Chapter 24

Janna

Hearing him promise he intends to punish me, my lady parts start tingling. Whatever I think about marriage to his man, there’s no doubt with very little effort he can make my body wake up and sing.

As I follow him out of the state room, my mind being mainly on the pleasures the night ahead guarantees to hold, I’m only vaguely conscious of being led across the atrium at the rear of the palace, and emerging on steps leading down into the amazing gardens. An aroma, not unlike barbeques on a summer’s day in a park in London assails me. And flashbulbs.

Oh no! Any lingering thoughts I might have had about being able to keep this sham of a marriage quiet disappear when our picture is snapped a hundred times over.

“Smile,” a voice suggests in my ear.

“Qibla, qibla!” Rings out. I glance at my new husband, who’s grinning.

“The photographs are to convince Fadi,” he explains in a whisper, “And they’re calling out for us to kiss.” And we do just that. There on the steps. For a moment, it feels like we’ve just got married for real. There isn’t anything forced or unwanted as Jasim’s lips meet mine, our physical attraction to each other undeniable. And affection too, that was there from the beginning when we first met, I liked him, and believed he liked me too. Otherwise why would he have extended the hand of friendship, tended to my wounds and offered to take me home?

But marriage partners, starting a life together, should be in love. And I’m not. And neither is he. Will lust be enough to carry us through? Or will our charade become apparent too fast?

He pulls away, his fingertips taking the place of his lips, “I think Rais has been up to mischief.” He turns me to the side where the sheikh is waiting, a wide grin on his face.

“Come, Sheikh, Sheikha. Follow me.”

Mystified, at the nod from Jasim, I start walking through the gardens, accepting the congratulations thrown at us by the palace staff. And then we’re out in the desert where tents have been hastily erected, and large lumps of meat are slowly turning on spits. Rais leads us to a tent, its big flaps tied open, and settles us down on low cushions. Immediately, a banquet begins to appear in front of our eyes.

Jasim’s part amused, part flabbergasted that all this has been set up in such a short time. Soon we’re joined by his brothers and the members of Anarchy Rules, along with Blake and Eli. Surprisingly, the lavishness of the spread goes some way to placate my friends, going some way to convince them this is not some rushed and sordid affair. Well, it is, but best they don’t know that. The only thing that upsets them is there’s no alcohol being served. But at a whispered suggestion from Jasim, they soon solve that problem, finding the supplies in their suites, and sneaking off one or two at a time.

There’s entertainment on offer, belly dancing, fire eating, the tribespeople making the most of the impromptu celebration.

Darkness falls, and I’m entranced at the flaming torches lighting the night. If I’d ever given any thought to the subject, this would have surpassed anything I could ever have dreamed or hoped my wedding would entail.

“Happy?” Jasim leans over to speak to me.

And I realise I am.

“Are you having a honeymoon?” Sunny calls out. I don’t know how to answer, but Jasim comes to my rescue.

“We are. We’re heading into the desert in the morning,” he replies, with a surreptitious squeeze of my hand.

It’s the one true thing that’s been said today.

“You take good fucking care of her,” Joe makes his statement, pointing at Jasim with a kebab on a stick. Goodness knows where he’s putting all that food, he’s been constantly eating since we sat down.

“I will.” He accompanies his response with such an intense look into my eyes that Sunny pretends to swoon.

“Just look at that. True love.” She fans herself.

A quirk of his lips that only I can see, and then Jasim’s kissing me, bending me back over his arm. Sparks fly between us. Nope, nothing to contrive in the attraction department.

“You ready to blow this joint?”

“I…” Suddenly I feel nervous. I might no longer be a virgin, but I don’t know what Jasim will expect of me tonight. Beyond the obvious that is.

A breath of warm air in my ear, and I hear him chuckling, “You’re already anxious about what I’ll do to you. That’s making me hard.”

“You’re cruel.”

He brings my fingers to his mouth, and gently kisses them, “Believe me, habiti, I am.” But his actions belie his words. I wasn’t genuinely scared of him last night, why should I be now? My greatest worry is that my inexperience will disappoint him.

“Come.” He stands and pulls me up with him, then, to my surprise, sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me as if I weigh nothing at all. As if someone’s given a signal, the crowd parts before us. I might not understand Arabic, but I don’t need an interpreter to translate the lewd comments that are thrown at us along our way.

He doesn’t put me down while we cross the dry desert, and then through the stark contrast of the flourishing garden. He continues to hold me as we walk through the palace, and on to royal suite. He takes me inside, kicking the door shut behind him, taking me straight into the bedroom and dropping me on the most elaborately decorated bed I’ve ever seen.

