Sold to the Sheikh (19 page)

Henry was definitely handsome, in a preppy sort of way that didn’t necessarily suit his dress, and well built. Even so, Stella might have found his attention creepy if it weren’t for the presence of the Sheikh standing next to her. She must have moved closer to him, because as the elevator arrived, the Sheikh reached down and grabbed one buttock before giving it a light slap.

“Don’t dawdle,” he said, and, blushing, Stella trotted into the elevator.

But Henry was not to be dissuaded.

“So that’s her,” he finally said to the Sheikh, though he kept looking at Stella’s breasts.
Wait, what has he heard about me?

“Yes,” the Sheikh said.

“Are they real?” Henry asked Sheikh Bashir. Stella blushed furiously. Yes, they were damned well real. “Mind if I see for myself?”

What?
The Sheikh had made vague allusions to something like this, to the idea that she was a possession, to be loaned out if he felt like it, but only playfully. This guy Henry seemed to take it seriously. And while Stella didn’t want anyone but Sheikh Bashir, the idea that she was his, to do with as he wanted…

She was turned on. She couldn’t help it. The idea of another man’s hands on her,
at the Sheikh’s orders
, was somehow…

Oh God.

She could tell, without even looking, that the Sheikh was studying her with that intense x-ray stare again. She was sure he could tell that she was turned on. He could always tell exactly what she was feeling. Exactly what she wanted. Stella just looked straight ahead, and pretended no one was talking about her.

“If you want,” the Sheikh said slowly, and he took Stella’s hand in his own.

The man called Henry reached out and cupped Stella’s breast. Stella was too shocked to move, except to squeeze the Sheikh’s hand. Henry grunted softly, hefting her breast, kneading it slowly. Stella looked at the Sheikh, ashamed at how wet she was, wanting somehow to tell Sheikh Bashir that it was only for him, but not knowing how. Sheikh Bashir’s expression, as always, was unreadable, though when Henry began to toy with her nipple, the Sheikh’s eyes flashed.

“That’s enough,” he said.

Henry immediately dropped his hand. “Lovely,” was all he said.

Stella could feel the other woman’s hatred from across the elevator. She was glad when the doors opened, and the Sheikh allowed the other couple to leave first. By the time the Sheikh led her to the doors of the Black Room, the other couple was nowhere in sight.

In fact, no one was. Shouldn’t it be busy? Bustling, even?

The Sheikh stopped, holding up the end of the lead and signaling Stella to stop. All at once she desperately wanted to explain about the elevator, about how she wasn’t really attracted to Henry, or to anyone else—which, wow, she really
didn’t
want anyone else—she was just turned on by the
idea
of more than one man, as long as the man in charge was Sheikh Bashir. She opened her mouth, but the Sheikh put his hand over it, and looked into her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” he said again.

She nodded.

“I have been watching you, Stella. Studying you. And it is my responsibility to know you. Do you trust that I have done that? That I would only do what is best for you—for us—even if you yourself do not know what that is?”

He took his hand away so she could answer, but Stella was still speechless. He had said, “for us.” Us. There was an “us.”

She blinked, and nodded again. It was all she could do. Looking into her eyes, he ran his hand from her face to her neck to her breast, where he lingered, flicking the nipple with his thumb, and then down the front of her stomach, his light touch drawing her muscles into shuddering contractions, and then, finally, between her legs, where he held her sex in his hand. She felt he had tuned her naked body to its peak, and had primed her for whatever was in store.

What is he going to do to me?

“You are ready,” he said, grabbing hold of the lead and opening the door.

She had no choice but to follow.

Both times she’d been to the Black Room with the Sheikh, she’d listened for sounds from the main room while they navigated the blind foyer. Those sounds had given her an hint, at least, of what to expect: the leather-on-flesh sound of a flogging, the clinking of metal and glass of brunch.

This time there was nothing: only silence. Stella’s mind ran wild. She gripped blindly at the Sheikh’s hand, looking for some reassurance.

And then, quite suddenly, they turned the corner.

