Dilara in the Harem Ch. 05

Obviously this continues the Dilara/Harem stories. This one is particularly heavy on the logistical details of the harem, in case anyone finds that interesting. I would not be offended if anyone kind of skims that of course!

But I hope the sexy parts are good and naughty.

Enjoy!

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Dilara and Jasmine sit, nervously squeezing each other's hands for support, awaiting the Spyke call from the "Princess" admissions team of El Paraíso de las Doncellas Bellas (the official name of what most of the world simply calls "Raoul Cock's harem").

"You're gonna get in," Jasmine assures her. "I know it. I can feel it."

——————/—————————

The past month has been "an absolute blur." Besides the normal senior spring high school experience, Dilara's application to El Paraíso has been progressing quickly.

Early one Saturday morning barely two weeks earlier, some women from "the Princess Team" of admissions officers, including her old friend Carla Kachmar, had flown her to their office in Tijuana for an interview. She'd received ten thousand dollars — even to a middle-class American eighteen-year-old, that is an almost incredible windfall, and she can only imagine how it would feel for a less fortunate girl — as a stipend for the trip, part of which she'd used to take Jasmine out for dinner, part to buy herself a completely new outfit, and part to get her hair and nails done. In her black satin Servace mini dress and lacey Sergei Rosso pumps, she felt prettier than she'd ever felt. She even splurged for some very naughty Janice lingerie that made her feel sexy and confident.

They picked her up in a limo — by far the most luxurious vehicle Dilara had ever been in — from Jasmine's house because Jasmine's mom, as usual, was out of town on business and Dilara definitely did not want her own parents to have any idea what she was up to!

In the limo they chatted lightly over coffee and amazing gourmet chocolates. Dilara knew that they were already evaluating her, but they seemed so friendly and kind that within minutes she felt like she was among friends.

It was a trick, as she knew from reading Raoul's Samizdat. You get so comfortable with them, you let your guard down, and you catch yourself admitting things you'd never intended to share with anyone.

The limo took them to an airport where a private jet was waiting for them — also a first for Dilara, of course. Rather than waiting in long lines at immigration and security (and if you want to see real airport security, fly from the US to Iran and back, as Dilara and her family do almost every summer), she just handed her passport to someone who returned with it a few minutes later, smiling as politely as if Dilara had done her a great favor.

The plane was much smaller than she would've expected, but the seats were like huge soft sofas, and as soon as they were in the air, where Dilara could legally drink alcohol, they were clinking crystal glasses of rosé champagne over oysters and caviar.

Then, about halfway through the flight, they served huge mudslides with salted caramel ice cream and who knows how much liquor. The plane landed on El Paraíso's private runway, but after another pleasantly smiling official stamped her passport, they didn't go to El Paraíso. They went in the other direction, into town.

They had lunch at a lovely restaurant overlooking the sea — marlin tostadas with delicious little margaritas in all kinds of flavors — with six of the thirteen members of the Princess Team.

Two of them had actually been among Raoul's lovers in El Paraíso: a Colombian woman named Damaris and a Japanese woman named Sakura, both so strikingly beautiful that Dilara immediately gave up hope of getting in. From the samizdat she knew that only about one in ten women who get an in-person interview are actually invited to El Paraíso, and after seeing them, she knew she was going to be one of the other nine. So she'd excused herself to go to the restroom, looked at herself in the mirror, sighed deeply. It was just a dream anyway, she told herself, resolving just to enjoy the experience while it lasted.

Which meant why not have just a few more margaritas? And maybe one more after those? It was a hot day and they were sitting in the sun, and the cold, sweet drinks went down so easily....

At one point she wondered, did they intentionally put her in this hot sun with these delicious cold drinks? It seemed like something they would do, based on the tales in the samizdat, but she couldn't figure it out. She seemed to be thinking through a haze.

One thing she could figure out for sure, though: the mango-passion fruit margaritas were particularly good.

And so, as you (dear reader) will have guessed, Dilara soon realized that she'd certainly had rather too much to drink. Everything was so exciting that she felt perfectly alert, but she also felt herself laughing too loud, slightly exaggerating her gestures, and saying things a little strangely.

