'A moonlit night in the 21st century Harem.' by DLC's alyssa
‘The harem is the ultimate symbol of the Sultan’s power. His ownership of women, mostly slaves was a sign of wealth, power, and sexual prowess.’
Nigel read the Wikipedia page after stumbling upon it researching his piece on the history of oil and its impact and role in near every major event of the past 120 years.
His fingers road across his keyboard like the 20th century’s most prolific song writer George Gershwin tickling the ivories of a piano….’OiL…Petrol…Black Gold…Texas Tea….no matter what it’s called its presence was the undercurrent mirroring the rise and fall of nations, religions and geographical land-grabs by the powers that be and private multinational corporations in the post-war environment. Every strategy for so many of the major battles in World War 1 and 2 had oil reserves as the prize.
Sir Winston recognized its value fully aware the empire was a nation built and sustained on naval power. Early in the 19th century as Lord of the HMS Admiralty he ordered the conversion of all British battleships to that of oil-based generated power.
Had the hated symbol of evil in the 2nd World War not hesitated in his quest to conquer near at the same time both Stalingrad and the Ploesti oil fields of the Caspian and Black sea’s the 3rd Reich would have vanquished Russia and controlled what the knighted PM called the taproot of German might. Led by the RAF and USAAF precision bombing attacks in Operation Tidal Wave and others destroyed 90% of the valued Romanian oil production helping to shift the tide for the ‘Allied’ forces quest of global supremacy.
The OPEC alliance changed the landscape restoring power and pride to long standing Arab nations and their rulers reaping untold wealth on the off-springs children and grand children’.
Nigel Harris stopped writing to take a swig of bourbon from his flask commenting to himself out loud in a soft whisper ‘I like it…but I need to dig deeper…why have some offspring stayed true to their Arabian Islamic culture and religion and others left to spend their fortune in what can only be described as a hedonistic lifestyle’.
“Shhhhhh…it’s a library…not a tavern.”
A table away the grey-haired woman went back to reading shaking her head as though a mother reprimanding an errant child.
At 25 he had been a naïve yet enthusiastic reporter for the news corporation unaware that corruption and conspiring to intercept communications was common practice in the industry at the time. It thrived on gossip and innuendo and saucy photos. Aided by phone hacking-journalism caring little for facts in return for sales and subscription increases it left shattered lives and even innocent death in its wake.
Caught up supplying a few numbers that were hacked he was sentenced while the big shots fell behind the protective cloak of the wealthy Aussi owner. It galled him to see the head editor and her long flowing deep red locks suddenly tucked into a tight bun dressed conservatively day after day in court. She’d eventually be given a hand slap and a likely large payout despite the paper’s closing after some 150 years of toiling in trashiness presented as factual news.
The small sentence behind bars at a minimum-security facility essentially ended his news reporting yet now near 9 years later he knew if he wrote a piece worthy enough it could restore his once promising journalism career as an independent author.
Sitting in the library had been a source of inspiration since the days of his youth. Despite the proliferation of the internet there was something about being surrounded by rows of books that touched his soul inspiring him to write. His eyes went back to the laptop screen and pulled up a page that had the names of the 10 largest Harems in history.
“Kings and Sultans …wow even Gengis Khan had one…I wonder if it’s true?”
His mind dwelt on what he overheard sitting in the Castle and Elephant pub a few weeks back. The barkeep’s rumor whispered to Nigel had it a wealthy young Saudi Arab named Bashim had his interloper come in searching for attractive females that could be scurried away and brought to a Caribbean retreat that had a 21st century Harem. Still under the UK’s rule the British Virgin islands had been a haven for the wealthy for decades.
Nigel thought to himself ‘now that would be a scoop…writing a lengthy piece on a modern-day harem’.
He knew he shouldn’t yet like always that never stopped him looking around he punched in the two words on the laptop’s keyboard ’Pornhub Harem’.
Her elbow resting on ‘Wuthering Heights’ the older female septuagenarian the next table over had a stack of books of famous female English authors nearby while she read one.
Within seconds 4 different women on the screen slithered their way past the sheer covering surrounding the sleeping quarters of the porn-star ‘Sultan’ moving to the lush floor-bed in the area. Each removed their mesh Face Veil and top as their hips swirled teasingly in the sheer harem pants before they too gave way to total nakedness.
Wasn’t it every male fantasy to be surrounded by submissive women that only wanted to please? Nigel’s hand slipped inside his trousers and thong despite being in the environment of the public library he started caressing his penis. Just then a screech of sexual urgency came from the laptop screen…..’ewww master you’re so hard’.
He quickly pulled his hand out realizing the sound had in fact not been muted as he thought it had. Reading a dusty copy of Charlotte Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre’ the 70 year old woman looked at him aghast at hearing the sounds.
The commotion was enough to end his brief flight of fantasy. Irritated he possessed a membership the head librarian of the London Library located in St. James stepped silently to his table. The words came out in a soft whisper.
