Prisoner in his Harem Ch. 03A - Bonus

"I worked in refugee camps. Old people and children died from exhaustion, lack of food and medicine. It was hard. I tried. I tried to save as many as possible."

Still tears were falling down her face.

"So if you wanted kids why do you not have them? Or do you have them?" asked the queen.

"My fiancée died. I was devastated for years. Later on I never met someone who would be my true love."

"Bullocks you Western girls have babies without father."

"Not this one."

"And now you are in my husband's bed."

"I am sorry lady. I cannot refuse. I am ordered."

The dark eyes seemed to burn into her soul. Then she saw the woman glance at Idriss. It seemed as if they had made a decision.

"Idriss give Rosebud a cushion and call for tea. I want to hear all about those strange lands. Do you want to stay too or are you picking her up later?"

"I like to listen as well my queen if that is all right with you."

-0-0-

Hours later Rosebud and Idriss walked back to the harem. They had talked. About her home in England, about the refugee camps on the Afghan border, about the country Leila and Fuad where from, she was even questioned about the demands the Sheikh made in the bedroom.

At that point Rosebud had seen purple with embarrassment. Suddenly the queen had laughed and explained that she had asked her husband to find entertainment elsewhere as she was too weak to be of service. Seeing Rosebud's surprise she had pointed out that where they were from four wives were normal for royalty but that their ancestor had united the country and had married girls from all the tribes. That the Sheikh had more or less copied that when he was creating this country.

Somehow Rosebud felt like she had survived an oral exam like in the days of her study in Oxford. In the end the queen started to tire and had asked Idriss to walk Rosebud back to the harem. She had seen how the woman nodded to the big man. She had told Rosebud she would invite her soon for tea again as there was much more she liked to hear.

Rosebud thought her life here in the harem got more and more strange. Who would imagine that the wife and the sexslave would have tea and seem to like each other?

She was so exhausted she spent the evening in the baths and made it an early night. They did not come for her to go to the Sheikh.

-0-0-

Idriss and Rosebud were peeping down into the big reception room where the Sheikh would be receiving petitioners and guests. The Majlis was about to start. From behind the latticed screen, the beautiful woodcarved Mesharabia, they were able to look into the room without being seen.

The room was noisy. Some people seemed to soundproof instruments and microphones. The singer looked definitely Western but Rosebud had no idea who he was. She never listened to modern music. There was a woman too. Covered up she seemed familiar but Rosebud could not pin a name to her.

"Do you have any idea who that woman is?" she asked Idriss.

Arms folder around her body. "That, Puppet, is an Irish popsinger and the woman is that Canadian actress what's her name," the Sheikh said. He moved the veil away from her ear and kissed her neck just below it.

"They have been touring the continent to warn about the risks of AIDS. Not that we have that here that much with the good heathcare and a culture that would promote to find variety in your own harem but more to the south it is a real problem. I think it can be good to give them some press time. The Majlis is broadcasted life on tv so people will be able to hear their message."

The singer started to sing a slow song. About love for the rest of one's life. Rosebud thought it was beautiful. She felt the man behind her still as well, listening to the song. One hand rested on her stomach and on one of her breasts. The warmth of his body radiating through his formal robe and her dress.

"It is a song you would choose for the first dance of your wedding," she said. Suddenly a picture of herself in a white long dress in the arms of a man flooded her mind. Her father, the reverent, switching with her new husband, a wide smile on his old face. Her throat seemed to clog up. A strange sob escaped her. That childhood dream would never happen. She would never she her parents again, never marry. She would be locked up in a palace.

The Sheikh turned her around and she buried her face in his robe. He stroked her back. "Shhh Rosebud shhh." He lifted her chin and plucked the veils from her hair and face. "Shhhh." Warm lips kissed hers. She buried her face again under his chin. His beard tickled her face, the cotton of his robe soft.

"I have to go little one. They are waiting and so is the ambassador of Japan and all the citizens who came to the Majlis. Do you want to stay here and watch or shall Idriss take you back to the harem?"

"I like to watch Sidi. When I had time during my study I would go to the courthouse and watch the proceedings. Idriss allows me to come here often. I watch you rule and it helps me learn new words." She wiped the tears from her face.

"Idriss bring my girl a cushion so she does not have to stand here. She can sit and watch what happens in my court."

