It was a case of mistaken identity. I thought I’d paid the right
person for the figs. I was wrong. Of course I was, or there
wouldn’t be a story, now would there?
The day was hot and arid as I strolled through the marketplace
in Samovar, Bykahnt. Don’t bother looking on a map cause Bykahnt
isn’t on any of them. It’s a slip of a nation between Yemen and
Saudi Arabia on the Arabian Peninsula and very oil rich. Between
you and me, I should’ve taken that left turn at Albuquerque.
The sellers hawked their wares – from fresh fruit to stolen
mummies – but all I wanted was some nice, plump figs. My
weakness, my passion. I love those fat little fruits and found a
withered, old man offering a dozen for two thents (two bits
American). I jumped at the chance, forked over my money to the
man and claimed the figs. A younger, old man started berating me
in a language I didn’t understand just as I popped one piece in
my mouth.
Robed, armed men came outta nowhere, surrounding me with rifles
pointed. The figs hit the sand as my arms shot above my head.
One swarthy, burly character grabbed one wrist and twisted the
arm high behind my back. He forced me to walk ahead of him
toward an adobe-type, brick building with heavy security. He
shoved me through the iron gates, prodded me into an open
doorway and pushed me along a narrow corridor.
He barked at the guard standing outside a closed door. The guard
stepped inside for a second, then returned and motioned us to go
in. The room was an office of some sort with huge desk in the
center and an equally swarthy man seated behind it. My escort
babbled to the man, what I don’t know, and took a step back,
jamming the barrel of his gun into my kidneys. The seated man
sighed, placed his pen above the papers he’d been scribbling on
and looked up at me.
“Rahjid tells me you are a thief,” he stated in unaccented
English and steepled his fingers. “Do you know what the penalty
for stealing in my country is? You lose a hand.”
“Look, I did not steal anything,” I explained, planting a fist
on one hip. “I paid for those figs. I gave the old man my two
thents.”
“Ah. What did this…old man…look like?”
I huffed. “An Arab,” I told him sarcastically. “What the hell do
you think he looked like? A fiddler crab?” The man arched a
black brow and waited. “He was the one with no teeth, instead of
the other old man with four. He wore one of those funky fezzes
on his bald head and had only six fingers…combined.”
“You should have handed the money to Young Ahmad. He runs the
kiosk you were arrested at.” I detected the wisp of a smile as
he amended, “Young Ahmad has four teeth, as you noted.”
“Well, can you chop off my left hand? I’ll need my right one to
sign the disability checks from the government,” I retorted,
staring him down. The wisp changed to a full smile and I hoped
he saw the humor in my remark. He spoke to the guard and waved
me away with the flick of a wrist. Rahjid snagged my arm
painfully, dragged me from the room and walked me along the
corridor. We passed several closed doors until he stopped in
front of the last one on the left. He shoved it open, pushed me
inside and locked it. “Nice digs,” I muttered, taking in the
plush decor.
The walls were a blinding white color and an enormous bed
dominated the room. I spied a large chest of drawers and an
armoire butting against the far wall, a partially shut door to
the right of me and two small tables on either side of the bed.
The sheets and pillows were maroon and navy blue, hinting that a
man probably slept here. Was it the man who questioned me? I
glanced around, trying to look inconspicuous as I strolled over
to the door standing ajar. I peeked inside and found a bathroom
with Jacuzzi. “Very nice digs,” I corrected myself.
I jumped at the sound of a man’s voice. “I see you’ve taken the
opportunity to have a look around,” he said. It was the
questioner and he carried a large wooden bowl. “Ms. Gail
Chesler, are you prepared for your sentence?”
“How do you know who I am?” I demanded, folding my arms across
my chest. “And just who’re you?”
“My father is King Hadid, which makes me Price Ahlan of Bykahnt
and I know your name because I approved your visit.” He walked –
no – strutted toward the bed and sat down on the well-padded
mattress, then gestured for me to do the same.
“What’s in the bowl?” I asked as I sat, narrowing my eyes to
slits.
He plucked a fat fruit out and held it to me. “Figs.”
I dried my sweaty palms on the knees of my jeans. “Is this going
to be like the time my mom caught me smoking and made me smoke a
whole pack in one shot?” I’d stuffed myself with figs a few
years back and all that happened was I got the worst case of
diarrhea in my life.
