever he wishes.
This is how to win, Chloe. Accept, open yourself to his will. Did you ever
hear the story of the slave girl, brought to the SultanÕs harem, who rose to
be queen?Ó Glenda asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I replied quietly.
ÒLet me tell you about her, then,Ó Glenda said, Òas we go
downstairs.Ó
ÒOkay,Ó I murmured.
We arrived at a large room with a television. Just beyond it was a
small wooden room. The smaller room was, we were told, a miniature
sauna. Jim was escorted into it by Glenda. We were given hassocks to sit
on in the room outside. The T.V. in our room was big. It was a wide-
screen T.V. It showed an interior view of the sauna. We gazed at it.
Two European girls, a redhead and a brunette, whose job it was to
always remain ready to serve in the sauna, snapped to attention when
Glenda stepped in with Jim.
ÒThere are six girls in all,Ó the Sultan told us, taking his ease in a
large leather easy chair in front of the T.V. A male servant approached
him, and offered him a pipe. The Sultan nodded. The man prepared the pipe
for him and then gave it to the Sultan to smoke. ÒSometimes,Ó the Sultan
said, ÒA man is brought here, like your friend Jim, to be relieved of his
sperm. Eunuchs have fallen out of fashion. Hence, those males who serve
in my harem repair here regularly to be pumped dry. Intercourse is not
permitted; that would reward the male. Rather, he is fondled, forced to
ejaculate by the girlsÕ hands. If they cannot get him to spend with their
fingers, they blow upon his penis. If that fails, as a last resort, they suck
him. Always it is for a utilitarian purpose; the girls are told to keep their
feelings about the man to themselves.
ÒAnother sort of man who might be sent here is the prisoner who is
about to be demembered,Ó the Sultan said. ÒThatÕs our officialese for a
man condemned to have his penis cut off. He is given a final ejaculation,
as a kind of Ôlast meal.Õ The same goes for a man being castrated.Ó
My aunt and I, our arms bound behind us, our faces slathered with
dripping cream, listened in awed silence, our bottoms perched on the
hassocks. I hated hearing such awful things, but what could I do? I
watched with my mouth agape as the two European girls teasingly
received Jim into their presence. Glenda explained to them that he was a
stud, and they would, on this occasion, be permitted to express awe over
his equipment.
ÒHe is the SultanÕs special Pet, thanks to the love a girl bears for
him, a girl of 13, named Chloe,Ó Glenda said, her voice coming to us over
the T.V. from the wooden room. The Sultan turned up the volume so we
could hear every word. ÒStroke him, manipulate him, and most of all, jerk
him completely dry, girls,Ó Glenda said. ÒThe Sultan wants every last drop
wanked out of him so we can begin to measure his rate of sperm
production. We need to start with a clean slate, that is, an empty pair of
balls, to properly measure how much sperm he can produce on a given day.Ó
ÒOh, Jim, IÕm sure you make quite a lot of it!Ó the redhead
proclaimed. She gave her co-worker a smile. They both giggled.
ÒHow randy he is!Ó the brunette said. ÒGod, how it sticks out! DonÕt
worry, Jim, when you leave here, little boys will boast that yours is
smaller than theirs, youÕll be so worn out and exhausted.Ó
ÒWe know all the tricks,Ó the redhead agreed.
ÒIÕd much rather fuck,Ó Jim said. He watched as the two girls
splashed water onto heated coals over a burner that sat in the room.
Steam rose up into the room with a loud HISSSSSSSS!
The two girls and Glenda knelt, but they kept Jim standing up. His
penis displayed itself to our eyes. It was long and throbbed mightily, like
some living sausage. The girls had a shelf-full of toys in the room, all
within reach of their kneeling figures, which they now resorted to in order
to induce Jim to spend.
ÒEvery man who comes in here would prefer to fuck us, dear Jim, but
itÕs not allowed,Ó the redhead said. How strange, I thought, that they had
been told his name, but he was not told theirs! They were anonymous, just
fingers, hands, mouths. Their only purpose was to procure his sperm.
