Getting up, she gathered pen and paper, then stepped out onto the balcony. Anyplace else, she might worry about putting on more clothes, but here, she considered being seen in underwear the least of her worries. It was dark out, getting late, and she hadn’t composed her lists yet.

She’d returned to her suite to find dinner waiting—a chicken salad plate and some fruit. Damn him, how did he know she’d been in the mood for something light after all the weird sex and weird talking?

After eating, she’d taken a long bath and started on her homework, rethinking the sex, bit by bit. Parts of it still freaked her out a little—but sometimes, she discovered, the things that had freaked her out were also the same things that had turned her on. And as she replayed it all in her mind, she tried her best to start thinking the way he wanted her to think—in dirty words. Instead of remembering the moment she saw his penis, she remembered the moment she saw his cock. Instead of remembering how he’d moved in and out of her, she remembered the way he’d fucked her. She still thought that was . . . silly at best, but for some reason she couldn’t quite determine, she wanted—more and more—to be a good student for him.

Peering out over the sea, where a nearly full moon shone down to make the water sparkle, she tried to laugh that off as a ridiculous reason, but the truth was—the man knew how to kiss. He’d kissed her better than anyone ever had.

Half an hour and lots of lusty, tingling memories later, she had compiled them, and though it had been difficult to be totally honest, especially knowing he’d see them, she’d succeeded. Admirably so, she thought.

She knew she probably could have thought of more, but she was tired—such strange sex had worn her out—and she wanted to go to bed. After folding the lists and putting them in an envelope, she wrote Brent’s name on the outside, called the front desk as instructed, then slid the envelope partially under the door, so she wouldn’t have to bother getting dressed to open it.

As she closed her eyes, she thought once more about the day. Had it changed her inside? Sexually? In other ways? It had certainly shown her a few unexpected things about herself, but in her mind, it was far too soon to recognize any far-reaching results. As for how on earth she’d been sucked into going forward with more of this, she wasn’t sure. As much as she’d loved his kisses, she would have liked attributing her cooperation to that as well—but she’d agreed, or not argued anyway, before he’d kissed her.

And maybe that was all the proof she needed to know this experience had already changed her, more than she could have conceived of just a day or two earlier—that seemed like a lifetime ago. Lord, how changed would she be after two full weeks of Brent’s fantasies?

Brent sat on a large ruby red throw pillow in the harem room, reading the invitation he knew Jenna had received a few hours ago—guides were always given a copy of their own invitations as a matter of course, allowing them to make sure everything was right.

The large area was draped in colorful satins and silks, jewel-tone draperies spilling down walls and drooping from the ceiling like waves. Thick carpeting covered the floor, which was home to mounds of various-size pillows in more rich, saturated colors, taking the place of furniture. To give a sense of greater dimension, the room had been built on two levels; three steps descended into a square “pit” to one side and stretched along its length. And Brent’s clothing, of course, fit the setting—he was the sheik, complete with a small white turban and billowing white pants. For this particular fantasy, he wore no shirt.

Around him, people bustled about, arranging pillows and adjusting lighting. He looked up to see two pretty girls enter the room in their harem costumes. The taller one, a shapely blonde, met Brent’s gaze and playfully jiggled her tits within the sky blue chiffon bikini-type top that held them. “You like?” she asked.

Yes, he liked, very much, and gave her a wink in reply. “Very nice, Sasha.” Sasha was twenty-eight and working at the Hotel Erotique while she wrote her thesis—she’d soon have a master’s in social psychology with a focus on sex roles. The girl at her side, Barbie, was in her early twenties and had a BA in psychology, but was busy rebelling against her parents for a few years—after which Brent expected she’d get a job in counseling, a plan that had been sidetracked when her rich father cut her off unless she pursued a more lucrative position in the field.

Just then, Ryan came in bearing trays laden with finger sandwiches, chocolate-covered strawberries and chunks of banana, and a ceramic jug filled with wine—he lowered the tray to the wide step just above where Brent sat. Brent had heard Ryan had waited on Jenna at the beach yesterday. “Food and drink for the new slave girl,” Ryan said with an easy wink. “Kirsten’s bringing the cups.”