The room was festooned with what looked like hundreds of real wax candles grouped in every kind of candelabra and placed strategically on every available surface of the room.

The very crowded room.

There was no other ornamentation but for the candles, and the crowd. They were silent, some with their champagne flutes raised, and watching Stella expectantly. They were also all clothed, some of them in fetish wear, others in black tie dress. Most were not masked, and Stella recognized many from her duties at the club. All of them were staring at her as she stood before them, naked. The only naked person in the room.

Which is why it took her a moment to notice the centerpiece.

On a raised platform in the center of the space, surrounded by candles, and with a heavy chandelier hanging above it, was the table she had remarked on the very first time she came to the Black Room with the Sheikh. The table with stirrups. With straps. With restraints.

“Come, Stella,” the Sheikh said, and began to walk directly toward the table.

Stella almost didn’t move, she was so transfixed by that table, by what might happen to her there. But a small storm brewed inside her, a familiar pressure, and just as the lead went tight against her collar, she found her feet moving forward.

No one else made a sound. She felt hundreds of eyes watching her as she clambered up onto the platform to stand beside Sheikh Bashir.

He looked down at her, and said again, “Trust me.”

Then he raised his arm, and the silence among the crowd deepened. The weight of all of those eyes shifted to Sheikh Bashir, and Stella almost sagged in relief.

If she thought she had trouble being only
vulnerable
in public…

“Thank you all for providing me with this venue,” he began. A few people in the crowd nodded. Stella thought she saw Roman out there, amid the members, raising his glass.
Of course they’re all here. Are they all in on this?

Sheikh Bashir continued, “As many of you know, Stella Spencer is employed at Volare New York as a hostess, but she had never participated in any club events prior to this weekend. She is now newly submissive.
My
submissive.” Stella thought she saw a few raised eyebrows. Was he claiming her publicly? Why did he need to do that?

And did that mean that after the weekend…?

“But,” the Sheikh went on, “there are a few things she has yet to do. I hope you’ll all join in the festivities.”

Wait, what? Join in the festivities? Like that guy in the elevator?

Stella didn’t have a chance to ask any questions. Sheikh Bashir turned to her and said, “Get on the table.”

Oh my God.
It wasn’t a surprise, except that the reality of it…to
actually
get on that table, naked, legs spread…

Stella hesitated only a second before Sheikh Bashir’s face told her that this was not negotiable. “Trust me,” he’d said. And he’d known, somehow, everything she was feeling; he’d known her own limits better than she did, in some ways. And he’d always,
always
wanted good things for her.

She got up on the table.

“Lie back,” he said, “and put your feet in the stirrups.”

Stella shuddered, and was glad that when she laid down that she could only see slivers of faces through the candle flames that surrounded her. She closed her eyes, steeled herself, and raised first one and then the other leg into the stirrups.

She was spread.

She felt someone move between her legs as she opened them wide, only to find Sheikh Bashir strapping in one ankle and then the other. She was helpless now, entirely at his mercy. As if to make sure that she knew it, Sheikh Bashir thrust a finger into her.

She moaned.

“Look at me, Stella,” he said. She looked down, between the shaking mounds of her breasts, to see his calm, steady face. “Trust me.”

He moved his finger in a quick, wide circle, and she tried to clamp down on it in pleasure before he removed it. All she really wanted was him, she realized. She wanted him, and anything he wanted from her. She leaned her head back and felt herself relax.

“The blindfold,” she heard him say from between her legs, and when she lifted her head to look at him, a thick, black blindfold was wrapped around her eyes.

Who did that?
She felt the panic begin to rise a little, a reminder that there were other people here besides Sheikh Bashir, that she was doing this very much in public.

That she would undoubtedly do more, in public, before this was over.

“The arms,” Sheikh Bashir said this time, and now there were sets of hands on either side of her, grabbing her arms and strapping them down on the table. Instinctively she struggled against them, inspiring some laughter from the crowd, though it didn’t sound unsympathetic. She remembered the arrangement, remembered that she had a special safeword, remembered that, above all, he was Sheikh Bashir, and she forced herself to surrender.