The brunette held a glass cup under the tip of JimÕs penis.
ÒJust do it right in here when youÕre ready, JimBo,Ó the brunette
said. Her eyes danced with encouragement. The redhead popped the top off
a tube of vaseline and began squirting it along the length of JimÕs cock.
Glenda blew upon his member with her lips.
ÒWe have lotions to make your penis hot and lotions to make it cold,Ó
the brunette, holding the glass under JimÕs cockhead, said. She tilted the
glass toward the head of JimÕs penis, capturing just the tip within the
glassÕ open top, so that he could spurt directly into it when he came.
ÒWhich do you prefer?Ó the brunette asked. The redhead kept squeezing
vaseline all over his dick, making it drippy and slick.
ÒLetÕs apply both,Ó Glenda said. ÒWeÕll make the upper portion of his
rod burn. The bottom part, near the root of his cock, where it meets his
warm belly, weÕll make freeze.Ó
ÒYes!Ó the redhead said. She closed the top on the vaseline and put it
back on the shelf. The brunette, leaning back, drew more water from a
wood pail and tossed it with a ladle onto the burner. More steam hissed
from the coals.
ÒHow nice and warm itÕs getting!Ó the redhead said. ÒRelax this big
thingie of yours, Jim. It mustnÕt stick out so!Ó the redhead teased Jim,
referring to his cock.
ÒOh, God!Ó Jim said. The girls began stroking him with maddening
slowness. Carefully, expertly, they massaged his big penis. They treated
it like some valuable trophy, handling it with utmost respect. Jim
shivered. He did not wish to spend like this, for the SultanÕs amusement,
especially on T.V.! I couldnÕt blame him; for all I knew, the Sultan would
replay the tape for his Arab friends, all of them laughing at Jim as he was
forced to spurt.
ÒCome on, Jim,Ó Glenda urged. ÒDonÕt make me take a whip to your
ass. We have one here-- see it on that second shelf there? IÕll whip your
ass raw if I have to. Spend into the glass that this nice girl is holding
under your dick. Do it now, Jim!Ó
My swarthy hero grimaced. He held out against their manipulations.
Glenda threatened him with a butt plug if he continued to resist. Then she
threatened him with a penile catheter. Jim groaned.
ÒYes, if I have to, Jim,Ó Glenda said. ÒIÕll thread a catheter up your
dick and suck the sperm out that way!Ó She laughed. Then, gently, Glenda
squeezed his balls. ÒDonÕt make things difficult for yourself, Jim,Ó Glenda
warned. ÒSpurt into the glass. Do it just like you would have done it so
happily as a little boy. Did you used to masturbate when you were
younger, Jim? It wasnÕt so bad, was it? A little humiliating, perhaps, to
shoot your sperm out so fruitlessly, but you must have done it many times.
Tonight there will be no intercourse for you, Jim. YouÕre to shoot it all
into that barren glass.Ó
ÒNO!Ó Jim cried. He worked his hips. He struggled against the
handcuffs which kept his hands bound behind his back. The girls frowned.
They began to work him harder with their fingers. Glenda squeezed JimÕs
balls tighter.
ÒWeÕll all be sucking in a minute if he doesnÕt cum soon,Ó Glenda
muttered.
ÒI donÕt want to get to get a bellyful of sperm, maÕam,Ó the brunette
said to Glenda. ÒI just ate dinner!Ó
ÒJim, shoot your wad,Ó Glenda said. She reached back and tickled
Jim between his buttcheeks with her finger. Still he resisted.
Glenda cast a worried look toward us. She jammed her nailed thumb
into JimÕs behind. He let out a howl. The brunette pushed the glass
urgently up over the head of his dick. His knob was so big it just fit
within. She gave him a beseeching look. The redhead liberally sprinkled
his dick with burning oil at one end, ice cold oil at the other. She rubbed
both oils into his skin. Then, with Jim still holding back, his chin high, his
teeth grinding, the redhead grabbed his dick hard and began pulling on it.
