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Exotic BDSM Erotica CollectionAnna Austin
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Anna Austin
Written by Anna Austin
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or over. ~~
We didn't know what to think when the Sultan's men came knocking at our door. We had always been a poor family, loyal to our country. There was no business that the Sultan could possibly have with us.
Understandably, our first reaction was fear. My brother's eyes shot open when he peered out of our window and saw them - they very obviously came from the palace. Their armor was elegant and ornate, their faces handsome and stoic. I'd never seen anything like them before - it was rare for the Sultan's men to make visits out here. Our village was quite remote, after all.
My father, who had made a living selling textiles alongside my mother, was hesitant to answer the door, though he knew that ignoring men of such a high rank could mean death. He looked to me, to my brother, to my mother. He heaved a sigh, nervousness palpable in his voice. His old, worn hand lay upon the door handle, and he turned it with the utmost reluctance. They'd been intimidating from afar, but up close these men were otherworldly.
They entered the house as soon as the door had been opened, pushing my father aside rudely. The Sultan's men apparently had no respect for commoners like us. I was about to speak up, but my mother placed a single finger over my mouth, not willing to let my firey temper ruin anything just yet.
Bowing slightly as she approached them, my mother fixed a sweet smile onto her face. I'd seen that smile plenty of times before - what a great actress that woman was. She gazed up at the leader of the men softly, batting her eyelashes as if to lessen her chances of death. We were all paralyzed - it was a terrifying situation that we'd been thrust into. My father was still in shock at just how harshly he'd been shoved away.
"Hello," My mother began, making sure that there was the correct amount of respect in her tone of voice. "What business do you have with us?" She grinned, eyes crinkling in an endearing manner. All that was left was to wait for their response.
My heart was racing - a few of the men had locked their eyes on me for reasons unknown. I looked down, looked up, looked at my father, anywhere but the men. I didn't care if it was impolite - this whole thing was just too scary for me. I wanted to dash upstairs and let my parents deal with the fallout, but I knew that I had to stand strong.
My name. As soon as I heard it leave the lips of the leader, I perked up. I had no idea how they knew my name, but there was no one else in my village with that name. It couldn't be a mistake.
"Me?" I blurted irrationally, feeling overwhelmed. My mind raced for an explanation - what on earth could these men want with me? I was nothing but a shop assistant, barely over 20. I sure as all hell hadn't committed treason. I wasn't needed for any wars. There was no conceivable way in which I could've stirred up trouble with the royal family!
"Yes. You're Emine, right?" The leader of the pack said, a bitter sort of sarcasm dripping from his dangerous voice. I nodded in response, complying to an exaggerated degree. The men had now shoved past my mother and were approaching me as a group. That feeling of utter terror was something I'd never in my life experienced before. I felt helpless, back against the wall as the rhythmic sound of their boots signaled their imminent approach.
"The Sultan has requested we bring you to him." The leader stated, his dark hand wrapping around my pale wrist. The difference in strength was astounding - there was no way I could escape this nonsensical situation. My eyes flicked between my parents, face a cry for help.
My mother's eyes were wide with fear, and brave though she was, she had to defer to my father. He approached the men timidly, though he'd puffed out his chest in a display of faux-defiance to show them that he didn't intend on letting them get away with this. Clearing his throat to capture their attention, he took his place alongside me.
"Excuse me? What does the Sultan want with my daughter?" He demanded, wrinkled face screwed up in worry and anger. I knew I would have to stop him if he continued down this path - my famous temper came from him after all. If he defied them consistently, it would mean his death. I couldn't let that happen.
"The Sultan has decided to honor your family by taking your daughter in as one of his concubines." The leader spoke, his voice unwavering despite the foul subject matter. There was a stern look on his face that suggested he truly believed in what he was saying - as if becoming a concubine to the Sultan really was one of the highest possible honors in our little world.
My mother's mouth fell open in disbelief, and my brother's eyes were wide with horror. They refrained from speaking, seeing as the Sultan's men had begun to withdraw their Yataghan, pointing them at my family. We shrunk at the sight of these weapons, suddenly a thousand times more afraid. We'd never faced danger like this before - I knew that I had to obey, no matter how much my father protested.
"Okay. I will come with you." I said softly, hanging my head as I took a step towards the man that still had his hand secured tightly around my wrist. I wanted to cry, but I bit my lip in defiance as I complied. My father opened his mouth to protest and was instantly threatened by a sharp blade against his throat.