“Since you seemed unfazed by losing a hand, I thought of a
better way to curb your appetite,” the prince replied and
caressed the fig along my lower lip. I opened my mouth to ask
what and he stuffed it inside, giving me no choice but to eat
it. “One hour as my lover,” he stated.
“Hey!” I cried and received another fig for my troubles.
“Two hours,” he stated, a knowing glint in his deep brown eyes.
Swallowing, I clamped my lips firmly shut and willed myself to
stay mum. The capitalist side of my nature badgered me, telling
me this guy was a prince and I could be looking at Easy Street
by becoming his lover, if only for a while. The deal was, I had
questions I wanted answers to and whenever I went to say
something, he’d plopped another fig in my mouth. “Nothing kinky,
Gail,” Ahlan said and rubbed a piece against the seam of my
lips.
I jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom, locking the
door. “I have questions, your worship!” I shouted through the
door.
“Ask away,” he shouted back.
“Monetary compensation! Do I get paid? What about kids? What
happens if we mess up and I’m pregnant?” I yelled out the two
pressing details.
“I will settle a trust for you in say, a million American
dollars,” he called. His voice was clear and soft and I pictured
him whispering along the door, “If there is a child, we will
marry. There are no hidden surprises. For each fig you consume,
it guarantees us an hour of loving making as a man should love a
woman.”
I unlocked and tugged the door open. He leaned negligently along
the frame. He was an aristocrat with haughty good looks. I could
do worse. I -have- done worse! “You’re up two hours,” I said and
fished a fig from the bowl he still held, holding to his
mustached face. “Eat this and I get a free sample of how good
you might be in bed,” I informed him boldly. He snapped his lips
around the fruit, pushed it to one side and sucked my fingers.
Now I know why guys get so turned on when women do the same
thing.
Ahlan captured my hand, held it in place as he placed the bowl
on the carpet and sank to his knees. He worked the fly of my
jeans open and drew the denim over my hips. He withdrew my
fingers from between his lips, tucked his hands through the gap
of my thighs and buried his dark face against my pussy. I
grabbed for the doorjamb with both hands as he drove his
princely tongue far into my slit, licking me to an immediate
orgasm. My brain fogged over from its intensity and I gazed down
at him with unfocused eyes. Wiping the clotted cum off his black
facial hair, Ahlan asked rhetorically, “You are pleased with my
abilities?”
He reached over, removed a beautifully plump fig from the dish
and gingerly eased it inside my hole. He cradled the fruit with
two fingers, pressing all three along the ceiling of my pussy
while resuming his oralization. “Aye chihuahua!” I croaked when
his teeth grazed my clitoris and his pursed lips suckled the
nubbin fiercely. My legs buckled from the wild sensations
emanating up through my groin but Ahlan placed his free hand
against the small of my back to keep me erect. My body went taut
as a second, mind-numbing orgasm coursed through me. The fingers
and fruit disappeared out of my cunt and his highness shifted
his head from between my thighs. I sagged onto my knees, unable
to stand without help.
Scooping my limp form into his arms, he carried me over to the
bed and laid me down gently. He took off the rest of clothes,
then removed his own before resting his nude body atop mine. The
hardness of his cock brushed against my inner thigh and I
splayed myself for him. He grasped the crook of my knees in each
hand, raised the appendages high and plunged his erection firmly
inside my slick heat. His shaft felt slightly different as he
fucked me with long, penetrating strokes and I realized my lover
was uncircumcised. Looming above me, he rested my bent legs in
his crooked elbows, which gave him total access to every inch of
my sheath.
I dragged his head down and kissed him thoroughly, tasting
myself on his cum stained tongue. I found not one, but two juicy
figs pocketed in his cheeks and snagged the one in his left
cheek. I levered it to his parted lips and sucked the sodden
fruit from his mouth, only to have him fight me by sucking it,
too. Undeterred, I bit it in half and chewed my part quickly.
The prince’s thrusts became more urgent until he drove himself
as deep inside my pussy as he could and his cock jerked and
twitched. He smashed his slightly open mouth hard against mine,
slipping his lingual muscle quickly inside.
Hot liquid flooded my hole and Ahlan tipped my hips up to ensure
none of it dripped onto the sheets. The change of position
forced his thick shaft deeper inside me, causing my vaginal
walls to shudder anew. I tore my mouth free and gulped much
needed oxygen into my lungs, crying out with each breath. He was
incredible! All I can say is, figs anyone?