She was now truly, completely helpless, with no choice but to trust in the Sheikh, and whatever he was about to do to her.

“This little submissive,” Sheikh Bashir said, his voice booming, “does not believe she can come in public.”

Stella heard a few boos and some disapproving tittering from the crowd.
But what if I really can’t?

“She has trouble, like many people, being vulnerable,” Sheikh Bashir continued. “She has trouble because she believes she will be hurt, because she thinks she will be rejected. She thinks that anyone who sees her naked will not want to see her again.”

She hadn’t told him that. She hadn’t even told
herself
that. And yet, lying there, naked, spread, and exposed, but blindfolded, knowing she was in public and yet protected from having to see other people watching, she felt the full wave of emotion break over her: he was right. He was absolutely, one hundred percent right.

And wasn’t that the saddest thing?

Stella didn’t
want
to be that person. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she willed herself not to cry. She would not pity herself. She was here to become different.

The Sheikh seemed to sense her struggle. She felt his warm hand slide between her legs again, just resting there, teasing her, and it drew all the distracting pain and pity out of her, leaving behind only the feeling of his hand, and the desire for more of it.

“We will prove her wrong,” the Sheikh said to the crowd. There was an answering cheer.

A chill ran the length of Stella’s entire body.

Suddenly she felt her legs begin to move. The stirrups were being moved up and out, opening her wider, bringing her thighs up toward her chest. She had thought she was exposed before, but now the view would be obscene. Sheikh Bashir could get at
all
of her this way, and Stella felt a quick spasm of fear. She’d only done anal stuff a few times with Robert, and it was never what anyone would have called ‘successful’.

The Sheikh began to run his fingers up and down the length of her wet slit, probing the folds, dipping into her for more of her own lubricant. Stella’s hips tried to move with him, but she was hampered by the restraints. She hungered for him; her
body
hungered for him. She moaned with frustration, fighting against the straps, and only remembered they were not alone when she heard more laughter.

Was it really so easy to forget? With the way his hands worked her, it might be. Already she was panting; already her skin felt too hot.

“Very wet,” he announced.

Polite applause.

“The oil,” he said next.

Warm oil dripped onto her nipples. It smelled of mint, and stung slightly wherever it spread. Just enough bite to feel very, very good.

But who—

Before she’d even finished the thought, there were hands on her breasts, rubbing the oil in, playing with her nipples, and it was very, very clear to her that they were not the hands of the Sheikh. They were acting on his direction, but they were not his. They were large, and rough, and male, and they seemed to like playing with her breasts very, very much.

Like Henry
, she thought. Only it felt like there was more than one set of hands. How many men, at the Sheikh’s command? Who was touching her?

Whose hands were on her pussy?

“The lube,” she heard the Sheikh say, and the hand on her pussy pulled away.

Oh God, what…

Cold, thick lube dribbled onto her exposed anus. Stella let out a surprised yelp, and was rewarded with audience applause.

“Don’t stay silent, Stella,” the Sheikh said, his voice still coming, thankfully, from the region between her legs. “In fact, I won’t let you stay silent. You will answer my questions—understood?”

Someone pinched her nipple, and Stella gasped. She hadn’t answered quickly enough.

“Yes, Sheikh!”

Now a finger was spreading the lube around her asshole, working it into the tender flesh. She fervently hoped that was the Sheikh.

“This is very small, Stella, but it will feel very big,” he said. “Much like the first time I made you strip naked before me; do you remember?”

Stella pressed her lips together, moaning as something probed against the delicate skin. She managed to nod. She was willing, she wanted so badly to show him that she was willing, but her body resisted the intrusion. She thought back to that first day, the first time she felt like the Sheikh had read her mind, and how he’d seen her fear, and after that it had been so much simpler to just…let…go…

She sighed, and something slipped into her ass, pushing past the tight ring with a
pop
. He was right: it felt huge. Filling. It felt simultaneously wrong and so right, like the physical embodiment of the forbidden. It pushed her arousal that much higher, keeping her now upon an almost impossible plateau, making her need for him, for an orgasm, that much more desperate.