"Why do you want my daughter, of all people?" My mother asked feverishly, hoping to find some desperate, last-minute way out of this fiasco. She stepped forward to perhaps stop the Sultan's men from taking me away, but she was stopped by my fear-stricken brother. "Why-?"
The men chuckled, yanking me forward. I yelped.
"The Sultan was in the area on business last week. I suppose he saw your daughter by chance and was enchanted by her." One of the men drawled slowly, grabbing my other wrist and holding on. "We can certainly see why - she's got a very nice body, after all. Shame the Sultan wants her all to himself." Another man grinned, a lascivious expression settling onto his features. I recoiled in disgust.
My father did not like having his daughter discussed in such a way, and he instantly charged forward. My mother did not react in time - the Leader's yataghan slashed a crimson stripe down his arm. I panicked, crying out in fear. There was a hand over my mouth and I felt something being tied around my wrists - a silk scarf. It was so tight that I could feel my veins throb against the fabric.
The men surrounded me and forced me out of my home as I wailed and cried against the hand that was keeping me muted. I was allowed a brief moment of pure, unadulterated screaming, but all too soon the hand was replaced with another silk scarf - it was tied around my mouth, pressing down firmly against my tongue. I was utterly helpless now.
Glancing backwards, I saw my mother's worried visage in our window. She looked utterly panicked, palms pressed against the glass as I was hoisted up onto the back of a camel. One man was sat right behind me, and I could feel his chest against my back. His arms extended on either side of me, holding the reins firmly.
All too soon, we were off, and I had no means of escape.
I knew little of the Sultan, save for the royal family's propaganda and the rumors I heard floating about in the village centre. He was handsome, and quite possibly one of the youngest Sultans in history. I wasn't sure of his exact age, but he couldn't have been too much older than myself.
Unfortunately, I'd also heard rumors about the ways in which he would abuse his concubines. He was into pain - I knew that much. According to a lady who I'd seen loitering about a produce cart, nothing turned the Sultan on more than seeing a woman squirm beneath him, utterly submitting her body to him. It sounded utterly dreadful.
I hung my head, the hot desert air making my throat dry. If only I could lose consciousness, then I wouldn't have to endure these dreadful racing thoughts. I worried myself sick over the ways in which he would potentially hurt me - would he whip me? I'd heard terrible stories of old concubines escaping the palace and fleeing back to their families, covered in horrid bruises and welts.
I knew not why he wanted me of all people - I'd never stood out in any way, shape, or form. My whole life had been spent in the care of my parents. I'd never done anything with a man before, because our village was tiny - there was never a chance for me to go out and meet men. Not that I'd ever had the interest.
I leaned my head back against the firm chest behind me, simply out of exhaustion. I could barely cope with the events unfolding before me. I was quickly wilting under the sun's heat, the stench of the camel making my nostrils twitch in displeasure. The one good thing that would come of this would be the decadent new lifestyle I'd certainly be thrown into.
I'd never seen the palace before, but there was a man in our village who had worked as one of the Sultan's soldiers for several years before becoming badly injured. He'd always told such tall tales that I found myself shaking my head in disbelief every single time. He told of the clean rooms, the lovely palace kitchen, the lavish lifestyle in which the Sultan indulged. Soldiers were not treated particularly well, but this man had told my family time and time again how much he missed those soft pillows and sheets, those warm meals.
I was looking forward to that, I supposed. Growing up in a poor family meant plain rice for most meals - I was used to it, but certainly I would've preferred something better. I had to try to see the bright side, since there was no way I could escape right now - at least, not in my current situation.
If I was going to be the Sultan's plaything from here on out, I might as well prepare myself mentally. I was doing this to spare my family from death. It was brave.
I talked myself into thinking that I certainly had to be one of the bravest women of my time, though I was completely aware of the fact that some Sultans kept dozens of concubines at one time. I wondered what those other women would be like.
The trek seemed to go on endlessly - the dromedary upon which I was perched made the occasional noise, as if to remind us that it was indeed a wild creature. We plodded through the dunes, hot wind brushing against my ears, flicking grains of sand onto my face. I felt as though I might be sick - not only was this heat utterly exhausting, but the situation was emotionally devastating.