In the Heat of an Eastern Night – a short, erotic story

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(Warning: this story is only suitable for 18 +)

The heat of the city had been intense and he was relieved to be back in his hotel room, even if the only cooling method available to him was an antiquated fan spinning slowly from the ceiling. He would not have swapped his room for one in a luxury five star hotel, with air conditioning, however, for this one had character and style, with its arches and elaborate decoration and an inner courtyard in which a fountain sprayed water two feet into the air, which was full of the smell of spices, and heady eastern perfume.

He loved this part of the Middle East, with its unique mixture of old and new rubbing along together and occasionally crashing into each other in a tantalising and exciting way. Some western businessmen hated the fact that they had trouble with the Internet and phone connections from time to time, and that the electricity supply was erratic at best, but he was not concerned. So what if he could not contact his office in London? There was always tomorrow or the next day. Time had a different resonance here, and life continued at its own pace, unhurried and with the sure knowledge that there was always tomorrow.

Of course, finding a woman in this part of the world was fraught with difficulty, if not impossible, in a country where women were hidden beneath their veils and behind the high walls of the courtyards surrounding their homes, and where he only knew of their existence by the occasional peals of laughter that rose above the high walls into the street beyond, or by the sight of veiled females alighting from cars with darkened windows, and hurrying into the shops and boutiques of the city. No doubt at home they would get to wear the colourful dresses and jewellery which they purchased, knowing that they would only be seen by the family members within the home. He sighed. It looked likely that his visit to the kingdom would be a celibate one as usual and the women hidden behind the walls would remain just a passing fantasy for him; forbidden fruit, about which he could only dream.

A light tap came on the door, and he opened it to find Omar, the hotel handyman; a swarthy man who could supply most of the wants of the guests of the hotel, but who rarely uttered a word more than necessary. True to form he merely nodded at him and said just two words, “Come Sir.” He assumed that he was being requested to go down for an early dinner, so obeyed the request and followed Omar down the stairs and into the courtyard, now lit up with a couple of lanterns hanging from a small tree growing in the corner. However, Omar did not stop in the courtyard, but headed for the door leading into the street. The man followed, somewhat mystified.

They walked about one hundred yards before Omar stopped at a large, wooden gate and knocked twice. A door set into the massive gate opened and they were beckoned inside. The man followed Omar unquestioningly, despite his puzzlement about why he had been brought to this house. They walked through a fairly unimposing outer courtyard and along a corridor until a doorway led them into another smaller, enclosed courtyard where a wrought iron table had been laid with just one place setting. The man was puzzled, but when he turned to ask Omar why he was here, he found that the handyman had silently disappeared. He was alone in a rather pretty area, which was gently lit by several small, coloured lanterns set among the palm fronds in clay pots, and beneath a fig tree growing in the centre.

A moment later a slight noise behind him made him turn. Coming towards him and carrying some bowls of food was a woman, but not just any woman. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, with large, dark, kohl rimmed eyes, and plump luscious lips, and with thick, luxurious, dark hair cascading around her shoulders and down her back. She was barefoot and was wearing a simple, long, gown, made of cream silk which covered everything, but also revealed everything too, as it clung delicately to the curves of her body, revealing the soft roundness of her breasts and her shapely hips. The breath caught in his mouth as he watched the woman place the bowls on the table and pour out a glass of wine for him from the flagon.

She indicated for him to sit, and when he did as she requested, she stood, silently, at the side of his chair. He pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the table, expecting her to join him, but she remained standing.
“Who are you? Why am I here?”
She smiled, enigmatically, but said nothing, and merely knelt and gently removed his shoes, placing a soft cloth under his bare feet. She rose to her feet and began to spoon fragrant rice and spicy meat from the bowls on to his plate, before kneeling down beside his chair in a classic submissive pose.

The man began to eat; still puzzled about why he had been brought here and who was this beautiful, enigmatic woman. He heard some soft, Arabic music in the background, with its hypnotic rhythm, and could smell an unusual perfume hanging in the warm night air, which would forever remind him of this night.

When he had finished eating, the woman stood, and spoke for the first time in almost perfect English, and with a soft voice.
“Come.”
She held out her hand, which he took, and led him to a couch in the shadows of the courtyard, which he had not previously noticed. He sat, but the woman remained standing.
“Would you like me to dance for you?”
He nodded, having ceased searching for answers from her, and simply accepted what was happening to him. The woman began to dance, slowly at first, and it became clear that she was naked under the silk gown, which slithered seductively over her skin as she began to rotate her hips to the sound of the music. His cock, which had come alive on first seeing the woman, now hardened still further as the sensual dance took place in front of him.

As her dancing became more energetic, the woman paused and lifted her gown, removing it over her head, and, as expected, she was completely naked beneath. The man could not help taking a large gulp of air as he studied the perfect body of the woman, still dancing in front of him. From the lusciously rounded breasts, to the slim waist and the generously curved hips, which, when she turned, revealed perfectly shaped buttocks. He began to wonder if he had fallen asleep in his room and was dreaming. Surely this could not be real?

The woman ceased dancing and walked slowly towards him, her hips swaying hypnotically as she moved, before sinking to her knees in front of him. She looked up at him with her big, brown eyes and smiled.
“Would you like to spank me?”
The man’s cock hardened like steel. Surely this could not be real? Unable to speak, he nodded his head, and the woman climbed over his lap, positioning herself expertly so that her hands and feet barely touched the ground on either side of his legs, with her peach-like bottom awaiting his hand. He ran his palm over her warm, caramel-coloured skin, and remembered that, in this part of the world, it is considered highly offensive to refuse a gift, or to scorn a host’s hospitality, and he had no wish to offend anyone – no, he had absolutely no wish to cause offence.