Jim remained rock hard. Tears appeared in the redheadÕs eyes. She
pulled harder on his cock, as if trying to wrest the sperm from his balls
with the force of her small, squeezing fists.
ÒOh, please cum, sir! Otherwise we shall be punished!Ó the redhead
implored.
ÒNo,Ó Jim breathed. It was a deep, guttural sound. I felt a shiver run
through me. How powerful his loins were! He was straining with need, yet
somehow, he held himself back. He resisted. Jesus did not make a greater
display of resistance when tempted by Satan. JimÕs face was haggard, but
he refused to cum.
The Sultan threw the television remote control, which he had been
amiably holding, to the floor. It was made of stone, and the remote
shattered upon it. From his dissolute position in the easy chair, the
Sultan jumped up. He tore the pipe from his mouth and threw it at the T.V.
It was a direct hit; the T.V. screen shattered and went dark.
ÒIÕve never been so outshone in my life!Ó the Sultan bellowed.
ÒGuards! Guards!Ó he hollared. Men, armed with swords, came running. I
heard their footsteps along the stone hall. A moment later they burst into
our room. Others, assuming that the source of the trouble must lie in the
sauna, rushed into that room and broke up the proceedings.
The guards possessed athletic bodies and were pleasing to look at.
But they had hard, uncompromising eyes. Some had mustaches and some
had beards. Others were clean shaven. Each one wore sandals, like some
Roman Centurian. At the same time, as if part warrior and part holy man,
each had a turban on his head. They were all barechested. They wore
sarongs over their loins. Otherwise their legs, like their chests and arms,
were bare. Staring at them, I wondered how large they were under their
sarongs. It was an odd mixture of feelings I had for them; fear mixed with
erotic affection.
Mr. Jim Rutland was taken out of the sauna, his arms still bound, his
cock drooling pre-cum but his balls still full. He had an insolent look on
his face. His penis, sticking up hard and full of virility, presented itself
to the SultanÕs eyes.
ÒDamn you!Ó the Sultan muttered to Jim.
ÒI am without a kingdom,Ó Jim replied. ÒWhat money I had has been
taken from me. I have no clothes. My body is not my own. I do have a full
load of sperm, however, and I intend to discharge it at my own
discretion,Ó Jim said defiantly to the Sultan. The ruler glared back at him.
ÒWere I a rasher, younger, and more impetuous man, and not so
enamored of little Chloe here, I would cut that damn thing off of you this
instant,Ó the Sultan told Jim. His guards, their swords drawn, the blades
sharp, hovered over Jim, gazing at his stiff member. ÒAs it is, I shall
instead have the girls who have failed whipped,Ó the Sultan said.
ÒSoundly.Ó
ÒNo!Ó the brunette and redhead cried. Their nude bodies were seized
by the guards. They were hauled off, both of them kicking their bare legs
and struggling.
ÒOh, please! What is to become of them?!Ó I shouted. The Sultan
looked at me.
ÒThey may be young, but they are not slaves,Ó he told me. ÒThey have
accepted employment here, in my kingdom. And today, despite being well-
trained by the older women, they have failed in their duties. For this they
will each receive numerous strokes of the lash across their bottoms. They
will be back at work tomorrow, I assure you. No true harm will come to
them. But they will have well-striped bottoms for the next several days,
and they will be taking their meals standing up, and sleeping at night on
their bellies, so as not to cause themselves excessive pain.Ó
ÒOh, you should not!Ó I gasped. But I confess that I felt a secret
thrill. Imagine! Both females, each only a few years older than myself,
being subjected to punishment by the SultanÕs hunky guards! How would
they be whipped? How would it feel? I longed, somewhere deep down in
the depths of my psyche, to see them put to their trials. Would they bear
the lash well, or bawl from the very first stroke? All these questions
swirled in my mind as I listened to the two girls being taken away.
