Lost in Arabia

My stories tend toward the nonconsent/taboo side, but I want to be clear that I'm in no way suggesting that the acts in my stories are okay. Forced sex is a fantasy I enjoy and I write for other similarly minded people. Real rape is ugly and sad, and if it's something you're considering acting out you should seek help.

*

Well, here is my first story that has absolutely no incest.

A warning: There are strong elements of nonconsent in this story, so if that offends you, please move on. This is also going to be a series, and the subsequent chapters are liable to offend even more of the average reader's sensibilities (based on what I observed in a thread about what most BDSM lovers find extreme)

Thanks to FurryFury for the pre-post screening ;o)

All characters are 18+

***

Lana Mitchell stepped off the private jet and surveyed her surroundings from behind chic sunglasses. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and smiled for the cameras that lined up to take pictures of her. She shook hands with the fellow who informed her that he was to escort her out to the car that had been sent for her.

She had never been in an Arabic country before, but the UAE looked marvelous so far. Certainly nothing like the barren, uncivilised land she'd pictured in her mind.

As she strolled through the Abu Dhabi airport, Lana couldn't help noticing that not only was it just as modern as the Heathrow Airport, it was also much cleaner.

It didn't take long before the whispering started. Hushed cries of, "Oh my God! Is that her? It is!" arose from amongst the expatriates in the airport as Lana strolled along with her bodyguards. Some excited chattering also came in Indian and Arabic tongues, accompanied by pointing and gesturing.

Still, it was actually much better than in the UK, where she couldn't walk down the bloody street without being swarmed.

When she finally made it out into the sultry Abu Dhabi outdoors, a man in full chauffeur outfit came up to greet her.

"Hello, Madame Mitchell. My name is Raja. I am sent to pick you up from airport," the man said, his voice heavily laden with an Indian accent. "If I may say, I am also big fan of your movies. My family and I, we watch them all the time before I left for here to work."

Lana smiled at him from behind her darkly-tinted shades. "Thanks very much, dear. You're taking me directly to the Sheikh's place, I take it?"

"Yes, Madame," he said, wobbling his head in that disconcerting fashion that indicates agreement in India.

Lana was shown to a tasteful black Mercedes, where she slid into the back. No gaudy stretch limos for Sheikh Abdul-Wahid. She heartily approved.

Once Raja had closed the door, she chewed her lip. What in the world was she going to say to a sheikh? She should have followed her instincts and found an essay or something on proper comportment for diplomats to the Middle East.

Not that she was a diplomat. Good Lord. She was the furthest thing from it; an opinionated actress who constantly advocated this cause or that, making it her hobby to be a pain in the ass for politicians everywhere. She was still not precisely certain as to why she'd been invited to meet the ruler of a country she'd openly called hypocritical and abusive to other cultures.

Surely he wouldn't have her harmed when so many people knew she was here...

And surely people shouldn't be driving quite so madly! 'Good grief!' Lana thought as she looked out her window. The driving here made the Autobaun look like a seniors-only road!

Although Raja drove more slowly than the lunatics who seemed to rule the Abu Dhabi highways, he still drove faster than she would have liked and they arrived at their destination all too soon.

Lana hid her trepidation behind her shades as the door opened, and stepping out, donned her confident actress persona like a favourite coat. She smiled at Raja and thanked him as he held the door for her.

Her attention refocused on a man in a white candora and ghotra, the national dress of the Emiratis, who was gingerly trotting down the stairs of the palace.

He smiled as he reached her, but did not extend his hand in greeting. "Hello, Miss Mitchell. We are very pleased to have you here. My name is Sayed, and I will be at your service during your stay." His accent was light and he stumbled not at all over the English words.

Lana smiled despite the nervous cramping of her stomach. "Pleasure to meet you, Sayed."

He motioned to Raja to bring Lana's bags, and he turned, indicating she should follow him to the palace. "His Eminence is most excited to make your acquaintance. He wishes to discuss your interesting opinions on his governance of the Emirates." His tone implied that by 'interesting,' he meant asinine.

Sayed turned and pierced her with obsidian eyes. "The Sheikh is a very intelligent man. God has blessed him with the ability to hear many sides of a matter, and distinguish what is valid from what is not. He wishes to hear your thoughts during your stay."

