I tried to remember how I'd gotten here as I was dragged along.  I remembered a plan, a need to infiltrate the palace, but with my mind blurred by drugs I could remember little of the previous couple of days.  It would come to me, I assumed, as the drugs that seemed to befuddle my mind as much as they befuddled my body began to fade.  It had been an adventure, into Egypt in search of a contact of my father's contact, facing villainous men and monstrous creatures.  But, that was not my concern at that moment I suppose.<br/><br/>The touch of the women was not unpleasant I suppose, but I had never liked the touch of others in the bath even when they were servants, let alone when they were servants of a man known for his perverted desires.  I wasn't sure what to think of the complement.  I don't think I was unattractive of course, but it had never been my prime concern.  I had spent my youth traveling the world, and had a toned body to match.  My skin was pale from the clothes I wore, though my face and hands were tanned from long hours under the beating sun.  I had full breasts, a narrow waist, wide 'child-birthing' hips as I had once been told, and nipples so pale they almost vanished on my white skin.  I had never born a child, I had never intended to bear a child, and so was unravaged by such things.  My hair was naturally black, still as dark as midnight.  I shaved when I could for hygienic reasons, and my armpits were bare of hair while my nether regions had but a small black patch that stood out in stark contrast to my skin.<br/><br/>I tried to lift a hand to knock the woman away, but all it did was push me into darkness.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>I can't say it was unexpected.  I knew there would be a price to pay for the plan I had come up with, and I knew at least some of what that price would be.  That didn't, however, make it any more pleasant.  The cushions were soft, the air warm and pleasant, but, for the first time in a long while, I had to fight the urge to weep.  It was perhaps the drugs, the feeling of helplessness.  I had expected chains, I had not expected drugs.  There was something about the paralyzing effect that was almost dehumanizing.  In chains I could still struggle, with drugs I couldn't even do that.<br/><br/>I heard the Sultan, well, the so-called Sultan I should say.  I was forced to look at him even as he looked at me.  I had no desire to answer him, little desire to speak.  I could feel his eyes on me, I could hear his comments.  It was a lewd display I am sure, unsuited even for a proper bedroom, my most private parts on display in the bright light to be examined and lusted after.<br/><br/>He entered me with no ceremony or preparation, the only relief the oils and earlier attention of his slave-women.  It was, as I am sure one can imagine, unpleasant.  I could not fight, I could not even muster up the strength to break free of the delicate women he called concubines.  I could just lay there and take it as he pressed his bulbous head against me and entered me.  His hard penis spread me apart, parted my lips as Moses had parted the Red Sea... okay, perhaps not the best comparison.  Still, it was different from true love-making.  There was no give and take, no other attention, I was able to do nothing in return even if I had wanted to.  There was, as I lay there, nothing to focus on but his penis inside of me.<br/><br/>I groaned, tight, warm, and unready as we were joined as one.  I could feel himself bury as much of himself into me as he could manage, feel my body resist, feel the weight of his own behind his invader.  Then, the thrusting.  Friction, skin on skin.  In and out, in and out.  As he took his pleasure from my body.  I had never been one to look down on those of other places as some of my compatriots did, but I had never thought to be in such a situation.  I whimpered as he thrust in and out of me, as my breasts bounced, as I feebly trembled and twitched.<br/><br/>I had no intention of answering his question.  I was not convinced he could tell, for one, and given that I had returned no attention, given no action, there was no way for him to know if I was an 'experienced whore' or not.  It was a sexist thought, that somehow i had changed by the very touch of a man's penis.  But, I was also in no position to protest.  I glared, such as it was, back at him as he enjoyed my body.