And he doesn’t pause before taking out the knife from the scabbard which I thought was ornamental and holding the tip to the top of my dress. I gasp, and freeze.

“I hope you hadn’t had thoughts of keeping this.”

“Jasim, it must have cost a fortune, you can’t…”

But he can. The blade is so sharp the material offers no greater resistance than butter as he slits it from top to bottom, and pushes it to the sides. My bra is severed, now I’m almost naked before him. Then that last scrap of material goes too.

He looks pleased with himself as he holds the knife up for inspection, “Never saw the point in our ceremonial dress before. But there’s something to be said for it.” Sparing a rueful glance for me he adds, “I’ve been thinking about getting you naked all night. And I just couldn’t wait.”

Then his mirth fades, his breathing quickens, his eyes grow dark, and the Dom has entered the room. His arm stretches out, his hand traces my breasts, and then tightens almost to the point of pain, “You’re mine, habiti. My sub and my wife. I own you.”

I inhale sharply, he’s too intense. But, immediately he reassures me, he can read my reactions so well.

“You still have your safe word. You’ll always have that.”

I close my eyes and open them again, relieved he reminded me.

“Habiti, you hold all the power here. I can only do what you allow.”

In his free hand he still holds the knife, as I nod indicating my understanding, he touches the tip to my neck, making me gasp again, “Keep very still,” he warns me. Is he going to cut me?

I know he won’t intend to, but if I move… I don’t need his instruction, the threat makes me freeze and lay still as stone, holding my breath as he traces the knife down, around my breasts, circling my nipples, then drawing it slowly down my stomach and then further below. I squeeze my eyes shut as he strokes it over that tender part, trying to will my clit not to swell or come out of its protective hood.

Then a sound, and the cold steel is removed from my body to be replaced by his fingers instead. With a sharp inhale, I remember to start breathing again.

“Fuck, you’re already dripping wet.” I know I am. And I also know it shouldn’t have, but the veiled risk of such a sharp blade touching me intimately had turned me on.

He doesn’t bother to remove his headdress as he kneels on the bed, pulling my legs apart, and without any delay his mouth is on me. Tonguing my clit, his eyes meet mine, and my body clenches in anticipation, exhilaration increasing my desire at the sight of this fully clothed dark-skinned sheikh intent on his ministrations. He’s every girl’s wet dream, so handsome, so dominant. He’s mine. Or, at least, for the moment, and however long this marriage lasts. But it’s the present that counts. And I can’t imagine a sight more arousing.

As his mouth works, my eyes roll back in my head, then I force them open again, not wanting to miss a moment of the erotic spectacle. I almost regret that I do, as my body gives an involuntary jerk. The vision in front of me, the smell of exotic perfume in the air, the appreciative sounds he’s making, every one of my senses is filled by this man. I thought he’d aroused me before. He hadn’t even begun.

My muscles are out of my control, my thighs closing round him, trapping him to me. The inner walls of my pussy clenching, as though wishing he was there. My hands fist by my sides, fingernails digging into my skin, as my heart rate speeds up and my breath becomes shallow.

His fingers thrust inside, curling around and finding just the right spot.

“Oh, oh…”

What the? He’s pulled away. My pussy feels empty and my clit’s throbbing so badly.

He’s smirking, pushing apart my thighs to free him, and moving up the bed. Taking my hands in one of his, he searches with the other for something behind the bed, and then, snick. My hands are cuffed behind me.

“This is Nijad’s suite, Nijad’s room, and this is his bed. Designed to his specification.” He informs me, nodding with satisfaction.

My body’s still pulsing, seeking relief. He’s not going to leave me like this, is he?

Leaving me hanging and tied to the bed, my—well, for now anyway—handsome sheikh starts to give me a personal striptease, first discarding his headdress and then shrugging off his robes. Standing in his loose cotton trousers, I see the material straining and outlining his stiff cock. I lick my lips, and then bring my gaze higher, settling on his washboard chest, his rich olive skin gleaming with a slight coating of sweat. If I wasn’t already on the edge, the sight of him would have taken me there.

“Like what you see?” As I feel blood going to my cheeks, he chuckles at my embarrassment.

After staring at me for a few seconds, his lips curl up, suggesting he’s enjoying himself as he opens a drawer beside the bed and takes out a packet. He tears it open, but I can’t see what he’s got in his hands. Putting my chin on my chest, I peer down for a closer view as he palms something over my breast. He clips something on my nipple and I yelp, and gasp.

“Breathe,” his voice is tempered and even.

“It hurts!”

“Give it a moment.”

While it still smarts, the pain starts to turn to something else, sending a zing right down to my already throbbing clit. Then he puts the second of, what I now realise, are nipple clamps on my other protruding bud. Again, that bite of pain, followed by the warmth of increased arousal. I squirm against my restraints.