“Good man,” Brent said with a nod. Ryan wouldn’t be participating in this particular fantasy, but Brent would likely pull him in later if he found a role he thought fit. For tonight, it would be only he and a number of female facilitators.

And it was good that he’d already planned to bring more people in on this second fantasy, since . . . shit, what had he been thinking, kissing her last night? He’d always been in full agreement on the rules about guides and guests, but now he understood why more than ever before. It was easy to get too involved, to start caring on a personal level. Worse, he was realizing just how easy that made it for the guest to get attached, too.

So what had he done? Kissed a girl who he knew was already prone to getting attached to people she had sex with. Smooth move, Powers. He gave his head a disgusted shake.

Just then Kirsten entered, carrying a tray of small ceramic cups without handles, designed with colorful Middle Eastern flair, which she lowered to the carpet. She looked stunning in red chiffon, rows of gold coin-shaped medallions draping from the bottom of her revealing top, her long dark hair pulled up in an I Dream of Jeannie ponytail. At thirty, she was one of their most skilled and experienced facilitators and would soon likely advance to being a guide. “Anything else we need?” she asked.

He looked around, then shook his head. “Nope, the sheik is pleased,” he answered teasingly.

When Kirsten walked away, though, his mind returned to kissing Jenna—and it forced him to remember the way those kisses had figured into her lists.

Otherwise, though, she’d done well, and a number of the entries had made him smile. No, sunshine, calling it an asshole is fine. Other list items had relayed to him in subtle or not-so-subtle ways that much of what he’d hoped to achieve last night had worked. She was learning to more boldly take pleasure from her own body, and to recognize taking that pleasure. She’d enjoyed aspects of the kinkiness involved—even though she might not fully realize it. She was learning to talk more frankly about sex, without shying away from language, and he was pretty sure she did get off on dirty talk—she just didn’t know that yet, either. And—key for right now—she was adapting well to obeying his instructions. She hadn’t even balked about making the lists—and he’d fully expected her to. Despite her general protests and arguments, she was becoming a much more malleable, docile Jenna very quickly, and that would aid his work immensely.

Tonight’s fantasy would expand on what they’d accomplished yesterday. The activities would again rely on discipline—on him taking a controlling role, compelling her to obey. And it would once more be about him using that control to make her take what he needed her to experience—but this time he wouldn’t be the only person delivering pleasure to Jenna.

So tonight she’d have to open up a lot, trust him a lot. He wasn’t sure she’d do everything he asked, but he hoped she’d find the boldness inside her that he knew was there—she’d greatly enjoy the harem fantasy if she could just let go of her inhibitions.

Moments later, the other players in Jenna’s carefully designed fantasy came in, greeting him and one another as they took their places. Music that fit the scene wafted softly from hidden speakers, adding to the sensual setting. Wine was poured into cups, and he saw Kirsten getting in the mood by rubbing her curves playfully, provocatively against Amira, a lovely Palestinian girl who was probably the most extreme case of a rebellious facilitator he’d seen in all his years here. She’d come as a guest while attending college at NYU, and she’d soon returned as an employee.

Nearby, he noticed Sasha settling her head into Barbie’s lap, both stretching out on plush pillows. Across the room lay a sensuous redhead, Lola, and a petite but busty blonde, Candy. Candy was new yet eager, and the more-experienced Lola had been a good teacher for her in the few months since her arrival.

In total, ten women lounged around the lush room in scant chiffon outfits, looking completely fuckable and making Brent’s cock begin to harden. Only a few would engage directly with Jenna, but all were necessary to set the tone and fully acclimate her to the fantasy.

Soon, the lighting dimmed—a signal from Ryan, hidden from sight, that Jenna had reached the dressing area to read her instructions and would soon enter the room. In response, Lola and Candy began to gently touch and kiss—falling easily, he noted with amusement, into their roles. Other girls lounged about, beginning to lazily run fingertips over the shoulders or hips of a fellow female facilitator. Sasha turned to playfully lick Barbie’s belly button, which happened to be encircled with a curling scrollwork tattoo. And Kirsten took a place beside him, hanging casually on his shoulder, her ample breasts rubbing against his arm.

