by Gail Fae
Shallara lay back in the salon chair, relaxing as Ariella massaged her damp scalp. She had been letting Ariella do her hair for years now, and had developed a close friendship, one that bordered on the intimate. Sensuous, soft fingertips rhythmically massaged her hairline, moving ever so slowly down to her temples. Exotic oriental music played quietly in the background, and she felt herself drifting deeper and deeper. The wild flower scents from the shampoos seemed to overcome her senses: feminine, sensual and exotic.
She barely noticed that Ariella's voice seemed to be changing. The idle chatter had been replaced by something more focused, more directed. She felt voices in her head leading her through a maze of passages and arches, until she emerged into a sunny courtyard. Somewhere, deep inside, as she continued to drift off, she heard Ariella's gentle voice urging her to, "Sleep for me now."
The private courtyard was surrounded on all sides by a sandy-colored, flat-roofed building. Large arches and deep, shady verandas looked out onto the harsh sunlit area. A crystal clear pool dominated the center of the courtyard, with nubile women playfully splashing each other as they frolicked under the blazing sun. The eunuch leading Shallara was huge. He had baggy, white linen knee-length pantaloons, and a broad, red cloth sash crossed his chest, covering his pendulous male breasts, before wrapping around his huge waist. A red turban sat on his head; it had a large, red gem clip holding it together. He led Shallara to a padded table lying in the shade of exotic broad-leafed palms, and gently pressed her down and onto her back.
Her dream became even more sensual and erotic as she felt herself being prepared for her first night in the harem. Girls wearing bright silk skirts and tops massaged her, rubbing oils and lotions into her silky skin. Her nails were cleaned, polished and buffed; exfoliate was applied to her arms and legs, and vigorously rubbed off. Her skin felt clean and alive. Her hands and feet tingled, and a deep warmth suffused her breasts. Shallara felt her thighs being gently eased apart, and offering no resistance, she felt a cool, aromatic cream being applied to her pubis before the hair was gently scraped away; she knew that this was the way of the Sultan's harem.
But all too soon, it was over. Shallara seemed to snap back to reality as Ariella moved her chair upright, and began to blow dry her hair. Ariella's bubbly chatter had started again, and Shallara struggled to retain fragments of her dream as it started to fade rapidly into the past. Uncomfortable, she squirmed in the chair as she tried to reposition her skirt which seemed to have ridden too high up her thighs.
All too soon, Shallara had bid Ariella farewell, and arrived back in her apartment. She needed to use the bathroom, her panties were damp and gave off a telling, musty odor. As she undressed in front of the mirror, she admired her spunky new hairstyle. Her blond hair was short and spiky. Ariella had done well! Shallara remembered clearly the instructions she had given her, for she had rehearsed them in her head a number of times. "Ariella, I need a change. I want to look sassy and spunky - like a tomboy! I don't just want to look good - I want to excite both males and females. Cut what you have to, to make this happen!"
And as Shallara looked at herself in the mirror, slowly peeling off her underwear, a look of bemusement crossed her face, followed by a wide grin. Staring back at her was a freshly shaved pubis, the skin smooth and silky. A temporary tattoo had been rubbed onto the mound, and a fresh red rosebud curved its way gracefully up to her lower belly. The dream came flooding back to her consciousness, as she once again remembered the gentle scraping, the scent of shaving cream, and the gentle application of soothing oils. A wicked smile flashed across her face. They had an evening of backgammon planned... "Just wait Ariella, I know how to get you back!"
Tim Sharpe stood outside the apartment door and knocked hesitantly. He glanced around self-consciously, hoping that he would not be seen by any of the other tenants entering their own apartments. Well dressed in a dark business suit, tall and well built, he exuded confidence. Like any executive, he had a sense of self that seemed to fill up the space around him, so the casual observer would have wondered at the timid knock. He hesitated, chewing slightly on his lower lip, and knocked harder. The plush carpets seemed to soak up the sound of the knock, but he was rewarded when the door opened partially to let him in.
