Daughter of the Wind

Laura unlocked the door to her hotel room and entered the plush suite that was to be her home for the night. It had been a long flight, but she had managed to sleep a little on the plane and it was too early to contemplate going to bed. Anyway, she was hungry. Not ravenous, but unless she had something to eat she knew she would not sleep well. She looked round the room. It was clean and well-proportioned with a perfectly made king sized bed as the centrepiece and a serviceable desk against the inside wall. The opposite wall was taken up by a large picture window which afforded spectacular views over the unfamiliar skyline. Laura tarried in front of it, enjoying the sight of the city lighting up in response to the equatorial twilight which descended so much faster than that to which she was accustomed.

A door by the desk led to a smaller dressing room with a sumptuous bathroom attached. Laura unpacked her small suitcase, hanging her working clothes in the wardrobe, hoping -- rather optimistically she thought - that overnight suspension would mean she need not iron in the morning. She contemplated having a shower to wash away the grime of the journey and subsequently ordering room service. But it seemed lame to stay in her room and she decided instead to explore the hotel's complement of bars and restaurants for something to eat and drink. She would do that now and save her shower for later.

Having come to a decision, Laura washed her face, replaced her jacket with a more comfortable jumper and made her way down to the first floor of the hotel where there were various restaurants, lounges and bars. Having poked her nose into one or two, she settled on a comfortable looking lounge which was quiet but not completely empty. A smattering of people were sitting at low tables, and a well-stocked bar took up one corner of the room. Behind it stood a very good-looking young man who ceased polishing glasses as she entered and gave her a warm and welcoming smile.

Laura found a free sofa and browsed the extensive menu which she found on the table in front of her. The young man from the bar gave her a decent interval before approaching and asking what she would like. She ordered a gin & tonic and a caesar salad. Laura noticed that his gaze was drawn to the room key which she had placed on the table. He said nothing but the expression on his face betrayed at least curiosity if nothing more. "You're slipping Laura," she told herself. She was

a seasoned traveller and used to taking elementary precautions such as not leaving her room key with its prominent number visible to passing strangers. When the barman left, she turned the key fob over, so the number was no longer visible.

She did not feel particularly threatened, she knew it was irrational, but he somehow did not seem the type to do anything untoward. He hadn't even tried to chat her up, just got on with his job of taking her order. When he returned with her drink, if he noticed that she had turned over her key he certainly betrayed nothing. Laura began to think she had imagined his curiosity and even felt a little guilty for her suspicion. So much so that she felt compelled to engage him in conversation. It turned out his name was Arif, he was a medical student working to pay his way through university and seemed a perfectly likeable young man.

The caesar salad turned out to be remarkably tasty, as did the glass of chardonnay that Laura ordered to go with it. Her hunger assuaged, her wine glass empty, she looked around for Arif. He was busy at the bar, serving another customer, but she caught his eye and he soon enough came over. She asked for the bill which he brought, and she signed, adding a generous tip, for which Arif was duly grateful. Laura collected the room key from the table but as she was about to leave, he spoke.

"I couldn't help noticing that you are staying in Room 521."

She nodded carefully, she had been right all along, Arif had been eyeing her room key. With a sinking heart she waited for the inevitable chat up line.

"Room 521 is rather special," he went on, "there is a story which if you have a moment I would like to tell you." If it was a come-on, it was certainly a novel one. She looked at her watch, it was still relatively early, what did she have to lose.

"I'll sit at the bar and have a nightcap," she said. "You can tell me your story while I drink it."

Her small whisky poured, which Arif said was on the house, Laura listened as he began with a question.

"Do you know why this hotel is called 'The Palace'?" He asked. Laura shook her head, she had not given it any thought at all.

"It was built on the site of the old king's summer palace," he continued. "This building, as you see, is modern but the site has a history that dates back for centuries. The palace was home to Crown Prince Suleiman at the time he came of age. We think of sex education as a modern thing but in those times no man or woman of noble birth reached maturity without being schooled in the arts of sensual love. The lessons were not theoretical, they were literally 'hands on' and the teachers were always women. These women were an elite caste, venerated for their knowledge and skills. New acolytes were admitted for their beauty and temperament and were schooled so that in their prime, they were unmatched in their ability to both practice their art and to pass on their skills.

Crown Prince Suleiman was the favourite of the king. Brave in battle, learned in the arts and wise beyond his years, his future looked to be one of greatness. By custom, on the night of his coming of age, Suleiman, was to be introduced to the delights of sexual love, and it was the one called Khamsin, who was chosen to be his teacher. She was considered exceptionally young to receive this honour, only twenty-four years old. Usually, an older and more experienced woman would have been selected. But Khamsin, despite her youth, was both ravishingly beautiful and consummately skilled in her craft. Indeed, she was named Khamsin after the hot winds that blow from the desert, powerful, passionate and strong at times but at others gentle and playful.

