"Paying My Debt"
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Prince Mustapha's Palace didn't seem like much from the lane, merely a portly building with prohibitive plastered walls pierced only by the gate and a few distinguished windows protected by fretwork web. The building was more of late whitewashed than its neighbors and the timber trim painted brilliant cerulean, but there was nothing to tip-off it held a contemporary Seraglio.
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A real harem, something that has fascinated the western mind's eye since the Grow Old of Discovery; stocked with women, servants, and artwork all enthusiastic to the pleasure of a lone powerful man. I didn't see the tall man waiting there until he spar.
"May I assist you, madam? I knew that the prince was Oxford educated, but in malevolence of a profound tan this operate had fair mane and light eyes. He wore the protracted, loose kurta and shalwar of the locale with an make public, making the pajama-like outfits seem elegant.
"I hope so," I held. "My name is Brunette Thompson."
"I'm Adrian Calendar, Prince Mustapha's individual secretary," he believed, bowing over my employee. I must have misread Darius' annotation. I was having a baby 'Russell' Thompson."
"Just Adrian, please," he understood. "Won't you have a seat?" The scope was set up as a divan, long benches scattered with gorgeous carpets and elegant cushions around three sides. The meeting point held low brass tables several hookahs, the circuitous water pipes of the eastern planet.
"So Darius sent a lady to tour the harem?" he unbroken. "How very spicy and how very resembling him." I'd wondered a modest about that in my opinion. The East is still very unquestionably a man's globe, even in the more mixed cities."
"About five days." The servant brought a brass pot and tiny matching cups, pouring scalding mint tea. We sipped.
"And are you a dominatrix? I almost choked.
"We call them 'facilitators,'" I corrected. "No, I'm Darius' chief designer and decorator. I carry out the 'concept' areas of the choice."
"Still, rather an curious job for a childish lady." His smirk was bland. Isn't that marker usually held by a eunuch?"
"Happily for me, the qualifications have misused a bit in up to date times," Adrian replied, location his cup down. "But you must be edgy to see the Seraglio. Shall we?"
I got to my feet and followed him down a short hall which terminated in a tall, shaped iron gate."
Adrian unlocked it and we stepped out into a copious center courtyard. The quad was spacious enough to crowd an ornamental fishpond with a bridge and an island crowned by a unlikely fretwork gazebo. In a bright corner, a young woman sunned herself in the naked, oblivious to the detail that a gardener was misting fill with tears over the cobbles a few yards not here.
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In spite of my crack about eunuchs—which I'd regretted as almost immediately as I'd made it—I was bowled over to see an smart young man close to the Prince's concubines, and Adrian interpreted my face correctly. "The attendants are mostly gay and also accept stringent conditions of employment—ones that seem to treaty well with their tastes." Raising his pronounce, he called, "Hassan?"
Hassan laid down his hose and walked over. The young man was slender, gloomy and doe-eyed, wearing clothes only in beach sandals and baggy fair trousers that rode subtle over lean hips. Adrian beam again and the lad dropped his drawers a lot enough for me to see a guy chastity belt. A metal coop up lined with biting looking teeth confined his penis. It vigorous loosely around his drooping member, but an formation would make it reasonably uncomfortable.
Adrian thanked the child, who smiled diffidently, pulled up his trousers, and went back to pinch the paving. The sunbathing young woman never even looked up.
"In set of circumstances you were wondering, the belt is honest in the back," Adrian thought, pulling my consideration back. 'But I accept as true it makes urination attractive. I've even considered some, but I've never encountered it in unaffected life, particularly as displayed by a scornful Brit. Damn Darius, anyway, for receiving me into this! Inside was a measureless sitting room furnished in the eastern design with large cushions of velvet and luxuriantly patterned silk spread across thick carpet. The carpets were gleaming silk, laid over each other irregularly and many layers entrenched in places. Scattered among the cushions were various amusements; books, cards, stuff of clothing and even jewels.
I glanced down at an commence book. It controlled a thin drip of elegant Arabic script and colored engravings of the species coyly called 'questioning' in rare manuscript catalogs. I couldn't glance at it, but needed no translation. Very elegant and probably a genuine antique, the perceptible plate showed a ménage a trois between two Hindu gentlemen of the Mogul period and a woman wearing jewels and little else.
Adrian motioned me on and I followed, or tried to. I'd dressed modestly—long sleeves and lengthy skirt—as befit a visitor to a in principal Muslim country, but had irrationally worn high strappy sandals, thinking they'd be cool. The disproportionate layer of carpets trapped the narrow heel of my sandal and I just about turned an ankle.
"Perhaps you'd improved dispense with your shoes, delightful as they are," Adrian not compulsory. "The floors are fully clean and we rarely wear anything but slippers in. I hesitated, and then under his watchful gaze, I toed my shoes off.
"Allow me," he murmured boldly, scooping up my shoes.
One long wall was hung with transparent curtains. Adrian drew one back, illuminating a large recess containing an gigantic feather bed, sheltered and draped in satins and perceptive linen. Numerous pillows were heaped at the rule of the twin bed, and a stamped ivory dildo uninitiated abandoned amidst the confused silks. It was double-ended and quite large. I stared.
"So regretful. "And each other, of course."
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