Privilege for the Sheikh

by Annabelle Winters

  His words sent waves of ecstasy through her, even though Lora knew that if she considered them in the light of day they’d sound offensive and chauvinistic. But she understood what he was doing, that he was breaking down those final barriers, ripping away those beliefs that had made her run from him again and again, taking her to the brink of a decision she’d have regretted for the rest of her life. He was claiming her, body and soul, once and for all, always and forever.

  So she nodded again, moaning as she felt him lick her rear hole until she felt cool and slick. She smiled as she felt him draw back and kiss her rear globes, coating her buttocks with his saliva like an animal marks its mate. She cried out when she felt him squeeze her bum and then slap her wet skin with his open palm, spanking her three times on each side until she could feel herself turning red and raw from behind.

  He spanked her again, and then he pushed his middle finger into her rear hole, sliding it in slowly but firmly, holding it in there until she calmed down and managed to control her breathing.

  Lora felt the Sheikh’s other hand slide beneath her again, rubbing her clit and pussy until she oozed her wetness all over his fingers and palm. He gathered her juices and rubbed her own wetness around her rim, massaging it deep into her clean asshole inch by inch with his fingers.

  “Oh, lord,” she moaned when she realized the Sheikh was opening her up and now had two fingers from each hand inside her rear hole. “Oh, Amir, I can’t even . . . oh, please. Please.”

  “Say it,” he whispered, and she could feel her rear pucker being spread as the Sheikh lined his massive cockhead up dead center with her asshole. “Say it, my queen. My princess in her white gown. My sweet, pure, innocent flower.”

  “What . . . what do you want me to say?” she gurgled, spreading her thighs and arching her back as she felt herself open up in a way she didn’t think was possible.

  “I want you to repeat after me,” the Sheikh muttered, and she knew he was as far gone as she.

  “Anything,” she whispered. “Anything, Amir. I’m yours. Oh, God, I’m yours. What do you want me to say?”

  “That you’re going to be my elegant queen. You’re going to be my perfect princess. You’re going to be my wholesome wife. You’re going to be the loving mother of my children,” he whispered, slowly pushing forward. “But right now all you want is to feel me inside you. All the way inside. Say it. Say it. Say it.”

  He entered her as she said the words, and the feeling of being stretched open from behind almost made her pass out with ecstasy. It felt so filthy, so dark, so forbidden that Lora could barely speak. But somehow she said the words as the Sheikh pushed his enormous cock into her tight rear, spreading her cheeks wide as he did it.

  “I’m going to be your elegant queen,” she whispered as she felt the head of his cock push past her entrance.

  “I’m going to be your perfect princess,” she moaned as she felt him go two inches deep and wait.

  “I’m going to be your wholesome wife,” she muttered as she felt his shaft stretch her dark inner walls as her mouth hung open from the sensation.

  “I’m going to be the loving mother of your children,” she groaned as she felt the curve of his erection slide deeper into her anus, so deep it seemed unreal. “But . . . but . . .”

  “But right now,” Amir whispered, leaning across her back and reaching one hand around to her breasts, sliding the other one through her matted brown triangle and parting her slit with his fingers. “Right now what do you want? What do you want, my queen, my princess, my wife? What do you want?”

  “Oh, God!” Lora cried as she felt his thumb on her clit, his fingers in her cunt, and his cock drive all the way deep into her asshole. “Oh, God, Amir! Oh . . . oh . . . fuck!”

  She came the moment the obscenity escaped her lips, and her eyes rolled up in her head as the Sheikh started to pump into her from behind, his thrusts taking her orgasm to a level she didn’t think was possible. She came again as he curled his fingers against the front wall of her vagina and massaged her clit with a fury that made her snort and shake as he rammed his beast of a cock into her, his hips pounding against her rear cushion so hard the bed was moving in time with them.