She entered his room at the appointed hour, and the guards took their places outside. No little time passed before they were alerted by terrible screams from within the room. They entered and found the Crown Prince lying across the bed, beautiful naked Khamsin, astride his lifeless body. It was her screams that had brought them. The guards drew their swords and Khamsin was killed instantly with no pause to question or understand what might have taken place.

No marks were discovered on the body of the Crown Prince, there was no sign of poisoning, and of course medical science was not so advanced in those far-off days. With the benefit of hindsight, it seems likely that Suleiman died from heart failure, brought on by the intensity of sensation that Khamsin summoned in their passion. Of course, there must have been an underlying cardiac abnormality but all that is lost in history. The tragedy had occurred. The king had the guards put to death, for their stupidity but the loss of his son broke his heart. The palace was abandoned and fell into disrepair and after many years, this hotel was built on the site. In homage to the past some of the original stones from the palace have been incorporated into the building. You can see them exposed in some places.

Now you ask what is the point of my telling you this?

People who have stayed in room 521, your room, have reported strange and unexplained, shall we say, disturbances. Not everyone, and not all the time but when they occur, I am told they are memorable. Why that room in particular? I don't know. Perhaps it happens to be close to where Khamsin and Suleiman perished so tragically all those years ago and their shades linger. These things are beyond my experience. But one day I will make enough money to stay in that room and perhaps find out for myself."

It was a good story. As a chat up line, it was brilliant. But if he thought it was enough to tempt Laura to invite him up to her room, he was very much mistaken, despite his undoubted good looks and ability to hold an audience.

She laughed, thanked Arif for the entertainment and the whiskey, bid him good night and headed back to her room, still smiling.

The room seemed to have no obvious signs of 'disturbance,' despite Arif's warning. Laura undressed, folded her clothes then showered and dried herself. She toyed with the idea of covering up with the hotel towelling robe that hung behind the bathroom door, but the room was warm, and the gown was much too big for her slight figure. She left it where it was and emerged from the bathroom clad only in the short turquoise silk nightdress that she always wore when travelling. It was feather-light to pack, beautifully comfortable and made her feel sexy and alive.

She sat at the desk and opened the lid of her laptop, intending to have a final run through of the presentation for the next day's meeting before going to bed, but Arif's words came back to her and she stared at the screen without seeing, lost in a reverie. Could there be any truth in the story? Or was it, just the bartender's well thought out come-on.

She leaned forward in the chair, telling herself to focus on the job in hand, smiling at her own gullibility. The movement brought her nipples into brief contact with the sheer fabric of her nightdress. She gasped at the unexpected frisson of pleasure. She pushed the chair back, thinking to fetch the gown from the bathroom, but as she made to stand a breeze gently lifted her hair and, so quietly that she was unsure whether she had imagined it, she heard the sound of a sigh.

Laura remained motionless in the chair, not frightened but curious. Surely it was some artifact of the air conditioning, she thought. She should not allow her imagination to run away with her, based on a casual conversation in a bar. She shook her head, "get a grip Laura," she thought, but now she was in too strange a mood to concentrate on her work. She decided it would be better to sleep and get up early for a final run through of the presentation before breakfast in the morning.

She reached for the lid of the laptop, to close it, and felt the breeze again, this time stronger, and somehow more purposeful. As she leaned forward, it wrapped itself around her body and the sensation as the silk of her nightdress was moulded to her breasts brought another involuntary gasp of pleasure to her lips. Her nipples engorged, their swollen peaks thrust forward, stretching the sheer fabric that covered them. The feeling was exquisite and, Laura closed her eyes, moaning between parted lips while the preternatural wind teased her.

When the voice spoke, Laura could not tell from whence it came, whether it was an external reality or came from within herself she could not tell. It was sonorous and compelling. "Stand up Laura," it ordered, and the curling of the wind died down to a murmur, barely ruffling the fabric of her nightdress.

Laura got to her feet, flushed, aroused now, the contours of her body tantalisingly outlined beneath the silken fabric that draped her lithe frame.

"Lean over the chair," the voice said and Laura obeyed. Bending forward she placed her crossed arms on the chair back, resting her forehead upon them, so that her upper body was almost horizontal.

In this position her short nightdress left little to the imagination, and with what seemed like a sigh, the warm wind grew stronger, ruffling her clothing, playing around her calves and exposed thighs. The voice came again, softer this time and wistful, "open your legs for me," it said, and Laura complied, shifting her feet apart.

Again, the wind sighed but to Laura this time there was a sense of joy where before there had been only sadness. Little by little, the wind began to increase in strength, not constant but playful, teasing. Its warm gusts curled around Laura's calves and ankles, kissing the soft skin behind her knees. Laura raised herself onto tiptoe and it was as though the wind laughed as its playful breezes tickled the soles of her feet. The wind swirled around her bare legs, varying in intensity, and moving inexorably upwards towards her thighs.

"Khamsin," Laura said softly, "is it you?"

