[
Note: this is an entry in an "
exactly 750-words
" writing exercise.
]
I whimpered as the attendants hung me from the ceiling. My feet didn't reach the marble floor. I felt the strain of the restraints on my arms as I dangled there.
The sheik, tall, muscular, commanding, entered the chamber and was handed a many-thonged hand whip. He used it—not cuttingly but stingingly—while he engorged, taking breaks to kiss and touch my welts, as I twisted and writhed and whimpered and sobbed and occasionally cried out in pain-pleasure. I surprised myself. The whipping aroused me. Sometimes my cries were to beg the sheik to fuck me, knowing what was expected of me, what he was paying for.
When he was erect, he mounted my hips from behind, thrust his cock up inside me, and fucked me hard.
He wasn't done. I was the sheik's slave for the afternoon, and he did what Arab sheiks apparently had done for centuries with their slaves. He screwed me royally. It was all about