By then they'd already discussed her childhood, her family in America, her family in Iran, her friends in America, her hobbies, her favorite this and her favorite that, her religion and life-philosophy, her dreams for the future, her taste in clothing, her eating habits.... What was left to talk about?

Sex, of course, as it turned out.

After lunch, in the office, they got straight to the point:

"Dilara," a white woman named Janet (although not the white woman named Janet from her first Spyke interview) asked her, "do you really want to have a child with Raoul Cock?"

"Of course," Dilara, grasping her last little remaining bit of hope, flinched as if they'd insulted her, as if they should have already known how she felt about that: if she could express enough enthusiasm, maybe they'd choose her after all. "I would love that."

"Do you want to have sex with him?"

"Are you kidding? I would even if I couldn't have a child."

"If you have any hesitation or reservations, you should let us know. You can be honest with us. You should be honest with us."

"No," Dilara promised. She was more than halfway from tipsy to drunk, yet only more earnest for it. "I've thought about it a lot. I watched the videos and talked about it with Jasmine, and we've read everything we can find about it in the samizdat, and, honestly, if I could just get a chance to be with him, I'd be so grateful, and I would do my very best to please him. Not only sexually, but in any other way I could."

The women interviewing her nodded, and Dilara realized she had forgotten something. Silently blaming the alcohol, she continued:

"And May too. Obviously I'm more focused on pleasing Raoul and having a baby for him, but I'm kind of in love with May too. They seem like such a sweet, loving couple, and I just want to be with them. I know they would make me happy and I want to try to make them happy too."

"Dilara, we think you're a very strong candidate," Carla said. "You have so many of the features that Raoul loves. He'll love your face, your figure, and your personality."

Hearing that, Dilara immediately felt that it couldn't possibly be true, but her heart exploded anyway. Her breath stopped and her skin burned with the feeling of beauty.

"Thank you," she barely managed to say, her voice mouse-like.

"You've clearly read the samizdat carefully, so you know that we've closely scrutinized every curve and cranny of your body, every feature of your face. Not just waist-hip ratio or body mass index. We've measured the interocular distance of your eyes, the lengths of your fingers, the pitch of your voice, the angle of your nipples, everything.

"We've compared every part of you to the women who he's chosen over the past few years, and although we can't promise anything because no one can know in advance how Raoul or May will feel about anyone, we really believe you could be an excellent candidate. And we can also tell that you have prepared yourself very well, which we appreciate, so you know exactly what we want to hear, but the only thing holding us back is that we don't know whether you really want it badly enough."

"Of course I do," Dilara insisted.

"What do you really want?" Janet challenged.

Dilara looked at her. Damn the margaritas, she thought. Damn the mudslides and whatever else she'd had to drink. What was this woman after?

Then she remembered a time a few months ago when Jasmine challenged her with maybe even the exact same words. Jasmine needed to hear it clearly for her heart's sake, Janet and the Princess Team women need to hear it because so much money's at stake for them.

"I want his cock," Dilara whispered resolutely, thanking the alcohol now for making it easier on her. "I want to make him feel good so it gets hard and I want him to spread my legs and put it all the way inside me and cum inside me over and over until he gets me pregnant. I want to make his cock and his whole body and heart and mind and soul — I want to make all of it feel good. He's never going to forget me if I can get my hands and mouth and body on him. I will ravish him with everything I have. Same for May, all of it. She'll want to come live with me when I'm done with her."

They were nodding, but somehow she sensed that she should say more.

She put her arms on the table and hid her face in them.

"It's so humiliating," she said to the table, "but I'm just a..., I just...."

She looked up, her cheeks wet with angry tears.

"I just want his cock so badly. I want him to fuck me. I want him to... to do whatever he wants to do with me. I don't even care. Just, I need his cock. He can put it anywhere. He can cum anywhere. So," she began whining, almost weeping, "please give me a chance. I will do whatever I have to do. I just...."