He kissed her again. First it was just a kiss to console but when his hands drifted over her back and found her buttocks, the kiss became deep and she could feel him harden against her belly. He groaned in frustration: "I have to go and work". He lifted up her dress so her breasts were naked. Her nipples had hardened themselves into pink small pebbles. His mouth was on one immediately. Sucking hard. Then he smoothed her dress back down and kissed her again.

"Enjoy Puppet. I will see you tonight."

Idriss bowed and stifled a grin. "I will make sure she is ready for you my lord."

-0-0-

The bath attendants had shaved her all over, massaged her skin with oil so it was soft like satin and dressed her in her finest but when she entered his bedroom the Sheikh did not look at her at all. He just motioned with his hand to undress and get into bed, while reading a magazine. He looked pretty pissed off.

Rosebud slipped under the covers next to him and looked at what he was reading. It seemed the magazine was in French. She saw a picture of the Sheikh on the page. She tried to figure out what it was all about but her school French was too rusty to understand it all. Something about dictator, about living in luxury.

He wrapped his arm around her so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"They write I am spending the money of my people on my palace. Not one cent is paid by this country though. It is me who spend my own oil revenue, the money my family makes, on this palace and even invest it into the country. I am building a new hospital funded by myself here in town."

"Do they know that?"

"Why would I tell people? I do not want to show off myself with that? They write West Tripolitania does not have a democracy. No because that experiment did not work! But what have I been doing today? Everyone who wants to speak to me, who wants to plead his cause is welcome when I sit holding court. When I came here more than 10 years ago the country was a hellhole where human rights were violated on a daily basis. Idriss and I and our army we drove out the terrorists. Using my money."

She looked at his face and realised anger and hurt were fighting each other behind those dark eyes.

"Who wrote this article Sidi?"

"Two female French journalists. Some lefties. Look they even have you in it."

He turned a page and she looked at a blurred picture of herself. Apparently someone had snapped a picture with his or her phone when he had called her into the majlis to judge the people smuggler.

"It says that this is a harem woman of Sheikh Fuad but although it is said that he filled his harem with local beauties as a symbol of the country this woman has blue eyes and seems to be foreign. Were the local girls boring him?"

He threw the magazine to the wall.

"Go to your own bed Puppet. I am so angry I would hurt you taking you while I am this upset."

"Lord?"

"Yes?"

"Remember when I washed you in the baths that night when you came back from the army training in the desert? Let me wash you again. It will help you relax."

He let himself be guided out of bed but when she turned to walk him to the harem baths he halted her.

"I have a private one behind my room. I went to the big one because the water of this one would not have been heated."

He opened up a door in the back and they both walked in a small version of the big baths. A small pool and a raised stone dias that could be heated. She stepped into the warm water and started washing him. But his muscles kept feeling tense. Even when he tried to cooperate. She escorted him to the warm stone platform and started to massage him.

"Lord I have been studying on internet things from India. It is called Tantra. Would you be willing to let me lead for once? I hope I can make you feel better."

"Internet? Who gave you access?"

"Idriss. We researched different methods to give you pleasure. I know so much less than the girls. This thing is called Trantric Sex. You just have to relax and wait and wait. Can I?"

He shrugged. Still not happy but willing to indulge his girl who tried her best. Her hands spread oil all over his body and she started to massage his back. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Then she turned him around and oh so slowly massaged his front. Her breasts and her thighs touching his body. Her hands moving towards interesting places and then stopping. He felt her naked body moving all over him. His hands gripped her so he could impale her on his now stone hard cock.

"No! You promised I was in charge."

Grumbling he let go and found her finger circling his nipple followed by her lips. She moved to sit between his legs and her hands caressed his thighs. Slowly they crept towards his cock. Her hands brushing him there and then moving again. He had the feeling he was about to explode and all he could think of were her lips there or how she would feel when she would move her warm wetness there. He noticed himself moaning.

Then her hands were there again. Slowly stroking him. Moving from the base all over to the head. And starting again, her fingers trailing different paths on his cock. Slowly cupping his balls. Circling all over the tip. Taking him just to the edge but halting and restarting when he was ready to come. Then her lips kissed the velvet skin of the top. Taking him in her mouth. He shouted her name but when he wanted to hold her there she was gone again. Her lips trailing a hot path from the backside of his knees to his crotch.

"Please Puppet please."

"Shhhhh my Lord".

