The Desert King's Captive

“The Desert King's Captive,” Alison tells me shyly. “It's the one with the Arabian Emir whose men kidnap the wrong woman, by mistake.” I vaguely remember skimming through the book and reading the section where the heroine is sent to the king's lavish bedroom for him to play with. At the time I hadn't realized that the terrified blonde American hadn't been the Emir's intended target, and some of the conversation between the two now makes more sense. Not that the mistake matters, because the young woman - freshly bathed, shaved and oiled - is made to fill in for the intended target of the Emir's lustful desire. It does not take long before innocent virgin is carried to the Emir's luxurious bed, her legs are pried apart and her captor's tongue is lapping at her hot young pussy, taking her to pleasurable peaks that she has never before experienced.

“Then who was supposed to be brought to the Emir's bedroom?” I ask, wondering silently what it is in particular that makes this book the one that my young tenant finds the most exciting.

“Her college roommate, an Arabian princess who had once been promised to the brooding Emir.” I nod in understanding. “That's what makes it so intense, Mr. P.” Alison's doe-eyes search mine as she tries to answer my unspoken question. “The heroine of the story is in the UAE as a bridesmaid for her best friend's wedding. She only agrees to swap rooms with her friend so the bride can spend some quality time with the groom, but she ends up being **** from the bridal suite and finds herself at the mercy of the very man her friend dumped when she met her new fiancé.”

“So, this Desert King fucks the innocent American instead of his ex-fiancée?” Alison's cheeks brighten and her fingers twist together on the table, but her gaze never leaves mine as she nods her head.

“He does.” Her voice is low and husky, “The Emir is surprised to find the scantily clad heroine in his bedroom instead of his former fiancée, but when he learns who she is, he blames the America for his intended's decision to break off the arranged marriage and decides the Western Harlot will have to pay for the dishonor to him and his family.” That part at least I remember from my initial skimming of the book. “The demanding Emir assumes that she is as promiscuous as all other Western women he's encountered and takes her like she's just another one of those sluts.”

“But she wasn't like that?” I prompt her to go on now that I remember how this first seduction ends. Alison eyes me thoughtfully, perhaps trying to determine how much I actually know about what happens in this Harlequin.

“She tried to tell him she wasn't like that, Mr. P, but he refused to listen to her. Once she was past the point of reason he climbed between her legs and pushed into her with one powerful thrust.” Alison licks her lips as she recounts the scene in a hushed tone. “The Emir had no idea she was a virgin until she cried out and he saw the bloody proof on his sheets.”

“I see,” I tease her, “and then after some amazing sex, they fall in love and end up getting married themselves and live happily ever after?” Alison's shoulders shrug prettily.

“It could happen...” With a smile I agree that weirder things have happened. After all, her I am with a smoking hot teenager over forty years younger than me to take as I please.

Alison heads straight to her room after dinner and I take the time to download an e-version of the book and reread it much more carefully than I did that first afternoon. I think I remember an article about a luxury hotel just outside NYC that might be exactly what I am looking for. After a couple dead ends, I find the place I'm looking for on the internet and to my relief, in this Covid era, the hotel is still open and eager for any business. I reserve a table for two in their restaurant for Friday night and book a suite in the hotel so we can spend the night there.

I don't sleep particularly well that night, excited by my plan for Alison, but I am still up in the morning when my tenant walks silently into the kitchen. She's wearing her usual tight-fitting jeans and a sweater that hugs her tits like a tight glove. There is not as much skin showing on this chilly October mornings, but she is still as sexy as fuck, and I pity the boys in her class who will are trying to pay attention to the lecture while looking at her.

“Is there anything special you want, Mr. P?” The question is loaded with sexual tension and excitement. “I have classes, but if you need me to, I could stay...”

“Not until this evening,” I do my best to hide my anticipation, “When you get back you can change into something more appropriate, then I have a surprise for you.” I am rewarded with the sight of her eyes widening, but I shoo her away before she can pester me with questions.