“Excuse me sir ….we’re closing in 5.”
Looking at the hanging clock centered between the authoritative pillars he saw she was off by 25 minutes. Collecting his things Nigel walked through the hushed corridors leaving the library to the joy of the older woman who’d been anxiously reading about the orphaned Jane and the cruel aunt who’d cast her out.
Throughout the night the dream kept rolling around in his mind a bevy of scantily dressed beautiful women of all races in the harem would move around the area in the spacious palace.
Upon waking Nigel found his hand inside the pair of lacy knickers. A byproduct of moral ambiguity he’d taken to the joy of the satin-like feel only women’s underwear produced.
Caressing his morning stiffness Nigel just edged resisting the urge to cream knowing it was too much of an energy drain so early in the day. Like so many addicted to it these days the first thing he did was to turn on his I-phone to check his messages and emails.
The garden level studio flat dwelling was so tiny he could sit on the seat in the loo with the door open and turn off the whistling tea kettle on the stove.
“Oh good Jeremy wants to see me…..we’ll meet at the same pub I hope he brings me my check.”
Seeing the pricey red Bently pull to the curb was enough to stop Nigel in his tracks as the three females exited to stand as though waiting for their master. The head scarfs of a 'Hijab' covering everything but their eyes blew in the breeze on all three women as the driver held the door open. Unlike the form fitting western culture clothing the traditional dark colored 'Jilbab' fulfilled the caveat of the Quranic choice. The outfits defied their purpose when the wind pressed the garments to their skin highlighting the shapely forms and full breasts.
The tall muscled up male looked to be a mix of both British and Saudi ancestry as he ducked his head when getting out of the luxury automobile. A brief ‘thanks’ was directed to the chauffeur.
It came out as a grunt pointing his finger the chauffeur hustled the three in to the upscale boutique hotel as the lone male remained behind on the street looking at Nigel as though assessing him for a reason.
At 5’ 7” the thin framed Nigel could almost feel the piercing eyes as his fight or flight response kicked in. Never a fighter for obvious reasons rather more of a talker a shiver went down his spine on the male’s approach. The silver-plated cigarette case was pulled out with him looking to Nigel for a light of his fag. Using it when needed a British accent spoke out.
“Names Ahmed…appreciate the light….would you like to get a drink…I need to hear a male’s voice after all the feminine chattering that’s been filling my ears on the ride back….we’ll put it on my hotel bill….I’m staying adjacent to the Castle pub.”
Even though he’d just met with his friend Jeremy and secured the latest stipend for his research project Nigel nodded his head after pushing his longish hair behind his ear. Like so many in the press and field of journalism free drinks had its appeal.
“Sure I’m Nigel…I’d be glad to give you some company….I thought women like that kept silent.”
A smile on his face Ahmed spoke as they walked into the pub next to his place of lodging.
“Maybe a hundred years ago…not these days…women like this even though kept sheltered no longer suppress the need to talk.”
He stopped and added to his comment.
“…though my Sultan Bashim has a way of silencing them once secured in his harem.”
Nigel couldn’t help but think the universe was delivering. It was his belief that what ever one’s mind dwells on shows up in his life. In the case of Nigel his desire to learn more about Sultans and Harems and the world of oil money had sparked the light that had the moment of serendipity now in front of him.
Sitting at the back table in the pub he saw how deferential the Arab was treated. Ahmed caught the site of the lace thong peeking out as Nigel moved to sit down. He knew some British males had a certain thing about wearing female clothing including underwear. It made Ahmed feel good about trusting his instincts when it came to choosing.
The conversation as so often happens when strangers meet went into each other’s past history.
“British mother Saudi father…I was educated at Cambridge…a foot in both worlds I met my future employer Bashim at university. A similar back ground as mine yet among other things he has a billion pounds worth of reasons that separate our differences.”
As the conversation loosened up the more drinking they did Nigel went on about his latest piece of research. As a rule the 45 year old Ahmed had a distrust for journalists yet his superior mind was looking for a way to leverage what Nigel was telling him.
He had secured the latest batch of 6 females and two t-girls to be brought by private jet to the island hideaway yet one more in the category was lacking. His Bashim though not truly a Sultan in the traditional sense had developed a taste for trans-girls to round out his harem.
There was something about taking a male and turning him into a woman living in his harem that turned him on. To have him take on the bodily features and characteristics of a submissive woman while his masculinity faded the longer on estrogen was just a game of power one with wealth can play at.
“So those beauty’s I saw…they’ll be brought down to the Caribbean islands…how come if it’s a harem it’s not back in Saudi Arabia Ahmed?”
“Shhh don’t tell anyone…”
He stopped and laughed out loud bringing a nervous chuckle from Nigel.
“…but he’s not all that religious besides that he hates all the sand and ungodly hot temperatures. His parents wrote it off to his time spent away in the grip of western culture. Bashim’s grown to use to seeing women in expensive pretty lingerie and makeup that also shave their underarms.”