Peering down the hall, I glimpsed the flash of their legs, kicking out
beyond the muscled backs of the two guards who were carrying them. To
think the girls had signed up for such an occupation, knowing the
consequences if they should fail! I wondered if they had been punished
before, or if this was their first time. I looked at Jim. Inside myself, I
felt a sudden rush of blame and accusation towards him. The poor girls
had only wanted to give him the pleasure of an orgasm with their small,
sweet hands. Now he, withholding himself, had doomed them to painful
correction. Such a cad! All this-- just so he could sass the Sultan and
show off his dick to him!
ÒCome. Downstairs,Ó the Sultan ordered. He glanced at Glenda. ÒYou
are lucky I have need of you, or youÕd join the two who just left,Ó he
warned her.
Glenda bowed her head. ÒI shall do my utmost to please you in all
things, sire,Ó Glenda said.
ÒVery well,Ó the Sultan replied. ÒWe shall on to the throne room,
then.Ó
The throne room! The words sang in my mind. Were we to see the
SultanÕs royal throne? I thought we had already, upstairs; in the ball
room.
We went down a flight of stone steps. We came to a moderately-
sized room. There were guests within. I heard singing, laughing. They
were celebrating.
Amidst the hoopla and laughter, I saw three chairs. Each was an
exact replica of the throne the Sultan had sat in upstairs, in the ball room.
However, there the resemblance ended, for instead of being encrusted with
precious stones, and cast from gold, these thrones were each carved from
simple wood. Each had a high back, arms, and stout legs. Underneath each
chair, unlike the real throne upstairs, was a maze of cogs and wheels.
Small handles jutted from the sides of each chair, underneath each
throneÕs seat. I looked at the machinery built into the underside of each
chair and wondered at its purpose.
Sitting on two of the three thrones were women. They were nude.
Near the thrones that they perched upon were togas; apparently cast off,
which now lay on the floor. One of the women was lifting a glass of
champagne high over her head. She was pouring its contents in a languid,
carefree way into her mouth. I watched the champagne as it spilled from
the glass and poured like a tumbling fountain down through the air into her
mouth. Her lips were wide; carelessly the liquor overspilled her lips and
ran down her neck onto the naked mounds of her breasts. The fluid dripped
from the tips of her bosoms. What wasnÕt dripping off her nipples ran
between her carelessly wiggling breasts and on down the sloping flatness
of her tummy. It collected in her pubic bush. It dripped from her venus
mount into a small puddle onto the wooden seat of the chair. The woman
had her legs spread wide, displaying her pussy. Her bare feet kicked
lightly, joyously. She laughed and closed her eyes and poured more
champagne into her mouth. Despite her idyllic appearance, her hair, long
and golden, was pinned up with utmost care atop her head. Her makeup
was perfect, her nails, on both her fingers and toes, polished to a bright
hue. She was a lovely creature, and minded not, it seemed, that all her
naked charms were on full display to all half-dozen guests in the room.
In the other chair sat another woman. She also held a glass of
champagne. She was naked, her toga discarded onto the floor like the first
womanÕs. She was laughing, and said, ÒOh, to think of all that could be
done to me in this chair! How awful! How awful!Ó She lifted her hips and
bounced her bottom provocatively on the chairÕs seat. Then she lifted her
champagne glass and sipped it. Over the rim of her glass she saw us enter.
ÒOh! The Sultan!Ó the woman cried. Her companion ceased pouring
champagne into her mouth and gazed at us.
I looked at the other guests. There were two men, and two women,
besides the two women in the chairs. All four women were European. The
two men were Arabs. The two women not seated on the fake thrones wore
togas. But both of their togas, though still hanging from their shoulders,
were ripped open. Each one was ripped down the front, and between the
open halves of their ripped apart togas you could see the soft flesh of
their bodies. Both women, except for their togas, were nude. The two men
also wore togas. Theirs were not ripped but, as we entered, one manÕs fell
off him, having already, apparently, been loosened by prying female hands.
