He shuffled into the room, eyes downcast. He was stripped to his waist and barefoot. The cool night air caressed his naked chest causing his nipples to stiffen. His state of undress made him nervous and only added to his confusion. Yesterday, he had been just an American on holiday in the Middle East. Then, for merely dared to look upon the sultan’s wife, he found himself a guest in the sultan’s dungeon. He found it almost laughable and absurd that dungeons existed in this day and age. He was given no contact with the American embassy. No representation whatsoever. He fell asleep, cold and hungry, fearing that the next day would be his last. He awoke in a lavishly furnished room with several other men. None of them would speak to him, if indeed spoke any English at all, and his Arabic was comical. They all just smiled at him and went back to their conversations. It was a little after nightfall when they came for him. Now, a hulking guardsman paced, bull-like in front of him, a wickedly glint to the pistol holstered on his belt. The American was starting to fear that his roving eyes would be his death sentence. The mammoth guardsman stopped and stood directly in front of him. He could almost feel the hatred in the guardsmen’s scowl. “Stand straight! Head up!”
He got his first real look at the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries and the floor was covered with giant cushions and pillows in shades of satiny red. Several candles cast the room in a mercurial flame hue and the air was laced with a sweet and pungent smoke wafting from several incense burners. A large table stood in the middle of the room set with fresh fruit and wine.
“Wait here!” With that final command the guardsman stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him. He immediately turned his attention to the table. Even through the heavy aroma from the incense, he could smell the fruit. The smell made his stomach growl loudly.
Looking around the room, he cautiously stepped to the table and grabbed a handful of grapes. He popped one into his mouth. The pale green orb burst spilling its sweet juices over his tongue. Immediately, he was ravenous and all rational though abandoned him. His hands picked through the fruit tasting it all. He poured a glass of wine and drained it in one gulp.
“Isn’t it considered polite to wait for a lady before you eat?”
He whirled around to see the sultan’s wife standing in the doorway. In his famished state, he had not heard the door open. The seething guardsmen stood behind her, hand on the handle of his pistol.
“You dare eat before the Mistress! Yankee dog! You will die for your indiscretions!” The guardsman strode forward, a murderous look in his eye, but the Mistress’ graceful hand caught his shoulder.
“Abdullah,” she said soothingly, “It is alright. You may leave now.” Despite his obvious disgust, Abdullah slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The sultan’s wife watched the guardsman go and turned to face him. She was even more beautiful up close. He had only caught a glimpse before. Like him, she was American. She had fiery red hair, alabaster skin and luminescent green eyes. He had heard many stories of American women lured into the Middle East to populate the sultan’s harem.
Her sparkling eyes looked him up and down hungrily. He was taken aback by the pure lust in them, yet despite his apprehension, he could feel the stirrings of passion deep inside him. Her near transparent, red robes flowed in waves around her body. He could see the swell of her breasts swaying as she paced around him. Her smell was near overpowering. The aroma of the incense had all but disappeared. She smelled sweet, like the fruit he had just consumed. Now he was thinking of quite a different kind of consumption.
She stopped in front of him, standing close. She was shorter than he was and he could feel her hot breath on his chest. She looked up at him with her green eyes locked on his, a look of wanton desire on her face. He felt her graceful fingers trace up his side and over his chest, lightly grazing his nipple. She ran a finger along his jaw line to the corner of his mouth and then brought the finger to her own lips. Its tip glistened with the juice of hastily devoured fruits. She slipped the digit over her ripe lips and tasted the sweetness.
“Do you know why you are here?” He eyed the sultan’s wife suspiciously. He wondered if this was the part where he died.
“I assume it has something to do with my daring to look at you.”
“It was not just any look you gave me. You looked at me with hunger in your eyes…With lust.”
“And your husband took offense,” he finished. “I can see why. You are…breathtaking. But I have heard about the way he treats women. A beautiful woman is not a possession. She should be savored…worshipped.” She smiled briefly at him and then turned and walked to the table. Her fingers ran playfully over an apple, red as her full lips.
