Sold to the Sheikh

by Chloe Cox

  “Yes.” Her eyes were half-closed now as warmth spilled out of her and into his hand.

  “And yet you have never wished to participate?”

  “It wasn’t…” She was struggling. “It wasn’t my thing. Oh God!” she said as he dipped his middle finger into her, sliding in easily through her wet folds, and forcing himself deep inside her. She was obviously already excited.

  “Until now,” he said, and she groaned.

  Bashir wanted to groan, too, wanted to let slip his own lust and have her right there, right then, but something stopped him. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered, and he couldn’t bring himself to squander an opportunity for something greater, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

  She moaned into his shoulder again, and he felt her lips part against his arm. His erection throbbed angrily for release. That flash of sincerity, of openness, when he’d asked about love, had aroused him like nothing in his memory. Is this what it’s like for normal people? Are they accustomed to such intimacy?

  It had both invigorated and weakened him, like a drug. And, like a drug, he needed more. From her. And yet she was plainly guarding some great wound. She’d shut down just as quickly as she’d opened up. Already it was maddening. And already, Bashir knew he needed to help her, just as much as he needed to have her.

  “I have rules,” he said into her hair, and his voice, even to him, sounded strained. He moved his finger inside of her, just to hear her whimper, and she fell into him a little more.

  “One: you will have no more need for undergarments,” he said, beginning to slowly fuck her with his finger, “because you will always, always be accessible to me. Do you understand?”

  Her fingers dug into his arm. “Yes,” she said.

  “Two: you will obey me, in all things, without question. Disobedience will be punished.”

  She nodded as her hips began to move against him. He reached up with his free hand and grabbed a mass of brown hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him.

  “Three: you will not come, Stella, unless I command it, and you will come exactly when I command it. I will train you to do these things. And I will tell you this: I will not take you until you beg me for it. Until you submit to my satisfaction, and you beg. And you will beg. I promise you, Stella, you will beg.”

  She looked at him with those open, unbelieving eyes. Bashir watched a wave of gooseflesh spread across her naked body, and took his hand away from her. She moaned again, this time almost painfully, and he tightened his grip on her hair.

  It was so very difficult not to spread her before him and plunge deeply, blindly into her. But he wanted more from her. For some damnable reason, he needed more.

  “Do you understand?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, and her eyes flashed with frustration even as her chest still heaved. “Yes, I understand, you—”

  “Careful,” Bashir murmured. “I haven’t decided how best to discipline you yet, Stella, but that certainly won’t stop me.”

  He thought she might actually provoke him, she looked so excited. Not of the Volare! She was already playing the submissive’s game.

  She licked her lips and took a calming breath. “You haven’t decided yet?”

  He let her go, denying her further contact with him, lest she think she’d gained the upper hand. Ignoring her question, Bashir gestured at her dress, lying rumpled on the floor, as he moved back to the minibar.

  “You may put your dress—and only your dress—back on,” he said. “Unless you prefer to continue to the Black Room in the nude? I’m feeling indulgent.”

  “In the nude?”

  He resisted the urge to smile at her shock. So public nudity garnered a visceral reaction. Another clue to what made Stella Spencer tick. Perhaps another clue to whatever wound she was hiding. Whatever it was, Bashir would make her reveal it. He would show her her true nature before the weekend was over. And he’d make her come, screaming his name.

  “Sheikh?” she said, testing out the title as she pulled her dress up. She hesitated, and then looked at him. “Why are we going to the Black Room?”

  Now Bashir flashed his biggest smile. “You didn’t think your evaluation was over, did you?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Stella’s mind was not a quiet place as she followed Sheikh Bashir through the dim corridors of Club Volare. It was like a radio tuned between stations, in the middle of nowhere between towers: a gibbering crowd of warring voices, none of them making any damn sense at all.

  She guessed this must be a halfway normal reaction to a very abnormal experience. As ridiculous as it might sound, it had felt—did feel, even now, only a few moments later—as though Sheikh Bashir, honest-to-God, had her under some kind of spell. Stella had been in some other space, some other plane of reality, just long enough to take her clothes off and let him touch her. The intensity of that had been unlike anything else she’d ever experienced. And now it was like he’d released her just a little bit, let just a little slack in the line, to give her a chance to catch her breath.

  And now, trotting dumbly behind him, her mind was running out that slack at about a hundred miles an hour.

  First of all, a Sheikh? Really? She wasn’t over that, not by a long shot. Stella had a whole bunch of questions, obviously, mostly having to do with her own immediate assumptions, which she was pretty sure were shamefully ignorant, but kind of bugged her at the back of her mind anyway. For example: harems. She cringed at the word, but couldn’t help but wonder if they really existed. Or if Sheikh Bashir had one. She didn’t love the idea of that.

  But of course all of that paled in comparison to whatever had just come over her in that room.

  If you’d asked Stella Spencer, not twenty minutes ago, if she would ever agree to essentially sell herself to a strange man, to a Dominant, a Sheikh from some foreign country she’d never heard of, for any amount of money, and then would just…obey when he ordered her to take her clothes off…that she’d just allow him to put his fingers inside her, that she’d accept the idea of discipline…

  Well, not in a million years.