He pulls on a chain connecting the two, making me cry out, “Oh, I’m going to love torturing you.” His voice holds no sympathy. “There’s a third clamp I can use, but that’s not for today.”

My brow creases as I try to understand him. “Where does that go?”

He huffs a laugh, “Where do you think?”

Widening my eyes, I look at him, “You can’t be serious?” He can’t put something so wicked at that tender throbbing nub.

“Want to try it and see?” His eyes are full of amusement then adds, as I rapidly shake my head, “Be a good girl, then.”

And then I’m flipped over. With his hands on my inner thighs, he pushes them apart, my legs almost too wide. I try to pull them back, if I can rub them together I might be able to get some relief. The clamps now dangling from my tits, gravity adding more torture, only increase the desperation and the feeling of hanging on to some ledge. Please let me go over, please.

“Jasim…”

“Quiet.” He pushes my forehead to the bed. Again, he reaches across to the drawer, and I shudder at the thought of what he could be getting out now. He folds his hand around it so I can’t see what he’s got. Then I jump, as a trickle of something cold slides down my crack. And then his fingers are circling around my puckered hole, and one’s pushed inside.

“Jasim!” I all but scream and try to get away.

A hand slaps my arse, “I told you to be quiet. You take what I want to give you.” And still his finger probes. “Don’t tense, let me in.” I know it’s Jasim, but the voice that holds no sympathy, makes me feel I’m under a stranger’s control. There’s comfort in knowing I could stop this any moment, but also stimulation in believing I can’t.

I suffer in silence, but no, suffering is not the right word. As my body begins to get used to the invasion, I find it only makes needier, and even more desperate to come. When he moves his finger away, I find I’m mourning the loss of the sensation. But my poor arsehole’s not left unabused for long, now he’s pushing something inside. Something cold and not as yielding as his finger.

“What…?”

With his hand on the small of my back, he holds me in place. “It’s a butt plug. Just a small one,” he explains. “Soon it will be my cock, but I need to prepare you first.”

I don’t think any amount of preparation is going to make that particular part of his anatomy fit inside my small hole, but time later to protest. In fact, I don’t think I could come out with any words right now. The pulling on my nipples, my overstimulated clit, the stretch and weird feeling of the butt plug inside, are taking away my ability to think.

He leans over, and whispers into my ear, “Time for your next lesson. Keep in position, I’ve going to flog you now.”

What?

He starts off so gently, leather strands caressing my skin. A gentle massage which ignites all my parts. Embarrassed, I find I’m almost humping the bed in my desperation to get off. Then he starts to work harder, now there’s a little sting.

“You should see yourself, your skin’s turning the most delightful shade of pink.”

The flails hit between my shoulders, then fall on my bum, on lower to my thighs and then start on the return path. The feeling changes from a massage, to setting me on fire.

“Don’t come.”

What? Doesn’t he know how little it would take to push me over? My nipples are tingling, my whole body feeling electrified. My clit’s throbbing, begging for relief, and my pussy pulses in time. And he’s telling me to hold back? Christ, if he so much as breathes there…

Picking up the flogger again, he flicks my clit. I scream at the intensity of the orgasm which goes through me with hardly any warning at all.

“Naughty girl.” The words might show his displeasure, but his tone suggests I’ve played right into his hands. “Naughty girls who come without permission get punished.”

What? His words only just filter through as my body is shaking, remnants of my orgasm still causing aftershocks to wrack through my body. Only vaguely aware of what’s going on, I hear the sound of a wrapper being opened behind me, and a rubber sheathed cock prodding my pussy.

Then, whack. His large hand spanks my butt cheek, and then another blow to the other. Oh, oh. My clit jumps to life again. He continues to spank me, my nipples feel tender, zings rip up and down my body until I’m not certain where they start and end.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

Suddenly he pushes into me, all the way, in one smooth stroke until he’s up against my cervix, the plug in my arse making me feel so full. And when he starts moving, there’re new sensations, every nerve seems to come alive.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, habiti.” He picks up the pace and starts hammering inside me. “I’m not going to last long.”

Neither am I. And as he continues to push in and pull out in a punishing rhythm, he hits that special spot inside me time after time. When he leans forward and puts his teeth on my neck, I come with a scream, my pussy clenching and releasing, squeezing hard on his cock.

“Fuck, babe. Fuck!”

I’m so sensitive, I feel him swelling to an almost impossible size, I orgasm again and again, until it becomes continual contractions, my vaginal muscles spasming in sweet agony all on their own.

He loses momentum, his body starts jerking, “Janna!” he yells as he comes.