  The orgasms came in waves, again and again until she was wailing like a banshee as the Sheikh fucked her through it, roaring in Arabic as he pinched her nipples and slapped her buttocks, pulled her hair and rammed himself into her again. Lora was convulsing as her climaxes hit one after another like it was a time-lapse photograph, and before long she could barely see as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Come inside me,” she muttered as she felt herself go almost insane with the steady onslaught of secondary orgasms. She barely knew what she was saying, but the words were spewing from her wet lips as the Sheikh pounded her from behind like a man possessed. “Come inside me. Deep inside me. Inside my . . . my asshole.”

  Hearing herself say things that would have mortified her an hour ago was bringing her to a frenzy of erotic need, and she bent her head and looked between her swinging breasts, gasping when she saw the Sheikh’s heavy balls slapping against her as he took her hard and deep. She felt that devilish smile slide back onto her face, and she reached down between her thighs and clutched his balls, holding them as she moved in rhythm with his thrusts.

  “Ya Allah,” he roared, and she knew this was taking him over the edge, that he was about to explode into her depths with a ferocity that would take her breath away. She could feel his balls tighten in her palm, and although she was being completely dominated by her king, her Sheikh, her husband right now, she also felt strangely in control. Control from beneath. Control from below. Control behind the scenes. That was what a king needed from his queen, was it not?

  “Come for me, Amir,” she whispered as she pulled on his balls, still looking down through her own cleavage and spread-out thighs at the sight of his muscular brown hips crashing into her as he drove into her anus. “Fill me like I’m yours. Like I’m your queen, your wife, the mother of your children. Like I’m your royal whore.”

  With a bellow he came, his body seizing up, his fingers digging into her buttocks so hard she knew there’d be marks there in the morning. His final thrust almost made her choke, but she held on, squeezing her buttocks together and tightening her asshole in a way that she somehow knew would drive the Sheikh wild. She felt the walls of her anus contract around Amir’s thick shaft, and from the way he roared in pleasure she knew it was heightening his orgasm in a way he’d never experienced.

  Then she smiled, gently, sweetly, fluttering her eyelids like a shy princess, pursing her lips like an elegant queen. No one could see her do it. It was just for herself. Just to let herself know that she was indeed all these things, all these people, all these women in one. She smiled as he filled her rear with his hot semen. She smiled as he smacked her bottoms and clawed at her breasts. She smiled as he pumped one last time and then collapsed in a heap on top of her from behind, his cock still deep within her canal. And she kept smiling as her buttocks clenched hard and firm, as if she’d decided she wasn’t letting go. Not this time.

  Not this time.

  27

  THE NEXT NINE WEEKS

  An impulsive kiss three years ago. A broken marriage. An unexpected pregnancy. A thwarted abortion. All of it had brought them to this moment, and the moment was of togetherness, pure and simple.

  And so they spent the next nine weeks together, every moment of every day, every second of every night. They shared every breath, every dream, every meal, every thought. They talked of their lives and the lives of others. They revealed their deepest secrets, laughed at themselves, cried for one another's tragedies. They made love in the hot New Orleans summer one week, the cool Swiss Alps the next, a back alley in Paris one wild night, on a private beach in Australia, on a rooftop garden in Tokyo. They traveled the desert of Amir's ancestors on camelback, talked of the land'
s history and also its future.

  The one thing they did not talk about was their future. There was nothing to talk about. In a way all of the past three years had been about the future, and it was here. They were in love, and love was about the moment. Love did not live in the past or in the future. It lived in the moment, in the flesh, in the smallest interactions, the gentlest touches, the subtlest whispers.

  And nine weeks later, when he chose to respect the Western tradition of the formal question and got on one knee and asked to marry her, asked if she would spend forever with him, the woman just looked at the man, a soft new confidence in her big brown eyes:

  "Yes," she said to him with a smile as the tears rolled down her smooth round cheeks. "You may have the privilege."

  28

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  “This time better be the last time. I’m not flying to Johaar again unless you’re the goddamn Sheikha the next time I land.”

  Lora raised an eyebrow at Carmen. “Sheikha? My, aren’t we using big words! Someone’s been doing their research into Middle Eastern culture!”