"If we do, and you go to El P for even a month, and then you get back home," a woman on the team named Leslie warned, "everyone there is going to call you a whore and a slut. Some people will say it to your face, many will say it behind your back. It doesn't matter how untrue it is, it doesn't matter what you say or anything, that's what they'll say. You'll lose friends. Family members. People you used to trust will betray you."

"That's..., I...," Dilara stammered, remembering how stressful the Trevor bullshit was. Then she managed to clear her head and say, "Fuck them. Fuck them. I don't care. I'll find new friends. Fuck all of them."

"But let's be realistic," Sakura interrupted coldly. "Not so many American girls get into El Paraíso. Not many from other rich countries either. Like Japan. But I was there, and I know what it's like. Most of the women are from poorer countries, and they want it so badly."

"Unlike you," Leslie added, "they return home a hero, able to support their extended family, maybe an entire village. They're queens of their world. Or they just escape entirely. But for you, you know, even if you get pregnant and get the trust funds, it's still just a comfortable life. It's not, like, salvation for you and your family.

"So," Sakura resumed, "you'll be competing with women who are just as beautiful as you, just as sweet and eager to please, but they'll be literally desperate, willing to do anything. If you leave without a baby, you'll go to college, get a job, probably marry a man who has a decent job."

"In fact," Carla interrupts, "as pretty as you are, if you are careful, you'll marry a man who really makes good money."

"Right," Sakura says, "You'll have a nice life. Some of the other girls, when they get sent back, they have to go back to poverty, sweatshops, slums, maybe even prostitution. They're going to resent you intensely. They'll do everything they can to tear you down. To make you miserable so that you'll leave voluntarily. Even some members of the staff will resent you. And you'll have no recourse. You just have to deal with it, day after day after day. Are you really ready to deal with that?"

Dilara blinked. Would it really be so bad? And what should she say? Were they trying to talk her out of it? How should she answer these questions?

She looked up at Sakura and sighed. "I won't be alone, and with Jasmine's help, I could go through that and so much more. For Raoul."

Leslie stepped in again. "What if she betrays you? She wouldn't be the first companion at El P to turn on her host."

"I mean, I really don't think she would do that...."

"But if she does?" Leslie insisted.

"Then, well, fuck her too," Dilara spat. "I'll find somebody else. Ultimately I'm not doing this for her anyway. I'm doing this because I want his fucking cock in my pussy. And I will do whatever I have to do to get it."

"She seems like a great friend," Carla said, "But you have to be ready for anything."

"But I told you what I want. And I'm going to get it."

Sakura nodded. "It'll be really bad for about four months, if you last that long, but if you do, everything will change. When you ascend in the ranks — you've read about the tiers?"

Dilara nodded.

"Right, good," Sakura continued, "so if you get up to the higher tiers everyone will suddenly be so nice to you. You won't believe it. You'll see how fake the world is. But until then, you have to be strong."

"I'm afraid some of the women are going to hate you even more because everyone will see how perfect you are for him," Carla warned. "You know about the appraisals?"

"Yes, of course," Dilara said. "I read about them."

She'd read about El Paraíso's appraisal system on the samizdat: every guest and staff member can "appraise" up to ten other guests or staff members per day, giving her a score from -10 to +10 with the option of adding a written review to explain the number they've chosen. (When they appraise someone, at least a week has to pass before they can appraise her again.)

It's all on an app and it's completely confidential; the only people who can see the appraisals are Raoul, May, and a "Supreme Court" of thirteen judges, seven of whom are on duty on any given day. The judges' job is to solve problems: if the problem is a guest, even one of Raoul or May's favorites, they have the power to send her home; if the problem is a staff member, they can recommend that she be fired or reassigned. In rare cases there is actually a kind of trial, with witnesses and cross-examinations, but usually they make their decisions based on the appraisals alone.

And no one except them knows.

So when a woman is sent home, she can usually only guess whether it was Raoul, May, or bad appraisals that did her in. Which leads to a lot of very angry speculation afterwards, including maybe millions of words on the samizdat....