“If I may ask how many girls are in his harem?”
“While some favorites remain he swaps a number out every year…hence I’m tasked with finding knew women. …I guess Bashim just gets bored seeing the same vagina…having said that I never have a problem finding willing participants. Lately he has had a taste for British, French and Swedish girls…last year it was girls from Turkey, Iran, Lebanon and Egypt. ”
The side door entrance from the boutique hotel to the pub opened with the front desk clerk bringing the envelope over to Ahmed. Opening his billfold in anticipation of tipping the Arab made sure Nigel saw it bulging with its crisp hundred pound notes.
“Thank you sir.”
Accepting the generous tip the cheeky looking young girl smiled back as she left.
Nigel could feel himself getting a little tipsy as he returned from the loo. As a former reporter his want was to keep asking probing questions.
“You know Nigel the thought occurs to me should you want to know more about a close up view of one who grew up wealthy from petrol or oil it might be an unique opportunity…you should come with me….you did say you’re free…just getting by living in the small flat paying month to month.”
Nigel thought about it and decided on the spot to accept.
“Sure….why not?...I could use a change of scenery in a warm climate besides learning more from Bashim would be an interesting experience……So you said willing…I mean the girls.”
“Oh it will most certainly be an interesting experience with Bashim….Yes willing we have all the single girls sign off on a documents that clearly grants their approval…many have their families if need be given a lump sum….let me ask what is your favorite French girls name?”
“Hmmm I’ve always fancied Gigi.”
“Ok so Gigi it is….”
Ahmed pulled out the envelope and spread the paper document on the table.
“Ok the name Gigi…your last name you said it’s Harris…we’ll write Nigel then cross it out and put in ‘Gigi Harris’…did I mention we like to use a little sedation for the trip down ..”
Smiling Ahmed looked at Nigel.
“So ‘Gigi Harris’… do you agree to join our group and sign off on the agreement knowing you’ll be taken care of in the same manner as the others?
…every need to be addressed while discovering new ones as well…..if so sign here.”
The silver ‘Cross’ pen lay there for the taking. With a hint of apprehension mingling with a feeling of excited anticipation Nigel picked it up and put the signature to the paper using the name Gigi instead of Nigel.
“Very well then consider yourself under my authority…Alfred my check …put it on my bill and give yourself a hundred times 3.
“You got it Ahmed…thanks.”
The name in its original Arabic meant ‘Goddess of love’ to see the 41 year old Ishtar one couldn’t help but agree at the sight of her beauty. Gigi wasn’t sure what the kind of sedative was he’d taken he just knew he felt docile and compliant as they readied him for the trip.
Ishtar was the woman in charge of preparing the group she silently chuckled when seeing the lace thong Nigel had worn as his clothing was removed.
Clapping her hands commanding in its sound she raised her voice.
“Najila…Kayla…Nura in the shower with you…take our girl…smoothness all over before being made chaste…..Sahar prepare the powders and brushes for afterwards…..have Rhianna and Shakira assist in dressing ”
The two 20-something females reverently bowed their heads taking a passive Nigel into the large bathroom. His body seemed to be absorbing the estrogen in the room unaware that the sting to his butt cheek had given him his first dosage of female hormones and t-blockers.
The only night he had ever seen a real t-girl had been when a friend and him went to Pink-Punters the popular t-girl hangout during ‘Pride’ week. The buzz floating through his body felt deliciously numbing. Being washed by the beauties his eyes looked down seeing the naked penis before they lifted to see the perky pair of b-cups on the t-girl Kayla. It was hard to believe she had ever spent any time as a male. Being Swedish Kayla had been told her natural long blond hair would please the ‘Sultan’
The delicate touch of the hands swished and swirled around his face and hair soon powdered and perfumed his face was awash in makeup with a feminine hairstyle being made of his shoulder length hair. Gigi held still as the stern looking mother hen of a woman Ishtar secured the chastity cage on his flaccid penis.
Toes polished red peeked out on the strappy 3” heels. The billowing sheerness of his harem pants and top was soon concealed in the same dark black color of the Hajib head scarf and full body cover jilbab he’d seen on the females getting out of the Bently.
Ready to leave he could barely address Ahmed. The moment the words slipped out of his mouth the large male slapped his face.
“Harem girl learn your place….you speak only when allowed.”
Remaining silent Sahar and Shakira the other t-girl besides Kayla scurried Gigi out through the hotel room door.
The next thing Nigel remembered was the private jet losing altitude dropping down with sunlight coming in one side of the airplane’s windows. Below he could see the telltale sign of palm trees on the remote location near the British Virgin islands.
Part of a volcanic archipelago in the Caribbean the collection of islands was known for its reefed lined beaches and desired seclusion. Through a secret trust the 42 year old Bashim the ‘Sultan’ has bought the private island. The touch-down welcomed the group of females and t-girls to a place they had never seen with a new life awaiting them as sexual playthings in a harem.
End of part one…