When Jenna entered the room, however, his full attention shifted her way. She wore a pale yellow chiffon bra top, the bottom edge sporting draped rows of gold coinlike beads, and a matching skirt that rode low beneath her navel and sported side slits all the way up to the thick row of gold coin beads that served as a waistband. Numerous gold bangle bracelets circled both wrists and an elaborate gold necklace lay about her throat and the expanse of skin below. From her heavily made-up eyes to the way her curves peeked so enticingly from the bits of chiffon, she looked like a true harem girl—except for the shock in her expression.

As she glanced around the room at the girls touching one another, she appeared taken aback—but no one acknowledged her presence in any way, and Brent let her use the moment to begin adjusting to the setting, hoping like hell she could handle it and wouldn’t go running away. Her safeword tonight was, like all safewords, something that would never be uttered during this fantasy for any other reason than wanting out. He prayed she wouldn’t say it tonight—and realized he felt that perhaps a little too strongly. Besides wanting her to reap pleasure and proceed toward full sexual freedom, he also wanted to deliver that pleasure, see her feel it. The very thought hardened his dick still more, making it rise to create a tautly stretched tent in his loose pants.

When finally she looked to him, her eyes brimming with trepidation, he didn’t smile. As much as he would’ve liked to put her at ease, it was time to take on his role. Tonight he owned her. And she needed to understand and accept that if they were to move forward.

Becoming the sheik in mind as well as appearance, he studied her body unabashedly, noting that she might be afraid but her nipples pointed prominently through the soft top, and that while her cunt was covered by a curtain of chiffon, he could see she’d followed the instruction not to wear anything underneath. He summoned her, his voice low but exercising great authority. “Come sit beside me, slave girl.”

Timidly, she came toward him across the plush carpet on bare feet, and he hoped the chiffon gliding against her thighs as she walked added to her unwitting arousal. She knelt on the opposite side of him from Kirsten—who still clung sensually to his shoulder, watching the scene unfold.

Brent motioned to the step rising just above the pit, to the wine and food tray. “Eat,” he told her. “Drink.” And as she began to obey, reaching to pour herself some wine, Kirsten poured some for him, and even lifted a strawberry to his mouth in an example of unbidden slave girl subservience. He watched Jenna observing, trying not to react, and hid his amusement while willing her toward such eager submission, too.

As she ate one of the small sandwiches provided, he said, “I own you now, Jenna. You are bought and paid for, and your only purpose for existence now is to do my bidding. Do you understand?”

She drew in her breath, and he realized what he’d said was harsh, but for tonight, it was entirely necessary. Tonight they took a big step forward. Each night would be a big step forward—he had only two weeks to undo a lifetime of negative impressions, memories, and ingrained beliefs about sex.

When she didn’t answer immediately, he went on. “You are lucky I noticed your beauty and rescued you from the life of squalor you would live as one of my regular slaves. Here, in my harem, you will have every luxury. All that’s required of you is to serve and pleasure me in whatever way I demand.”

Meeting his gaze, she said quietly, solemnly, “I’ll try.”

And damn, he wanted to go soft on her then—but he couldn’t afford to. “No, you’ll do it,” he snapped. “You are a sex slave now, like it or not.” Only then did he allow himself to go a little soft. “However, there is much pleasure in it for you, too. Tonight, in fact, I am taking mercy upon you, planning to initiate you into my harem gently.”

“That’s . . . kind of you,” she replied, still cautious, but he could see her warming to her role now, just a bit—which pleased him greatly, both as her guide and as the lusty sheik who intended to force her into pleasure with or without her consent. Given his dominant tendencies, he’d always gotten into the sheik fantasy, perhaps too much.

“This evening,” he said, his tone still imparting full power, “all that will be demanded of you is to relax and let me enjoy you, however I see fit.”

He watched her suck in her breath, then whisper, “All right.”