She moved up to kiss him and his protests died in her mouth. Her hand was on his cock again. Guiding him. Guiding him in. He felt her gasp when the engorged head slit inside her. She started to move on him. Slowly, slowly. He placed his hands on her hips and tried to help her. Looking up at her gorgeous tits that were swinging in full view. The smile on her face. She bent down to kiss him again and his arms found a way around her. That was the moment his balls seemed to explode and he came shouting her name against her lips.

He had the feeling it was much later but probably not that much time had passed. He was still hard inside her and she was laying with her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He stroked her back.

"That was marvellous Puppet. You and Idriss should spend a lot of time researching 'dirty stuff' on internet."

He felt her laugh bubbling against his chest.

"But you did not come."

"I was too busy to do everything right. Next time my Lord you can lead again and I will do the climaxing."

"Yes little one. Like a submissive slave. On your back, with me deep buried inside you, pinning you to my mattress."

He turned forcing her on her back. His eyes smiling down on her. All she could do was grin.

"Too bad you drained me completely Puppet so no show for you tonight."

He sat up and walked both of them to a shower hidden in the back so they could get rid of the excess oils. She dried him like a well trained slave but he snatched an extra towel so he could dry her at the same time.

Back in bed they slept within minutes. Or so the Sheikh thought.

When he woke up in the morning he saw his girl sleep like an angel. He noticed a few papers on the nightstand placed against his alarm clock. Picking them up he noticed it was a long letter.

Rosebud was explaining that maybe those French women had no idea about the country. That West Tripolitania had seemed so foreign to her as well when she first had moved there. Harems, strict dress codes, slaves, lots of foreign traditions. That she had learned there was religious freedom, that the whole slavery thing was normally a way for a criminal to atone instead of be locked up or executed, that his harem ladies seemed quite happy and she had seen widows joining their sisters households. But for those women in Paris it must sound barbaric.

That they did not know the Sheikh would travel to the desert tribes to hear their wishes. That not that many would know he had invested so much personal wealth in keeping these realms safe and prosperous. That she had realised the eunuchs were either gay men who were given safety in an honoured job or war victims who had be castrated by the fanatics. That she was sure that when the women would see that they would have a completely different idea about the Sheikh and his rule.

He laughed imagining her mirth when he read on. She wrote that he was one of the most handsome man she knew who would be able to charm a stone. That Sheikhs, deserts, camels and romantic nights under the stars sitting around a campfire had been the source for oh so many romance novels. That maybe he should invite those women on a trek into the desert visiting the tribes and talking with the people. Showing a different type of democratic rule. Taking them to projects for the welfare of women. Explaining he did not get any income.

The sheikh looked at the long advice. She must have kicked her legal brain to action again. Then he looked at the woman sleeping curled up beside him. Her red copper curls spread over the pillow, her lips puffy from sleep. She must have spent quite some time writing him her advice. He was hard and ready again but knew she must be very tired. So he forced himself to withdraw his pole from between her pillowy cheeks, away from the warm wetness. He grimaced when he realised he was tiptoeing around his own private room in his own palace so his slave could sleep. She deserved it. He would take her some other time.

-0-0-

That other time came two weeks later. The Sheikh had been away and on his first night back he asked to have Rosebud send to him. The first half hour was spent making her gasp and having her breath getting laboured. Feeling her clench around him, shudder and writhe in his arms impaled on his cock. When he heard her cry out in sweet agony he had spent himself inside her.

Afterwards they laid there in each other's arms.

He told her he had invited the French journalists of the left wing radical magazine that had him so angry. It turned out to be an old lady who hated everything rural outside Paris so the desert trek had been not her cup of caffee au lait. The other one was a lesbian so the Sheikh's charms were wasted. But the beautiful girls that danced for them in the evening had made her smile especially when one of those seemed to have a same kind of taste.

The elder lady who loved the city he had taken to the all-female staff of the gynaecologist department of the new hospital what was not even finished. She had been very interested in the research that was done there. And probably quite intimidated by the dragoon who ruled the department.

Both had been quite silent when another woman, the manager of the National Museum, had guided them around the expo about recent history and had showed them how he had found the country when he first had fought his way in. Smouldering ruins, corpses, hunger and extreme poverty. The manager had explained she had read their article and that unfortunately they had been quite wrong. It was not the Sheikh growing rich from plundering West Tripolitania, it had been the country that had been benefitting from his development aid.

A total different follow up article was to be published in next edition.

Rosebud smiled up at him. He looked into those blue eyes, her hair a sexy after sex mess. Two weeks. Hell he was ready again. Yes this was it. Yes my girl like that...just like that.