He displayed to us a throbbing penis. The women laughed at his
embarrassment as he found himself showing himself to us. The Sultan
nodded, the man blushed. Then the moment of sheepishness passed and he
simply accepted the fact that we were all privy to his sexual excitement.
He kissed the woman who had undone his toga and she gave a girlish
squeal. He put a hand between the ripped halves of her toga. He massaged
her bush. The woman did not resist but instead spread her legs wider. One
of her own hands reached out and savored the stiffness of his cock.
There was a table in the room. It was a big, wooden dining table.
Food was piled atop it; more, it seemed, than could possibly be eaten. In
addition to this there was, on the table, an abundance of expensive liquors.
Chairs were arranged around the table. They were not like the thrones.
They simply offered mundane seats, but their comfort was enhanced by
small cushions. The three wooden thrones, on the other hand, despite
being impressive in size, and modelled after the SultanÕs real throne
upstairs, had no cushions upon them. They were carved from wood. The
wood was bare and unvarnished. Nonetheless the two women seated in
them seemed happy to the point of being giddy.
ÒWell, well, well, if it isnÕt Prince Saul and Prince Havash,Ó the
Sultan said. ÒIntroducing your new female companions to the pleasures of
my throne room, eh?Ó
ÒYeah,Ó one of the Arab men replied. He lifted his glass in toast to
the Sultan. The others, seeing him do it, lifted their glasses also.
ÒTo the Sultan!Ó they all cried, the women breaking into laughter as
soon as they said it. Then they all drank.
ÒI shall have to ask you two to move your party elsewhere,Ó the
Sultan said. ÒOfficial business beckons.Ó He said nothing to the European
women, not even nodding to them, as if they were mere wallpaper.
ÒAh, yes, your highness, if you insist,Ó the other Arab man said.
ÒBut who are the two glorious creatures you have brought down here?Ó
His eyes brightened as he looked with interest at me, then at my aunt.
ÒThis is Chloe, and this is her aunt,Ó the Sultan said. He passed his
hand over my head. I shivered. ÒAnd this, this infidel dog of a white man,
is a Mr. Jim Rutland,Ó the Sultan said of Jim.
ÒI think IÕve seen him before,Ó one of the Arabs said.
ÒYes, he is the one who was to be executed, but I spared him at the
last moment,Ó the Sultan said. The Arab, who I later learned was Prince
Havash, rolled his eyes.
ÒJust what the world needs. Another white man,Ó Prince Havash
said.
The Sultan smiled. ÒFrom white men come white daughters,Ó he
said.
ÒYou have a point,Ó Prince Havash said. He lifted his liquor glass and
declared,
ÒTo the wisdom of my older brother, the great Sultan of Quatar!Ó
ÒTo the Sultan of Quatar!Ó all six partiers announced, including the
two women who had mounted themselves on the thrones. They toasted the
Sultan again, and drank some more.
ÒMay we stay to see your mightiness at work?Ó one of the women
perched on a throne asked. The Sultan regarded her. She had large, perfect
tits and a full bottom, surmounted by a waspishly narrow waist. Her long
legs dangled from the throneÕs seat. Her toes barely touched the floor.
ÒYes, of course, if one as beautiful as yourself wishes it,Ó the
Sultan said. ÒYou shall see the thrones in all their glory.Ó
ÒOh!Ó the woman said. It was a short, sharp declaration. She smiled
sheepishly. Then, nimbly, she leapt down from the throne she was seated
upon. Her friend also leaped down. Despite their nudity, their feet were
clad in Grecian slippers. The footwear was open-toed. Around their
calves were wound bands, slim and flat, narrow as strands of spaghetti.