So far, she’d eaten only two little triangle sandwiches, and he wanted her to have energy for what lay ahead, so he now did as Kirsten had done for him—he picked up a piece of chocolate-covered fruit and held it to her lips. She bit into the chunk of banana, sighing her pleasure at the taste. After she swallowed, he fed her the rest, gently slipping his index finger between her soft lips. She met his gaze and he knew they both felt it between their legs until he extracted his fingertip.

Normally, as sheik, he wouldn’t lower himself to feeding a harem girl, but Jenna was different. As a facilitator, he’d taken many women through the harem fantasy, and for most, now would be the time to push them to their backs and take them or to instruct the other girls to pleasure her, but Jenna required just the right care: hardness tempered with a pinch of softness, authority tempered with a hint of affection. And he knew from the look in her eyes that he’d just hit the right note to make her pussy surge with moisture beneath that sexy chiffon.

In response, Jenna reached toward the fruit tray herself, plucking up a strawberry and lifting it for him to eat. Despite himself, he could have sworn it tasted better coming from her. After swallowing, he closed his grasp warmly on her wrist, using his other hand to take the stem from her and cast it aside. Then he drew her index finger slowly, deeply into his mouth, sucking. Their eyes stayed connected the entire time, allowing him to see her pleasure.

Finally, he released it, saying, “Good little slave girl. You please me.”

“I’m glad.”

Next, he brought her hand back to his mouth to flick his tongue through the soft, sensitive valleys between her fingers, one by one—and he loved seeing that it excited her unexpectedly. He heard her breath catch; he felt his stiff cock tighten further.

Reaching up to gently stroke her cheek, now tanned from a few days in the sun, he soon let his fingertips skim downward, his touch just grazing her neck, then passing over her heavy necklace and onto the bared skin below. His fingers swept tenderly between her breasts, the flesh there also on lovely, curving display.

Raising his attention back to her face, he found a blush staining her bronzed cheeks. Maybe she was embarrassed to be touched in front of other girls. Or maybe she was just pleasured by his caress. Most likely both. But you have to get over the first, Jenna, to really experience the second.

So he pressed on, intent on forcing the pleasure to overpower the stigma of having strangers in the room. Intent on overcoming many other stigmas, too, but this was the one on his mind as he gently cupped the sides of both her breasts, raking his thumbs over those beaded nipples, a hint of their dark color visible through the layers of pale yellow. She sucked in her breath, sighed audibly. The fact that she willingly met his gaze the whole time caused a soft pride to swell inside him.

“You have perfect tits,” he said, not sure if he was being himself or the sheik. Another instance when the answer was: most likely both. Despite the staggering number of female breasts he’d seen in his life, he’d fallen in lust with hers last night. Although he’d known her bra size from her profile, they’d appeared plumper, rounder, than he’d expected, and now, it was important for her to know how lovely they were.

She flushed a bit more, but managed to say, “I’m . . . glad they please you.”

And he smiled darkly, gratified that she was getting into this, slowly but surely. “They’ll soon please me much more. You’ll please me much more. Won’t you, slave girl?”

“Yes,” she murmured, appearing breathless, still nervous—but that was okay. “I . . . wish to please you.”

“Good little sex slave,” he fawned.

Then he tweaked her nipples lightly, making her let out a pretty whimper, and glanced to his right. “Barbie, Sasha, come here.” It was time to turn things up a notch and hope she didn’t freak out.

Both girls complied, one kneeling on each side of him so that they all faced Jenna.

“Look at our new harem girl. Isn’t she lovely? Doesn’t she have beautiful tits?” His hands still framed them loosely.

Barbie answered first, casting Jenna a warm smile. “Very lovely indeed.”

“Mmm, sumptuous,” Sasha purred.

“I wish to kiss her neck,” he announced then. “Move beside her and draw her hair back from her shoulders.”

Sasha and Barbie obeyed—and Jenna’s eyes filled with uncertainty.

Yet as he placed one palm at the curve of her waist and leaned in to lower a gentle kiss to her neck, he felt her relax. In reaction to the second kiss, she even sighed. Inwardly, he smiled, sizzling with anticipation now—and despite her shyness, he began to feel more assured she would let his will be done.