The question was not answered but with a sudden change of direction and strength the wind lifted Laura's nightdress and pushed it towards her shoulders and the voice whispered, "take off your clothes Laura."

Laura straightened, peeling off the garment and, naked now, bent forward again. There was laughter in the breeze. Laura's breasts hung down like beautiful ripe fruit, and featherlike tendrils of wind curled around them, caressing her tender skin and wrapping around the delicate pink nipples, coaxing them into hyper-sensitive rigidity so that Laura whimpered with pleasure. The wind was powerful, moulding itself to the contours of Laura's body in ways no human hands could achieve. She spread her legs wider, opening herself to the searching currents.

"Yes," the voice sighed, and Laura groaned as the wind possessed her, no longer an ephemeral presence but solid, purposeful, and real. She felt her entire body enveloped by the warm caresses of the wind. Every inch of her skin simultaneously stroked as though by a thousand tender fingers. The intensity of sensation was overwhelming, infinitely more powerful than anything she had experienced before. She did not know how she would remain on her feet in the face of stimulation of such magnitude.

The wind seemed to understand. "The bed Laura," the voice spoke, quietly compelling. Laura moved to the bed, the wind wrapping itself around her all the while. She lay on her back closing her eyes in rapture as the wind rose again and covered her body with butterfly kisses. Laura abandoned herself completely, raising her arms above her head, spreading her legs wide she gave herself to the wind and it possessed her completely. She felt it penetrate her, filling her beyond human possibility. No part of her was untouched, from the souls of her feet to her jutting nipples, from deep within her pussy to her aching clitoris, a world of sensation consumed her utterly. The wind was tireless, like a storm it was upon her and within her, irresistible and terrible, and her orgasm began like an unquenchable fire, rising deep within her belly.

Her body writhing and shuddering, gasping and moaning she gave full voice to the ecstasy that arose from her very soul. The wind was relentless, wave after gut-wrenching wave of pleasure wracked her body under its skilful domination. Laura, twisting and turning, helpless to resist, screamed aloud with unalloyed joy. And when her passion was finally spent, the wind became gentle, soothing Laura's tingling body with light zephyrs as she lay, limp as a rag doll, on the great white bed.

"Sleep now," the voice was so quiet that Laura barely heard, but she wrapped herself in the soft white duvet and fell asleep immediately, and the wind sighed and was gone.

Laura slept deeply, waking only when the sun, flooding through the undrawn shades of the picture window, fell on her upturned face. "That was a great dream," she thought to herself as she stretched her limbs, slowly regaining consciousness. It was the sight of her nightdress lying by the chair and the realisation that she was naked that brought it home to her.

"My God," she said to no one in particular, "it really happened." She arose, struggling to come to terms with the astounding events of the previous evening. She showered, and in the process discovered the sweet aches in her body caused by her night of passion, further evidence, not that she needed it, of the reality of her experience. She dressed in her work clothes, and packed her laptop, all thoughts of a late rehearsal now dismissed. Heading down to breakfast, her thoughts turned to Arif. He turned out to be genuine after all, for the second time she had misjudged him. A smile came to her face, and she pressed the lift button that would take her to reception, rather than to breakfast.

"Something has come up," she said to the immaculately groomed woman behind the counter. "I am due to check out today but is it possible to extend my stay for another night?"

The woman tapped her keyboard and scrutinised the result on her screen.

"Certainly Madam," she smiled, "and in seems the room you are currently in is free, would you like to keep it?"

"Definitely," Laura was emphatic. She continued, "there is someone called Arif, who works here in the bar. Do you happen to know whether he's working today?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, I think so. Usually, he works on the buffet breakfast. First floor in the main restaurant."

A buffet breakfast was just what she needed before her meeting, Laura thought to herself and duly found herself looking at a sumptuous array of delicious looking food. There was Arif, carrying a steaming pot of coffee from table to table. He really was very good looking, thought Laura. She sat at an empty table and Arif approached, smiling, offering coffee. Laura beckoned him closer and spoke quietly to him.

That evening, Laura ate with colleagues in a restaurant overlooking the sea. She went to her room immediately on arrival back at the hotel. It had been an excellent day. The presentation had gone far better than she could have hoped and the dinner with the colleagues had been fun. She stripped off her clothes in the dressing room and stepped into the hot shower, luxuriating in the heady fragrance of the oils with which she cleansed her body.

After drying herself on an enormous white towel she passed naked into the dressing room and put on the turquoise nightdress. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She had to admit to herself that she looked stunning, the sheer material of the nightdress left little to the imagination, flowing over the curve of her breasts, outlining the pert nipples that were already firm in anticipation. Perhaps she should after all put on the robe, she thought. But at that moment the doorbell rang. "Forget the robe," she said to herself and with the turquoise silk clinging to every delicious curve of her body, opened the door to where Arif stood, carrying a tray on which sat two crystal glasses and an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. And as Laura beckoned the stunned young man into the room, her nightdress fluttered lightly in a breeze that seemed to have come from nowhere.