He raised his hand and brought it down sharply on to her bottom, noting the slight vibration of her flesh as he did so, and the satisfyingly crisp noise of his palm making contact with her cheek. He proceeded to bring his hand down, alternating between the left and right cheek, building up a steady rhythm as he did so. The woman’s body pressed against his cock and she would be left in no doubt, from the hardness pressing against her, as to his increasing levels of pleasure in performing this act. The woman’s only response was a soft groan with each stroke, and the dampness on her inner thighs, now visible in the lantern light, made him certain that she was enjoying the performance too. He paused briefly to slip his hand between the woman’s legs, and penetrated her with a finger and covered it in her juices, which were flooding from her and seeping down her thighs. Yes, there was no doubt that she wanted this as much as him. He resumed his spanking.

The woman raised her head after around twenty hard strokes from his hand and turned her face towards his. He could see the desire written all over it, from the slightly open lips, to the look in her eyes, and her laboured breathing. She slid off his lap so she was once again kneeling at his feet. He knew she was waiting for him to move first. Without saying a word he stood up and removed his pants, before holding out his hand to help the woman to stand.
“I want you so badly,” he moaned into her ear as his lips brushed against her neck.
“Then take me,” she whispered back in a delightfully, throaty voice.

The man laid her down on to the couch and looked down at her with intense eyes as he removed his shirt, until he too was completely naked. He paused for just a few seconds to appreciate the body that lay before him, before lying down on top of her and taking her with one swift, hard thrust. The time for gentleness was gone. Now was the time for hard fucking. With each strong thrust the woman gave a groan and pushed back in equal measure, determined to take all of him. There were no words, no loving kisses, just the sounds of two people intent only on the primitive human act of sexual congress.

The woman began to moan and he knew that she was close to her climax, and hoped that he could hold back until she had reached it. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her long nails scratching the surface as she finally reached her peak, calling out as she did so. The man increased the speed of his thrust and followed her into sexual ecstasy just moments later, releasing himself inside her. For a few moments they lay in silence, their hot, sticky bodies bonded together, before the man raised himself and allowed the woman to get up from the couch.

He began to dress, and the woman reached for her silk dress and pulled it over her body, before retrieving the man’s shoes and replacing them on his feet. As if by magic Omar suddenly reappeared, and the man wondered if he had been watching them from a dark and secret corner. His words were once again brief and to the point.
“Come, Sir.”
The man turned to the woman. What could he say to this beautiful woman who had made one of his long cherished dreams come to fruition? He took her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing them against the back of her hand and whispered to her.
“Thank you.”
The woman smiled, but said nothing.

That night he lay sleepless in the heat of his room, on top of the bedding, and went over the events of the evening in his mind. There was no logical explanation for what had occurred. He had neither sought nor expected it. Who was the mysterious woman, and why had he been taken to her?

The next day was to be the last day of his visit. He was expecting a call from the office of the Crown Prince to say whether they had accepted the terms of the business deal he had been negotiating for the past three days. He did not have to wait long, for a messenger for the Crown Prince appeared and asked if he would accompany him to the Royal Palace.

To date, he had only dealt with the Prince’s agent, but was told that the Prince wished to meet him in person to confirm the acceptance of the deal; one that was important to both of the countries that each represented. He waited for a few minutes in an outer office, before he was shown into a lavishly furnished inner office, and from behind a large, walnut desk, rose the Crown Prince, who seemed delighted to meet him and smiled while he shook his hand.
“I am pleased to inform you that my father, the King, is delighted that we have agreed terms and we look forward to working very closely with you on the project, which is very important to us.”

The man smiled. He was relieved that the deal had gone through, although he felt that it was of much greater importance to the King than it was to his company. But diplomacy was vital and he never conveyed this thought in either word or deed. As they were shaking hands the door to the office opened and a woman entered the room. The Prince turned to her.
“Oh my dear, you have come at just the right moment. Please come and greet our guest.”
The man’s knees felt wobbly and it seemed as though there was a rock in the pit of his stomach. He could not believe his eyes, for there in front of him was the woman of the previous evening. She was the Princess, the wife of the Crown Prince.

The woman approached him, and nothing in her demeanour indicated any alarm or shock. She had clearly been aware that he would be in the room with her husband. The man tried desperately to keep his face impassive as he bowed his head at the woman before him. She did not extend her arm for a handshake, for this was not the custom of her culture, but she gave him a warm smile, and he caught a whiff of a familiar fragrant perfume that he recognized instantly.

The meeting with the Prince was now deemed to be over and he walked his guest to the outer door, calling for his assistant to walk the man out of the Palace. He paused in the doorway and, out of earshot of everyone else, he leaned closer to the man and whispered a brief message to him.
“I hope you enjoyed your gift.” He paused to let the message sink home, before continuing. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, and I wish you a safe journey home.”
Then he turned back into his office, and the door closed, with the man just catching a final glimpse of the beautiful woman of his dreams standing and looking at him.

If you have enjoyed this story, please leave a comment below.  NB If you are reading this on the rolling page, you need to click on the title of the post to reach the static post, where you will find a comment box.  Your comments are important to me.

(Photograph by Shutterstock)

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