As he skimmed his touch over her shoulder, her arm, he delivered more kisses—and she leaned her head back to accept them, letting out more pretty sighs in response. Did she notice when more light caresses came on her shoulders as his own descended, grazing over her breasts to the soft skin below? Did it dawn on her that he couldn’t touch her in that many places with only two hands?

Her eyes had closed, but he didn’t reprimand her, not yet—because she was doing surprisingly well, his Little Miss Sunshine.

When he relinquished kissing her neck and shoulders, he said, “Sasha, Barbie—last night, our new slave girl indulged in activities that might have left her back aching, so I want you both to massage her.”

Jenna didn’t even appear dismayed when the girls did as instructed, Barbie beginning to knead her neck and shoulders as Sasha’s palms molded to lower areas of her back. But she did open her eyes, meet his gaze, appearing languid and acceptant.

“Relax and enjoy, slave girl. Let this soothe your tensions,” he said. Then he turned to Kirsten, who sat waiting behind him. “Pour Jenna more wine.”

A moment later, Jenna accepted the ceramic cup willingly, taking a sip.

Good, he thought. This was going extremely well. It should, of course—he had years of experience at this. But given that Jenna was such an unusual case, he hadn’t been as confident of the outcome as he normally would.

When Jenna finished her wine, he motioned for Kirsten to pour still more. Sasha and Barbie continued rubbing her back, deeply, occasionally causing a small moan to erupt from Jenna’s throat. And elsewhere in the room, his other harem girls persisted in entertaining one another as well.

Finally, he took the cup from her hand and said, “Go lounge amid those pillows,” pointing toward a stack of cushions a few yards away. Sasha and Barbie withdrew their touches, allowing Jenna to lie back among the cushions, a sensual vision in yellow. Her eyes said she was ready for more, and if it was possible, his dick got stiffer. “Very nice, slave girl,” he told her when their gazes met again—as he, too, reclined, leaning back against a large red bolster, propping himself up on his elbow.

That’s when she realized. “You’re not coming? Over here?”

He gently shook his head. “There’s more than one way for me to enjoy you, and right now, I wish to do it with my eyes.”

Jenna drew in her breath. Things were changing here, too quickly. And it had already been so very much to take in: the rich colors and shadowy air; Brent’s cock standing at attention for all to see beneath those pants while a gorgeous woman clung to him; and, of course, all these girls making out and touching each other. At first sight, her stomach had squirmed. But at the same time, she’d been drawn to watch even while embarrassed by her interest.

Once she’d started getting used to that, it had seemed like . . . wallpaper, like something that blended into the background after a while, and things had grown easier when he began to caress and kiss her. Even when he’d had the two pretty girls massage her, she’d not freaked out—she’d had occasional massages at home and had told herself this wasn’t really any different. That was a ridiculous lie, of course, but it got her through it.

And now . . . oh God, what was going to happen? Was he expecting her to do what those girls across the room were doing? Just then, she let out a silent gasp because a glance at two women on the room’s higher level revealed that it was more than just kissing now—one was eating the other. And a glimpse of yet another pair shocked her just as badly—both were topless now, kneading each other’s breasts.

“Spread your legs and reveal your cunt,” Brent said. She returned her gaze to him to make sure—and yep, he was talking to her.

She felt much as she had at moments in the schoolroom yesterday—like maybe it was time to say her safeword. But then she remembered—Brent had urged her to say it not from fear, but only if she was truly displeasured. Of course, being asked to reveal her vagina to a room full of other girls could be viewed as something that displeasured her—but did it? Really?

She sucked in her breath at the answer.

At any other moment of her life, it likely would have repulsed her. But right now, in this room, with all these beautiful, sexual women . . . there was an unforeseen part of her that wanted . . . to be like them. Be one of them. So sensual and carefree. Following urges. Seeking pleasure. And besides, she still found herself wishing to please Brent.

So she tucked away the safeword in the back of her mind and met his gaze, a place where she always found . . . not solace or safety exactly, but something that gave her courage, urged her onward. Then she took a deep breath, reached down—still keeping her eyes only on him—and slowly drew the front draping of her skirt to one side, revealing first her thighs, then the juncture above.