"I see," Lana said, although she really didn't. "I had no idea my opinions reached so far."

Sayed didn't turn to her this time as he strode through the door, which was being held open by another man in full Emirati garb. "He will explain his interest tonight. You will be dining with him and his family at eight."

As they entered the foyer, Lana nearly swallowed her tongue. She thought she'd seen opulence before: clearly, she'd been mistaken. She wasn't given time to enjoy the sights, however, as her guide walked at a brisk pace that bordered on impatient.

Sayed led her through one hall after another, up a large staircase, and through more hallways. Raja had somehow managed to catch up with them, despite their almost jogging to the door to what she guessed was her room.

Sayed opened the door and extended a hand, motioning to the interior. "This is your room, Miss Mitchell. Raja will deposit your bags, then leave so you may refresh yourself. If you would like a tour later, you may pick up the phone and press zero; that will connect you to the palace switchboard, and they will connect you to me. Otherwise, dinner will be served promptly at eight. Please attempt to be punctual," he said crisply.

With that, he turned and walked away, back into the labyrinth these people called home. Lana stood dumbfounded for a second watching after him before turning and entering her room.

"Where would you like your bags, Madame?" Raja asked, startling her out of her study of the room.

"Oh. Over there please, Raja," she said, gesturing toward a large closet.

Raja wobbled his head and deposited her bags neatly in front of the closet.

"You need to go anywhere, you call me, Madame Mitchell," he said, smiling at her as he headed for the door.

She pasted on a smile. "Thank you, I will."

As the door shut behind him, Lana returned to marvelling at her room; it was insane. It made her own not-so-cheap dwelling back home look like a bloody shack!

'Well, first things first,' Lana thought to herself, heading toward the bathroom. A bath was definitely in order.

Upon opening the bathroom door, her jaw went slack; it looked like the bathroom was paved in marble shot through with solid gold.

A huge jacuzzi sat in the middle of the room, while a plain shower stall graced a corner of the room. Another corner boasted a toilet, a bassinet, and what she assumed was an Arabic toilet. The sink and vanity were large and ornate enough to grace the washroom of the best restaurants of London. She didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed...

She found a shelf on the side of the tub with bath oils and bubble bath, so she dumped in heaping amounts of those which caught her fancy. After soaking in the tub for a good hour, she finally stood and drained the tub, going to the shower to rinse off.

As she emerged from the bathroom, Lana glanced at the clock, which indicated it was quarter to five. May as well wait a bit before getting ready for dinner. She decided to throw on some clothes and go exploring. Not flippin' likely she was calling Mr. Over-starched-knickers-or-whatever-the-bloody-hell-men-here-wore-under-their-dresses. She wondered if it was like kilts...

She exited her room and decided to go left, seeing as how she'd come from the right. As Lana passed painting after painting, antique after antique, she began to feel underdressed in her capris and cotton knit top.

After walking several minutes, going down a flight of stairs and taking several turns, passing people who glanced at her curiously, Lana came to a large and elegant doorway. Intricate patterns surrounded a double-door, seeming to beckon her to open the doors and discover what lay beyond. A small part of her wondered if this might not be excessively rude, but then, she thought, she wasn't exactly known for tact and decorum; they should know what they were getting.

She pushed one door open and gasped at what lay inside. Or rather, outside; it was a garden. Not even a greenhouse, but an actual garden, with grass and all manner of flowers and palm trees everywhere.

In an abstract way, it reminded her of The Secret Garden, one of her favourite books in her youth. The only thing marring the garden's beauty were the hoses wrapped around every tree trunk; probably providing the constantly needed hydration to plants living unnaturally close together in the competitive desert climate.

Lana had unconsciously began to step forward, and was several steps inside before she even noticed. Shrugging and deciding she may as well go the rest of the way, she turned and mostly closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

It was strange, she realized after a moment, but the garden had very little smell. A hot, humid day like this in Britain (not that there were many,) would make the smell of grass and blossoms almost overpowering. Here, the only thing she smelled was heat, if heat could be thought of as having a smell.