  Except, obviously, it had happened.

  She had never been more turned on. She’d never felt so desirable. This gorgeous, rich, obviously intelligent man had demanded that he pay an exorbitant amount of money for her. He wanted her. That in and of itself was just mind-blowing, but what really got to her was how she’d reacted when he’d told her his rules.

  She was not to come, except at his command. She was his. He said he would train her.

  And what Stella had felt was relief. Not fear, not anger, and she hadn’t even taken offense. It was a sudden relief that let her know that she hadn’t even been aware of how scared she was, of how anxious she felt all the time. The idea of ceding responsibility for her pleasure was somehow… Even now, it made her hot. Stella wasn’t sure how she felt about that fact, but she couldn’t deny it was true, and so she’d taken the leap.

  Now she was maybe regretting it. The Black Room was one of the BDSM rooms. One of the first things Lola had explained to her was that Club Volare NY was the New York presence of the Qui Volare Society, a secretive, international group committed to pursuing excellence, and even enlightenment, through sexual exploration. It had seemed a little silly, but Stella quite liked what it stood for. Qui Volare: those who fly. And it wasn’t just about BDSM, though that figured into it prominently.

  Like in the Black Room.

  Stella hadn’t spent too much time in the Black Room. Typically, they wanted people there who were really into the lifestyle, not outsiders, even if they were club employees. And now she was tagging along on the heels of this towering Arab Adonis—Sheikh Arab Adonis, she reminded herself—to the Black Room, where she was to be evaluated.

  Just the word made her cringe. Evaluation. What did that even mean? For some reason the first memory that forced its way into her scattered brain was of a horrible gym class in third grade, when they’d been g
raded on their ability to do various exercises. The winners had gotten Presidential merit badges, while the losers just got to feel crappy about themselves.

  And what if she failed? If it was an evaluation, there must be some way to fail. What if she wasn’t good enough for this, either? The old fear and anxiety were crawling back up her spine, looking for a way to take root in her mind. Stella didn’t think she could take another rejection. She’d only just begun to get through most days without crying about the last time she’d been rejected.

  Don’t think about that, she thought, and clamped down. Shut it down, Stella.

  She wouldn’t have the luxury of any more angst. They’d arrived.

  Sheikh Bashir put one massive hand on an onyx door handle, which was set in a large, carved door of painted black wood, and turned to look her up and down. His lips curled in an appreciative smile.

  “Uncross your arms, Stella,” he said. “Do not hide your breasts. They are beautiful.”

  She hadn’t even realized that she’d crossed them. He was right. She felt exposed without a bra, but she obeyed. The idea of going into the Black Room like that—loose and vulnerable—plucked at all her insecurities. Her anxiety and discomfort were just about to overtake the relief he’d given her in his room, when he wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him in a crushing kiss.

  His lips were soft, but his kiss was demanding. He forced her lips apart and probed her tongue with his own with a steady, insistent pressure. And the longer it went on, the more the heat between them grew into a burning, pulsing point, until it was strong enough to melt away all of Stella’s anxieties.

  Too quickly, Sheikh Bashir pulled away, leaving Stella slightly stunned, and before she could ask what had just happened, he’d opened the door.

  “After you, Stella,” Sheikh Bashir said, his dark eyes glittering.

  Stella looked ahead. There was nothing but darkness and the unknown. She had the feeling she’d never be quite sure of what might happen next around Sheikh Bashir. But then she thought about that kiss.

  And once more, she made the leap.

  CHAPTER 5

  Stella heard the sounds first.

  The entrance to the Black Room was cloaked, in a way—there was a sort of foyer, draped in black velvet, which opened to a narrow hall that twisted and turned, so that by the time you emerged into the Black Room proper, you weren’t quite sure where you were in relation to the exit. And so that you couldn’t see what was going on before you got there.

  So she heard the sounds first. Like hard leather smacking against soft skin, in a regular rhythm, always followed by a little groan. Someone was being flogged, and someone was enjoying it.

  Stella tried to hide her discomfort. She knew it was consensual, but she didn’t think she’d ever quite understand the idea of pain as pleasure. Intellectually, it made sense that it could provide some relief through catharsis, but…well, maybe it wasn’t supposed to be an intellectual pursuit.

  “Hmmm,” the Sheikh murmured, and Stella looked up to find he was watching her.

  That’s right, she thought. This is an evaluation.

  As if she needed to be more nervous.

  They turned the final corner of the narrow entrance hall, and there it was at the far end of the low-ceilinged room: a huge St. Andrew’s Cross, with a woman tied to it, red marks all over her body. There was a man in black leather holding a flogger, and whispering in her ear intently.

  The Sheikh said, “Does this bother you?”

  Stella felt his intense gaze upon her once again. Somehow it seemed incredibly foolish to lie.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. I don’t know a lot of things, I guess. I told you this isn’t really my thing.”

  The Sheikh raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Great, Stella thought. Did I blow it already? And why do I care if I did?