She didn’t look down, though, because if she did, she might stop. Just keep watching Brent. Keep pleasing him. His masculine gaze truly fueled her. Enough to make her pull the swath of yellow chiffon completely away. Enough to make her slowly part her legs for him.

His eyes narrowed at the sight and he looked more lust-filled than she’d ever seen him. She prayed she wasn’t imagining it, because without that, without honestly believing he desired her, she couldn’t do this. His heated expression made her spread farther, and farther still, until she knew she was fully displayed, not only for him, but for any other woman in the room who cared to glance over.

“Barbie,” he said, “place this tray between Jenna’s thighs.” He motioned to the fruit-and-chocolate tray, and Jenna accidentally held her breath as the delicate, dark-haired girl approached a moment later, carrying out Brent’s command. She felt like . . . an obscene dessert.

“Now, girls,” Brent said, looking to both Barbie and Sasha, “I want you to taste her. I want you to stroke the fruit through her wet pussy and eat it.”

Jenna began to shudder lightly, unsure if it was from repulsion or the bizarre excitement of such an utterly kinky command. But she still didn’t say the safeword—and instead, it was Brent who began to speak, in a surprisingly soothing tone. “Jenna, I will take immense pleasure in this. And so you will do this for me, your master.” He arched one dark eyebrow, like a firm nudge, and somehow—somehow—convinced her to let this happen. Oh Lord, she truly was an obscene dessert.

As the blond girl in blue picked up a strawberry, Jenna kept her gaze riveted on Brent, but he gave his head a short shake. “Look down. Watch.”

With her knees slightly bent, she made herself glance downward as the pretty girl slowly raked the chocolate-dipped fruit through her most intimate folds. Jenna had mostly stopped shuddering now, but the new sensation made her tremble again, in—oh my!—a strange sort of pleasure.

She bit her lip, cautiously raising her gaze to see Sasha sensually bite into the moistened treat, then close her eyes, letting out a long, “Mmmm,” looking as if she were savoring it.

Next, the dark-haired Barbie, just as pretty and lithe, stroked a piece of banana through Jenna’s pinkness. Again, she watched. Again, she quivered lightly. God, it felt good. Shockingly good. But then, maybe any touch would right now. The way Brent watched her increased everything she felt.

Although she’d been tense and nervous when this had started, as the two harem girls continued to drag the strawberries and bananas through her cunt and eat them, purring in delight, Jenna began to relax more with each piece. She simply watched now, simply tried to accept the pleasure, shutting her eyes lightly each time it struck, then opening them again to see the girls eat the odd delicacy and let out soft moans. Soon, she was oozing with new moisture, especially when the girls swept the fruit over her clit. It had grown swollen; she felt the touches more and more each time.

Peering down, she saw that now Sasha’s fingertips, too, touched her, from the particular way she held the fruit. Was Jenna getting the girl’s fingers wet? And—oh Lord, why did that thought excite her? She’d never desired another woman in her life. And yet a stark, forbidden sort of arousal struck—coursing through her veins, and her pussy. Her own impassioned sighs now added to the sounds in the intoxicating room.

When she sensed movement nearby, she shifted her gaze to see Brent coming toward her. Her gaze locked on his, but in her peripheral vision, she couldn’t help noticing the size of his erection through those thin pants, and it compounded her yearnings. Her pussy pulsed now—she felt her heartbeat there.

Kneeling between her legs, beyond the tray, he didn’t smile as he plucked up a strawberry of his own and smoothly glided it deeply, oh so deeply, through her sensitive pink creases and over her clit in a way she felt even more than before. She watched him bite into it, chew, swallow. “Mmm, sweet,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

She wanted, more than anything in that moment, for him to kiss her, to fuck her, madly. Now her whole body pulsed, every cell suddenly screaming to be taken by him.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, he simply lay back next to her in the colored pillows and said, “That was lovely to watch, my little slave girl. And now, I want you to learn the pleasures of watching, too.”