  Carmen stuck her tongue out and then turned to Damascus. “Mommy’s being a bitch, isn’t she? About to marry a king, and all of a sudden she’s . . .”

  “She’s what?” said Lora. “Go on. Finish the sentence. All of a sudden I’m what?”

  Carmen drew back and took a breath. “You’re perfect,” she said softly, blinking and looking down as their limousine pulled up to the airport. “You’re perfect, Lora. You know that, don’t you?”

  “OK, stop. It’s too early to get all mushy. I don’t want to be crying on the flight,” Lora said.

  “Why not? It’s a private plane, isn’t it? Just you, me, and Damascus to London, and then we’re meeting your Sheikh for the rest of the way. Cry it out, girl! No one’s going to see.”

  “Actually,” said Lora, putting on a fake air as she raised her chin and pursed her lips. “I just don’t want my face to get all puffy. They’re going to be taking photographs of us the moment we step off the plane in Johaar.”

  “Now you’re talking like a real queen,” Carmen said, snorting with laughter as the limousine slowly pulled to a stop outside the private terminal attached to New Orleans International. She glanced out the window and frowned. “Hey, are those porters? I thought you already sent all our luggage on ahead of us.”

  “I did. Not sure who these guys are,” Lora said, matching Carmen’s frown as she looked at the two blonde, heavyset men with sunglasses standing on the curb like they were waiting for the limousine. “Maybe they’re the flight attendants,” she said with a nervous laugh, but the comment only made her more nervous because Lora knew that all the Sheikh’s staff were Johaari, and these men were certainly not Middle Eastern.

  “Maybe pull up a little ahead,” Carmen said to the driver, but he’d already opened his door so he could hurry to hold the back doors open for the ladies.

  And then it happened like in slow motion: The two men grabbed the driver, hit him twice in the face, and tossed him onto the sidewalk like he was a rag-doll. Then one of them pulled open the back door, grabbed Carmen by the hair, and dragged her out of the car before getting in with Lora and slamming the door shut.

  In the meantime the other man had gotten into the driver’s seat, and before Lora even managed the first scream, they were off in a cloud of burnt rubber and gasoline fumes. The man sitting next to her opened his jacket just enough to show her the silver handgun neatly holstered at his armpit, and Lora blinked as she stared at one and then the other.

  “Please do not do anything stupid,” the man next to her said in a thick Eastern European accent.

  “What the hell is this? It’s got to be some kind of mistake,” Lora said, trying not to panic as she pulled Damascus close to her. “I don’t know who you think we are, but—”

  “No mistake,” said the driver, glancing back over his shoulder and then keeping his eyes on the road. “You are to be married to Sheikh Amir. But, you see, Princess Marissa would like to have some input into the matter first.”

  29

  “Input into the matter? Did you perhaps consider just raising your hand when the cleric said the Arabic equivalent of ‘Speak now or forever hold your tongue?’ ” Lora said to the tall, snow-white Princess of Monestonia. “I need to know my friend Carmen is OK! She damn well better be OK, or else . . .”

  The princess had jet-black hair, straight as arrows, and blue eyes that would make a Siberian husky feel lacking. She was beautiful like a doll or a painting, and Lora wasn’t even certain she was real until she spoke.

  “I am not certain you are in any position to speak in sentences that end with ‘or else,’ ” said Marissa. “Hello. How are you, Lora Langhorne? I am Princess Marissa. And yes, your friend is quite all right. She is with Amir, and I suspect they are plotting their next move.”

  Lora exhaled, frowning slightly at the strange introduction. Did Marissa really need to introduce herself? “Good,” she said, trying to stick with the confidence that was coming from a place inside her she didn’t know existed. Maybe Carmen was right. Maybe she was a different woman now. She glanced at Damascus, who was sleeping on the couch beside her. The child had slept through a lot of drama, she thought as she scanned the room.

  They’d been taken to a hotel a few miles outside of New Orleans, and this was clearly the best suite they had. It had three rooms and looked very comfortable, though from the way Princess Marissa was perched on the armchair without touching the back or sides, she was clearly not used to such down-market furnishings.