Despite the stifling air, Lana continued on, passing by sculptures and fountains, marveling at the beauty and the indulgence of this scentless garden. She probably shouldn't get too high up on her high horse; there were those in Britain who thought she was a shameless materialist...

She reached a small clearing of only grass, bordered by a stone wall. She spied two Arab men, wearing (surprise, surprise...) candoras and ghotras, and conversing intently.

One had a leather glove and a hooded falcon on one arm, and he looked to be animatedly explaining something to the other fellow. They had their ghotras tied back casually.

The man listening to the bird trainer was not repugnant, but his nose was too large for his face and it set his features off kilter. The other man however was not only handsome, but possessed an air of raw mascunility that made her want to go find out what men here did in fact wear under their candoras. She felt slightly flustered at the thoughts that were so unlike her.

Lana abruptly noticed the three gentlemen in their nondescript white garb, standing at intervals along the wall. They had certainly noticed her; all three stared at her with narrowed eyes, and one spoke into a mouthpiece, cupping a hand over his ear.

Her gaze flitted back to the men with the falcon, and she discovered they too had noticed her. Both of them wore grins and ran their eyes up and down her body. The man on whose arm the falcon perched laughed at something the other man said, all the while staring at her intently.

O-o-o-kay, time to go. Lana turned to make her way back inside, only to run smack dab into a less-than-pleased looking Sayed. He grabbed her by the arms to steady her, then set her away from himself, staring at her with displeasure. His dark eyes flashed at her as a patently polite smile curved his lips.

"I apologise if I perhaps did not clarify that you should contact me if you wanted a tour," he said, his genial tone contrasting with the menacing glint in his eye. "We do not allow visitors to wander around unescorted."

She, too, could wear a false smile, and so she pasted on her patently confident-starlet smile. "That's no problem, dear. It's a bit difficult with the language barrier and all."

Sayed's eyes bulged and he opened his mouth, as if to bellow at her that he probably spoke better English than her, but he snapped it shut. His polite smile returned and he gestured toward the door. "Please, allow me to escort you to your room, Miss Mitchell." He nodded to one of the security team, then turned on his heel, clearly expecting her to follow.

Lana glanced toward the men in the clearing again; both of their faces were cracked wide with amused smiles, and the man with the falcon winked at her. She flushed and hurriedly turned to follow her grumpy guide.

***

At five minutes to eight, Lana rang for Sayed, not because she wanted to, but because she had images of her losing her way trying to find the dining room and ending up shot for going somewhere she wasn't supposed to.

A knock sounded at her door, and she crossed the room to open it. Sayed's eyes took in her appearance, inscrutable as they ran up and down her body.

Out of deference for the Muslim household she was staying in, Lana had decided on an ivory silk long-sleeved blouse and some fairly loose-fitting dress pants for dinner. White-gold dangly earrings hung from her ears. She looked classy, but definitely hot.

She thought for sure even the Grump would have to give her an appreciative once-over, but she was mistaken. She frowned when Sayed said nothing other than, "Please follow me," before turning to head toward the dining room.

'Not even a hello!' Lana thought to herself. 'Why, hello, Miss Mitchell! How do you find your room, Miss Mitchell? Who do you like for this year's cricket championships, Miss Mitchell?' So progressed her conversation with herself in her head as she trotted along after a silent Sayed.

She had to hand it to him: he managed to be spectacularly polite while being shockingly rude. She'd never met anyone from the Royal Family of Britain, but she imagined they'd probably adopt Sayed if they ever met him.

The first thing Lana noticed upon entering the dining room was its sheer magnificence, much like the rest of the palace. The second thing was that there was not a single woman other than her in the room. Quite a few men though...

Lana blinked at the sea of strikingly similar male faces.

"Presenting Miss Lana Mitchell of Great Britain," Sayed announced, as if she were being presented at a ball or something. "Miss Mitchell has not yet had the good fortune to learn any Arabic, so we should refrain from lapsing into our native tongue for the sake of politeness."