With that, he pointed across the room to where the rest of the girls made out and caressed one another. “Watch,” he said again, because she’d lowered her gaze automatically. “Your master demands it, Jenna.”

Jenna took a deep breath. She knew she didn’t have to do this—she could leave at any time—but, God help her, she still wanted to please him, give him what he wanted, make him proud, prove herself worthy of his attention and desire. And so she focused on a group of three girls, all with their breasts bared, softly touching each other.

“That’s right,” Brent whispered low and deep. “Just watch, honey.”

That’s when a buxom redhead bent to lick the nipple of an equally well-endowed blonde. And just as Jenna began adjusting to what she was seeing, a dark-skinned girl clearly of Middle Eastern descent crawled nearer to take the blonde’s other hard nipple between her lips. The woman being pleasured let her head drop back in ecstasy for a moment, but then resumed watching the ministrations the same as Jenna did, beginning to stroke the hair of the two women suckling her. Jenna could have sworn she felt the suckling between her legs.

Especially when Brent, already leaning against her, slid his hand onto her thigh, gently caressing. Her pussy went crazy, just from that, and it was all she could do not to squirm and beg.

“Keep watching, Jenna,” he had to instruct her again, and she realized her eyes had dropped to where he touched her—and at the same time she noticed something new: a small tattoo on his upper arm, the initials D.L.

When she looked back across the space, though, the view left no energy for wondering what the tattoo meant. Now the dark-skinned girl had backed away and the redhead suckled the blonde harder, using both hands to squeeze and mold the woman’s large breasts. Soon the red-haired woman stretched out on her hands and knees, her face still buried in cleavage, the move encouraging the Middle Eastern girl to caress her now. Dark hands glided over the redhead’s slender stomach, until finally the Middle Eastern girl situated herself behind the redhead to sensually massage her ass through emerald green chiffon.

At some point, Barbie pressed a fresh cup of wine into Jenna’s hand and she began to drink, simply because it was there. Brent’s scintillating caresses continued on her thigh, making her crazy, but her gaze remained riveted on the unfolding scene across the room.

The redhead kissed her way down the smooth stomach of the blonde as the darker girl kneaded her ass, finally pushing the green chiffon aside to deliver tender kisses there. Soon, the redhead was pushing aside another chiffon panel, this one fuchsia, to lick between the blonde’s parted thighs. The blonde flinched and cried out her pleasure, and Jenna’s stomach swirled with strange, forbidden excitement as she took another drink of wine and felt her cunt throb. Brent’s hand caressed her mere inches away, but it felt like miles. Her swollen breasts ached for attention as well, and with every subtle move she made now, her chiffon top moved against her nipples, creating friction where she’d not noticed it before.

Across the room, the redhead ate the blonde vigorously, and the other girl now thrust two fingers into the redhead’s pussy. Moans filled the room, and Jenna realized—remembered—that there were yet other women pleasuring each other among the pillows. The one that had hung on Brent’s shoulder before now kissed another girl in a corner of the room, having pushed aside the girl’s top. And another group of three convened near the steps that led into the pit—one girl lay between the other two, having her pussy rubbed by a petite girl with long, coppery hair while another busty blonde bent to dangle a bared breast into her waiting mouth.

It was so much to take in, Jenna barely knew where to look. Yet now, somehow, she wanted to see. She wanted to somehow . . . wallow in the wonders of it, trying to understand why she wanted to watch, trying to understand the excitement it produced inside her.

She drank more wine and feared her pussy would explode if it didn’t get some attention soon. Brent’s slow, confident caresses were driving her mad. She still suffered the urge to beg him, but simply could not. She scarcely understood why—this was by far the most sexually free she’d ever felt, and the most aroused, but she remained unable to ask, to let him know what she desperately craved.

Still, her breath grew labored, and whereas her legs had naturally closed after the fruit eating had stopped, now they’d parted again, just as naturally, so that when she glanced down, she saw she’d put her pussy back on display.