On the other hand, with potentially hundreds of thousands of appraisals per day, and only thirteen judges, clearly the majority of them are never read. So the whole thing is mysterious, and all those words in the samizdat are mere speculation.

What is known is that of course any guest who gets too many negative appraisals gets sent home, but it is also widely believed that any guest who gives too many also gets sent home. Naturally, guests tend to form really tight cliques with women that they trust, and then constantly give each other positive appraisals, but some people believe that is a self-defeating strategy: perhaps the system has an algorithm that can detect it.

Another point that is clear is that different womens' appraisals carry different weight: no one knows the exact details, but negative appraisals by women who are pregnant or have had a baby, for example, are far taken more seriously than, say, those by guests in their first month. The Cocks prefer to invite a mom back month after month until her baby's first birthday because they want the baby and mom receiving the care of their world-class obstetrician-gynecologists and pediatricians and nutritionists.

So if you're just one of the lovers and you piss off a mom, it's probably sayonara for you.

At the other end of the totem pole are the first-month applicants and their companions, who'd better kiss ass unceasingly and fervently, because apparently no one really cares what they think.

It's all about longevity. The longer you've been there, the greater your chance of getting a shot of the golden baby juice. To be sure, to get invited back, a woman needs to please Raoul and May in any way she can, but she sees them at most four days a month, and on those days only for a few hours.

So although most people on the outside assume that the competition for the potentially lucrative privilege of receiving a few squirts of Raoul Cock's semen is just a nude beauty contest — and it is that, four days a month — the rest of the time it's much more like a reality-TV show, with complex allegiances and ruthless betrayals.

Kissing dick and licking clit, in other words, is practically the easy part; the more treacherous problem, the daily grind, is the relentless niceness competition that fills the rest of the time. With all the guests striving to be impeccably sweet to everyone, even the subtlest exception stands out. One careless comment could lead to half a dozen negative appraisals, banishment from paradise, going home with no baby, no trust funds.

"We don't actually know what you've read," Sakura is telling her, "but we know for sure that the very best strategy is to be unwaveringly sweet, no matter what. You have to just always be pleasing everyone, no matter how they treat you. You just have to trust that eventually you'll get your chance, and the bitches will get what's coming to them."

Damaris spoke now. "And when you get that chance, you have to please him. Forget yourself completely. Just do everything you can to please him."

"Damaris," Carla explained, smiling, "was there for nine months, and for most of those months she was on the top tiers. She'll be a lot of help for you if you listen to her."

"Oh, thank you," Dilara smiled gratefully at Damaris, but everyone laughed, confusing her.

"She's going to teach you how to play with his penis," Sakura winked.

"I know," Dilara said, still smiling gratefully at Damaris. "I really appreciate that."

"Sakura knew what she was doing too," Damaris laughed. "She'll have to teach you how to sing, 'Oh, Raoul, you're so big!'"

After the giggling subsided, though Dilara's face still burned bright, Carla said, "You just wait. If we choose you, they'll teach you a lot more than that!"

——————/—————————

Then it was over. They took her back to the airport, flew her back to LA, and dropped her off back at Jasmine's.

Just like that.

But those few hours had changed everything. Returning to her ordinary life has been a shock, as if she's been in a trance and couldn't completely snap out of it.

Nothing feels real. Her high school routine seems silly, empty. Her friends talk about summer plans, college — they might as well be discussing trips to other galaxies. Sometimes she looks around as if she's in the wrong classroom, surrounded by strangers. Nothing makes sense to her anymore.

Yet her memories of her trip to Mexico feel too fantastic, like she'd fallen asleep and dreamed a fairy tale.

She can't talk to anyone but Jasmine about it, and even Jasmine can't really understand because she hadn't been there, hadn't seen it and heard it and felt it herself.

She feels like a completely different person. Almost like she's impersonating herself, playing the role of the old Dilara, who she no longer is. While all her friends are waxing nostalgic about spending their final days of high school together, she's imagining herself riding Raoul's dick, trying to figure out how she should move — thoughts she never, ever would have had just days earlier. And at home, alone, she just Oogles sex tips all day long.