"Miss Mitchell, may I present to you," Sayed motioned, beginning at the head of the long table and continuing clockwise, "Sheikh Abdul-Wahid Ibn Al-Sheikh Fouad, Ahmed Ibn Al-Sheikh Abdul-Wahid, Rajid Ibn Al-Sheikh Abdul-Wahid..." On and on this continued, introducing five more in this style before he came to a face that caught Lana's attention; it was the man with the falcon, smiling politely but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Khalid Ibn Al-Sheikh Abdul-Wahid." Sayed said. From her closer vantage point in the dining room, Lana saw that he was indeed even more handsome than she had first thought. His rugged face reminded her of the American 'Marlboro Man'.

'Khalid,' Lana thought, 'what a lovely name.'

His lips were neither too full nor too thin, his skin was a dark tan that was set off by the blue silk robe of Emirati royalty, and his eyes were capable of causing heart palpitations from across the room. Milk-chocolate brown, with thick black lashes, they devoured her, just as she devoured him.

Sayed continued to the man sitting across from Khalid, the man who'd been with him in the garden, "Samir Ibn Abdul-Wahid." She wondered at the 'Al-Sheikh' that had been left out.

He continued up the other side of the table, in reality only wasting time as the only two introductions Lana had managed to hang onto were Khalid's and Samir's.

They were finally allowed to be seated and Lana was given the remarkable, if highly suspicious, honour of sitting at the right hand of the Sheikh.

He beamed at her. "My British wife and I, we love your movies."

Lana blinked, but responded automatically. "Well, thank you very much, Your Eminence." Funny, she'd thought she wouldn't feel intimidated simply because he wasn't the ruler of her country; apparently, it didn't work that way.

His gaze sobered. "On the other hand, I very much dislike your opinions of me. The chef has said there will be a short delay - he is preparing a special dish from your country - so we will discuss this now and get it out of the way.

"I watch the British television, and I was most upset to hear your remarks about me. Then I thought to myself, she does not know how things are here; bring her here, let her to see the life here, and then see what she has to say. So, let us to hear what you have to say now, and then we will see at the end of your stay if you feel the same."

Her gaze flicked to Khalid, who was staring at her with undisguised amusement.

She didn't bother beating around the bush. "Alright, I think you enforce a much narrower interpretation of Islam on your country than you yourself are capable of living within the boundaries of. I also think your government's treatment of immigrants is deplorable."

Shock reverberated around the room.

The Sheikh threw his head back and guffawed. "You remind me very much of my Sarah," he said with a grin, referring to his half-Arab wife who'd been born and raised in Britain. "She, too, always has opinions and no problems expressing them. She is unfortunately visiting family in the UK, but she will be back before you leave. You may have noticed that there are no women in here. That is for my Sarah; she would be very jealous if my other wives got to meet you before she did."

The tension relaxed noticeably, and the Sheikh continued, "I will address your first comment, to begin with. To those not from our culture, Islam seems very strict and our ways can seem strange, but this is simply a cultural difference. There are special allowances made for the rulers of nations, because the burdens on our shoulders are so heavy. Heavier burden, lesser restrictions, no?"

Lana couldn't help leaning forward as her temper sparked. "No. First of all, I didn't say anything about Islam being too strict. Personally, praying five times a day and giving up my wine aren't really my thing, but I would never presume to criticise someone else's religion. I was remarking solely about your inability to stick to your own ideals.

"Secondly - and I have no interest in being drawn into a theological argument here; I endured more than enough religious debates when I took theology in college - the hadiths that make such allowances for rulers seem just a tad too convenient to me. As if, perhaps, someone with enough money and power could have hired a scribe to pen them..."

Stunned silence greeted this insinuation. Her anger had faded with her tirade, and Lana was left wondering at the fact that she'd just mouthed off a Sheikh.

It was the mysterious Khalid whose voice cut across the room, loud and clear despite his being at the end of the table. "Surely you don't mean to suggest there has been alteration of any of our sacred texts. Such a thing would be considered heresy..." His eyes glinted at her.

Lana glared back at him, deciding that since she'd been called here to express her opinions, she'd bloody well express them.

"I can and do mean to suggest just that. I might remind you that a couple hundred years ago, people felt the same way about the Bible, but they finally realized you couldn't go around punishing anyone who didn't believe in it as the verbatim word of God. I'm not going on a campaign to smear the Qur'an or to dissolve society into anarchy and debauchery, nor even to change your minds; I'm expressing my opinion."