She almost snapped her thighs shut at the realization—but she stopped, forced herself to keep them open. She couldn’t tell Brent what she wanted, yet . . . if she could just keep her legs spread for him, well, that alone seemed like a victory right now. Seeking a distraction from her own thoughts, she took another large drink of wine, draining her cup—and like an on-call servant, Barbie was right there, leaning over Jenna in her pretty chiffon to pour more.

It was as Jenna took the first swallow that Brent’s caresses finally—finally!—advanced toward the juncture of her thighs. Oh God, yes! She parted wider, instinctively, hungry—so hungry—to be touched there. Her whole being ached and she took another large sip, this time trying to drown her need somehow, slow it, weaken it. But it made no difference—she needed sex like she’d never needed it in her life.

When Brent’s fingers finally sank into her denuded pussy, she let out a guttural moan. At last. At last!

Brent’s pleasure flowed through his lusty gaze. “Does that feel good, slave girl?”

“Yes. Mmm, yes.”

As he began to stroke her, she moved against his hand, never even thinking to squelch the urge. Yes, yes, yes.

“Keep watching my other harem girls,” he reminded her, and so she stared as the dark-skinned girl bent to eat the redhead from behind even as the redhead continued feasting on the blonde. Jenna thrust rhythmically at Brent’s hand, and she discovered she also liked looking down, seeing his large fingertips buried in her pinkness, seeing the wetness she left on his hand. She would come soon, so soon.

But then—oh Lord, damn it, no—he drew his touch away!

She instantly whimpered, to which he responded, “Relax, slave girl—I’m not going anywhere.” Thank God!

And already he was repositioning himself between her legs, stretching out on his hands and knees—after which he met her gaze to say, “Spread wide, so I can eat this pretty pussy until you come screaming.”

She sucked in her breath, but didn’t hesitate to do what he said.

And then came the hot joy that permeated her being. He licked her from bottom to top, slow, thorough, ending at her clit, which he sucked into his mouth briefly before letting it go. She cried out from the powerful pleasure bolting through her—then watched him do it again, again. Each lick produced a wild burst of heat inside her, so intense she could barely absorb it before the next arrived.

As her own moans mingled with those of other girls, she glanced from the beautifully obscene sight of Brent’s face between her legs, wet now, to the forbidden liaisons taking place all around her. She thrust at his mouth, hard. And then she grew aware of . . . other hands . . . soft, feminine hands . . . on her arms, shoulders. Like earlier, Sasha and Barbie were gently caressing her, adding to the myriad sensations already assaulting her senses.

And then one of those small, feminine touches slid to her breast and she glanced to see Sasha skimming the back of her hand across Jenna’s hardened nipple through the chiffon. She wanted to be appalled—instead she was thrilled. Her breasts ached, needing affection, and it didn’t seem to matter where it came from at this point.

When Jenna didn’t protest, Sasha lightly cupped her breast and stroked her thumb across the sensitive peak. Oh God—it felt different than when Brent or another guy touched her there; it was very clearly the touch of a woman. And it excited her to take pleasure in that, so much that she gushed with fresh moisture for Brent below.

More, please more. She needed more of everything. She couldn’t ask for it—still, damn it—but she needed it badly.

Soon Sasha caressed one of Jenna’s breasts while Barbie fondled the other, and finally, Sasha pulled aside the chiffon, sighing in delight. “So pretty,” she murmured, sweeping the other chiffon cup away as well.

Below, Brent’s licks sliced through her wildly, and their eyes met over her bared breasts, and she saw in his gaze the fiery pleasure he took in what she was allowing to happen. It made her thrust harder against his mouth—hard, hard, hard—still taking in the gentle caresses the girls delivered to her tits, lightly touching, tenderly twirling her nipples between their fingers.

And then, oh God, it struck—the wildest orgasm of her life. As Brent had promised, she screamed as it barreled through her. She pumped at his mouth and thrust her breasts upward, still hungering for more sexy touches. She shut her eyes and let every hot pulse assail her, infuse her being, make her forget everything but coming, coming, coming.

And when finally it faded, she was ready to relax, recover—but before she could even process what had happened, Brent rose from between her thighs, his handsome face sticky from her juices, to say, “You did so fucking good, baby. Now get ready for more.”