  “So what do you think your husband-to-be and best friend are planning right now?” Marissa said, smiling a doll-like smile that Lora could tell had been rehearsed a million times over the years.

  “Well, Amir was able to find me at an abortion clinic, so I figure it won’t take long for him to track down where a blue-eyed Princess has booked a hotel room in the New Orleans metro area,” Lora said, surprised at how smug she sounded. What was up with her? Shouldn’t she be scared for herself? For Damascus? After all, this woman had cold-hearted psycho written all over her. And if she wanted Amir . . .

  Marissa nodded thoughtfully as if she really hadn’t considered that. “Well, we had better take care of things quickly then. Here you go,” she said, reaching for a vial of blue liquid on a side table. “You can mix it with water or juice if you’d like, but I find it is best to simply swallow it clean. The taste is not so bad, and it works faster that way.”

  “Um, what works faster that way?” Lora said, fear finally whipping through her as she glanced at the vial and then into Marissa’s cold blue eyes that had a strange, vapid innocence to them.

  Marissa smiled. “Do not fear. I am not trying to poison you. I considered simply having you eliminated, but I fear killing you would negatively affect my chances of Amir following through on our arrangement.”

  “What arrangement?” Lora said, speaking slowly as she stalled for time, doing her best not to look at that blue vial as she felt a sickness rise in her belly.

  “You do know Amir had agreed to marry me and join the kingdoms of Monestonia and Johaar. Then he discovered you were carrying his child, and now oh, look, he is marrying you!” Marissa snorted, sounding like a pony as she did it. “Clearly it is the child that he wants and not you, so if the child is eliminated, then he will have no reason to marry you.”

  Lora stared at this black-haired, blue-eyed woman and wondered if she was serious. It took a minute, but then Lora saw that strange, hollow innocence in the woman’s eyes and she realized that shit, yes, this woman was completely serious. She really thought in straight lines, with cold, simple logic, like a goddamn machine. In Marissa’s mind Amir switched gears the moment he found out Lora was pregnant, and so it seemed obvious to Marissa that if the pregnancy was ended, Amir would switch back to her like it was nothing!

 
Lora glanced at that vial again, suddenly figuring out what it was: Some kind of concoction that would end her pregnancy! An abortion potion! No way!

  “I’m not drinking that,” Lora said firmly, glancing past Marissa at the two burly European men standing at the door to the suite. “Listen, Marissa. Amir is . . . I mean, Amir will . . .” Lora stammered as she tried to find the right words, but as a tight smile curled on Marissa’s lips, Lora felt herself begin to lose hope. The blue-eyed Princess had her trapped with her machine logic, didn’t she: If Lora tried to argue that Amir was marrying her because he loved her and not because she was carrying his child, then Marissa could calmly say: Well, go ahead and drink the potion then, and we will see if he still wants to marry you!

  “Yes. I think I understand what you are trying to say,” said Marissa, nodding almost earnestly as she leaned forward with the vial. “Amir will be very upset if he hears that I forced you to abort his child. He has not forgiven me for the first abortion. I doubt he will forgive me for a second.” She shrugged, glancing at Damascus and then back at Lora. “And so this choice will be yours to make.”

  “What choice?” Lora whispered, picking up on the way Marissa had glanced at Damascus.

  “The choice of which child you want to give up. The one living and breathing by your side. Or the one unborn and unnamed within your womb.”

  Lora almost fainted as the blood rushed from her head. For a moment she wanted to grab Damascus and make a run for it, perhaps dive through the damned window if she had to. But those two men were guarding the door, and there was no way she was getting away with any physical heroics. She’d have to talk her way out of this. Stall for time and just hope the Sheikh’s men found her.

  “You can’t be serious,” Lora said softly, careful not to wake Damascus. She looked over at her sleeping son and then back at Marissa, and in that moment she knew that Marissa was capable of it, that the woman was dead behind those doll-like blue eyes, that she didn’t feel things like a normal human does. “How would that get Amir back to you?” she asked, realizing that she’d have to use logic and not emotion to win this war of words.