His trepidation was not without cause. Tim's drive into the management ranks seemed unstoppable only a day ago. But now it all seemed to be crashing down on him. He broke into a cold sweat every time he thought back to the meeting that he had been called into with the Human Resources Vice president, Cheryl Stern, yesterday. The meeting had been held in her office and at her instigation. The tone was very somber - charges of harassment had been leveled at Tim by two of his female subordinates. Tim was well known to be a misogynist. He frequently put down his female staff, and was barely civil to them, so he was not really surprised that one of them had complained. It was the seriousness with which it was being treated that shocked him!
He was stunned by the option that Cheryl Stern had laid out for him: he could either fight the charges in a tribunal, or he could take a course of sensitivity training, at his own expense, with a therapist called Shallara. Tim had snorted and blustered, but realized that he had no option.
He now stepped through the door into Shallara's apartment, just a bit puzzled that this meeting was taking place in an apartment rather than in consulting rooms. As the door opened wider, and as he took in the scene, he wondered at the setup. He walked through the entrance lobby into a luxuriously furnished sitting room. The walls were a rich creamy color, and the cream carpets felt soft underfoot. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing red patterns on the wall. Crystal light fittings glittered on the walls, and cream-colored, silky curtains looped across the window. One end of the room was taken up by a custom-fitted oak bookshelf with cupboards at one end. His eyes took in the scene and widened as he spied the leather covered trestle resting at one end of the bookshelf, underneath which a small wooden case sat. A large cage, perhaps three foot square stood in the other corner, but he couldn't figure out what on earth it could be for.
And as heavy an impact as the opulent room made on him, it was the lady that had opened the door that quickly made his heart pound. He felt dry-mouthed and suddenly large and clumsy, as she reached out to shake his hand. Short, blonde, spiky hair crowned a lithe, but short, body. Her fire-engine red lipstick stood out against a fair, flawless complexion. He seemed to be drawn into her eyes, as he reached out to take her extended hand. A simple gold chain snaked around her wrist. His eyes took in her cream business suit, the cleavage, and strayed down to her feet. Red toenails peeked out from the strappy silver sandals.
As a slightly amused smile played on her lips, he struggled to regain his equilibrium. A jolt of testosterone seemed to hit him as he recovered, and a thought flashed through his mind that this couldn't be all bad. A grin crossed his face. In a flash he had mentally undressed her, and he decided that this would be his next conquest. Silently, he made a bet with himself that within two weeks, he would have his way with her in bed.
Tim found himself being taken by the hand and led across to the couch. He sat stiffly as she walked across to a cabinet and took a crystal glass, into which she dropped a couple of pieces of shaved ice. Her hands mesmerized him as she picked up a decanter and poured a tot over the ice. Barely a word had been spoken, and he felt his hands becoming clammy and edgy.
But the mood changed very quickly as Shallara moved back and sat on the couch beside him. She handed over the glass, and he savored the aromatic smell that drifted up. Tim fancied himself as a Scotch connoisseur, and as the first drops of the golden liquid touched his tongue, he recognized the unmistakable taste of a Laphroaig pure malt. And as the warmth of the fire reached him, a sense of comfort suddenly seemed to overcome him. In just a few moments he found himself easily chatting to this enigmatic lady that perched on the edge of the couch next to him.
As they talked, he found that it was Shallara that seemed to be leading the conversation. The warmth of the fire in the hearth, the gentle fuzziness in his head brought on by the alcohol and her rhythmic tones, seemed to be taking him down somewhere he had never been before. A feeling of well-being and relaxation seemed to overcome Tim, and the physical closeness of this stunning therapist seemed to feel so right. A self-satisfied smile played on his lips as he mentally scored this conquest. He had barely had to exert himself in charming her, and here she was, all but sitting on his lap!
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