The bands were designed to keep their slippers on. They rose from the
heel of each slipper and crisscrossed up their calves. Just under the
womenÕs knees the bands met at the back of their calves and were tied
together in a pretty bow. How erotic they looked, I thought, as they
walked past me, their legs sexily banded up to the knees, their hair
perfectly coiffed, their faces prettily made up and their nails polished,
but all of their bodies, from their necks to their knees, quite nakedly
displayed, where normally one would have expected them to be clothed,
even if only in togas. There was a mirror positioned near the thrones and
it reflected their bare bodies as they passed. The heel of each womanÕs
slipper was eggagerated, lifted up on a narrowly tapering spike. It was an
obvious departure from the Grecian design, but one no doubt dictated by
the men present, so that the womenÕs bare bottoms would be raised and
displayed all the more sexily as they walked. Even Socrates might have
preferred women, I thought, as I watched the two European women stroll
by, their hips rolling salaciously, if he had seen such beautiful females,
wearing such sexy slippers. The floor was made of painted tiles; I
wondered at its beauty and if it might be of archeological value, but the
women walked across it with carefree steps, not minding if their sharp
heels flecked paint from its surface.
The Sultan had myself and my aunt turn around. He stepped between
us. He grasped each of us by our bound wrists, held behind our backs, and
lifted our arms to display the full girth of our bottoms, unobstructed by
our hands.
ÒMy friends,Ó the Sultan said. He addressed himself to his two
younger brothers and the four European women. They drank wine and ate
from the food on the table as he spoke. Their eyes gazed attentively at us.
ÒConsider, if you will, these two new girls and their bottoms. One is 13.
Observe how her bottom is slim and narrow, almost like a childÕs. How
pert her cheeks are! How delicate and soft the flesh! Beside her, fuller
and shapelier, is her 19-year-old aunt. Her heinie is just as soft, yet,
thanks to the extra half-decade in years, it is fleshier and able to endure
more. Tonight, with their bare bottoms, these girls will go adventuring on
my thrones. With their arms bound, their pretty mouths gagged, they will
explore the furthest limits of erotic mischief, all with the unguarded
flesh of their soft, bare fannies. They will never forget the night they
both sat on my thrones. How their bottoms will ache with the memory!
And, if we are fortunate, their nether holes will be widened by the
experience, opened to more easily receive a lover, or whatever he may
wish to insert there!Ó
ÒOh my!Ó one of the women whoÕd been sitting on a throne gasped. I
myself emitted a cry of alarm, as did my aunt. It did us no good; we were
turned, hoisted up by several guards whoÕd come down with us, and placed
onto two of the three thrones. Jim Rutland was seated by Glenda in the
third. She smiled, bowed low to him. He merely growled and frowned.
There was nothing any of us could do to resist, however; the guards whoÕd
followed us down were all armed with swords, and displayed no hesitation
about using them on whomever the Sultan should wish to see cut.
ÒTheir faces-- why are they covered with cream?Ó one of the
European women asked.
ÒSo that you may lick it off,Ó the Sultan replied.
ÒOh!Ó the woman said. Then, grinning at a companion, she advanced
upon me. She grasped my knees, as I sat having my arms worked into a
slot at the back of the chair by the guards. With my hands bound behind
me, I could not resist. The woman offered her tongue to my face and
licked my nose. I wriggled it. She laughed. Her other friend, the one
whoÕd shared the experience of sitting on a throne with her, came forward
and began licking my aunt.
Together, my aunt and I had our faces cleaned by the womenÕs
tongues. It was most unusual, and embarrassing. I blushed. My aunt did
too. All the while guards secured my auntieÕs and my hands behind us,
fixing them to the backs of the chairÕs seats. Then, being not needed, by
us, the arms on each throne, and each throneÕs tall back, were removed.
The guards stacked them in a corner of the room. My aunt and I found
ourselves sitting on just the flat seat-portion of each throne. My aunt
squirmed, uncomfortably. She had the misfortune of sitting in the puddle
made by the woman whoÕd drunk champagne, and spilled it down her front.
My chair at least was dry, but the wood felt cold against me.
30
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