  She was almost entirely wrapped up in her own thoughts again by the time the Sheikh had led her to a small booth in the back. The room was arranged for a broad range of tastes, with several tables, booths, and couches set up along the walls, and various play areas in the middle. Besides the St. Andrew’s Cross, there were other specialized pieces of furniture, most of which Stella wasn’t familiar with, and a few stage areas.

  The Sheikh said, “But do you see anything that interests you, Stella?”

  Stella was too curious to be irritated at the amusement in his voice. She found herself imagining all sorts of the things, things she normally wouldn’t have the temerity to even fantasize about—they were just too ludicrous. That bench, over there, for example…

  “What is that?” Stella said, pointing in disbelief. It was a sort of table, with stirrups—those could only be for one thing—and there were various restraints and chains and pulleys and all sorts of incredibly complicated looking equipment. It looked positively medieval.

  “I don’t know if it has a formal name,” Sheikh Bashir said, leaning back in his corner of the booth, “but I always think of it as a demonstration area.”

  “What’s it for?”

  Sheikh Bashir laughed outright, and Stella felt herself instantly redden.

  “Perhaps you’ll find out.”

  That did not help her anxiety. Her cheeks burning, Stella cast about desperately for something, anything, to occupy her attention. The rest of the equipment was not something she was eager to discuss, and she’d been avoiding looking at the few other occupants of the room. In frustration, she looked directly at the smiling Sheikh.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me, Stella?”

  “Are you married?”

  Wow, where did that come from? Stella wondered. And yet, as soon as she said it, she realized it mattered. To her, anyway. She couldn’t abide the idea that somewhere he had a wife, wondering where he was, or maybe doing her best not to wonder where he was, and she wanted to smack herself for not asking about it before. She could never be part of something like that, no matter how much money or sex or personal validation was involved.

  The Sheikh leaned forward, looking at her with that spotlight intensity again. Why did it always seem like he could see right through her? How was that fair? And why was she thinking about his hands, and where he might decide to put them?

  “That is important to you, isn’t it?” he said.

  Damn it, Stella thought. Be wrong once, you arrogant bastard. Just once.

  But she said, “Yes.” And held her head a little higher.

  “Do you mean do I have many wives?” he asked. His face was unreadable, but Stella knew what he meant.

  “Or a harem? Pleasure tents, perhaps? Any kidnapping tendencies I should know about?” she said, surprised to find how much this annoyed her. Maybe because she’d been wondering the same thing only a few moments before. “I’m not totally ignorant, you know. It was a reasonable question.”

  Sheikh Bashir frowned. “We stopped kidnapping in the mid-nineties.”

  He let her stew for a moment before letting a sly smile break out across his face. She couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You promise?”

  “Do I promise not to kidnap you and steal you away to my pleasure tent?”

  “Or any other kind of tent.”

  He reached out and traced the line of her collarbone with one finger. Stella stopped breathing. “I don’t think I could possibly make such a promise, Stella. You are too tempting. I will try my best, however.”

  His eyes burned like two dark coals. What could he be thinking about? What plans had he already made for her? Stay focused, Stella.

  She took a deep breath. “Just the one wife would be enough, you know.”

  Sheikh Bashir smiled slightly, and brushed his fingertips against her lips. Even that touch, so delicate…she shuddered.

  “No, Stella Spencer, I do not approve of infidelity,” he said. “Promises are made to be kept.”

  It was the perfect answer, so why did Stella suddenly feel like crap? It probably
had to do with the way the Sheikh seemed, for just a moment, to withdraw, how his forehead crinkled just a bit, how the corners of that beautiful mouth turned slightly down. Again, Stella hadn’t realized how powerful it felt to be the center of his attention until all of a sudden she wasn’t. She’d already begun to think of him as impenetrable and mysterious. But maybe even Sheikhs could be hurt.

  “Stella,” he said sharply, and Stella realized she’d become lost in her own thoughts again. She sat up straighter. Obedience to his voice was starting to seem less strange, which in and of itself was a little strange.

  “Stella, we are here for a reason. Unfortunately, most club members are away for Labor Day weekend, and there are not many scenes for you to observe. You have been averting your eyes, perhaps out of a mistaken sense of propriety, but I still require you to observe what is available to us.”

  His voice was stern, and his expression severe. Stella hadn’t felt so stung by a reprimand since grade school. The change in tone was so sudden and complete, she felt like she had whiplash. It demanded her complete attention. Alert, but slightly confused, she nodded.

  “Then look, Stella. Look.”

  And the Sheikh pulled her roughly into the crook of his arm, against the warm heat of his hard body and the silky feel of his expensive suit, pinning her helplessly. He gently took her chin in his other hand, and turned her head towards the one place she’d been avoiding: the other occupied booth, on the other side of the room.

  It looked like a group of normal businessmen enjoying an expensive dinner, except that they were being waited on by several women in what Stella thought of as the slutty Halloween version of a cocktail waitress uniform. Except with even less clothing.

  She winced. She couldn’t help but think about the things she’d tried to do for Robert, to help reignite the spark, or whatever the magazines were calling it now. Stella actually had rented a sexy maid outfit from a Halloween store. She actually had pranced around, waiting for him to get home. And then, when he finally had, hours later, without calling, he’d just been annoyed that now he was expected to do something else.