The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key) (5 page)

S
ierra
. Sierra. Sierra.

Owen had to clench his fist, stabbing himself with his fingernails to stop himself from ripping the clothes from her body and burying himself inside of her. All he knew was her, her smell, the taste of her, the sexy noises she made as she tempted him.

He was so aroused his dick felt like it was going to explode. It pressed against his jeans, hurting him it was so hard. The smells in the room were doing something to him. His vision was blurry and all he could focus on was this girl. This woman. Sierra.

All he wanted was Sierra. He didn’t need to eat. He needed to fuck her all day and all night.

He needed to be inside her.

She was everything and so much more. He lapped at her breasts, the perfect dark areolas tasting of spice and sex and everything nice. He squeezed one with his teeth and she cried out, her hips thrusting against him again and again. He couldn’t resist any longer. He was going to come in his pants like a horny teenager fingering his first willing partner if he didn't get inside of her.

She was wearing nothing more than panties under a little filmy skirt. He pushed her up and away until she stood over him. He pulled the little scrap of fabric down her legs and brushed aside the thin material of her skirt, then pulled her down to the ground again, pushing her back against the pillows behind her.

She was spread before him. The fabric of her skirt cascaded around her golden legs. Her hair had come undone from the clips she had it in and spread out over the pillows. She was mesmerizing. A succubus. He couldn’t get enough, but his eyes trailed over her body until he found what he wanted. That sweet pussy he wanted to explore.

She was shaved, and the bare lips of her pussy glistened from her arousal. She was dripping. He stroked a finger over her clit, once. All it took was once. And she came.

She screamed her pleasure, her hips jutting against his hand over and over again. His name was on her tongue. He was that good. He had never had that happen before.

He was lost.

He fumbled with his pants, shedding his clothes in a haphazard dance. He needed Sierra. He needed her so much he would die if he didn’t take her.

O
wen stood
up to remove his pants while Sierra lay back on the pillows shivering. Nothing like this had happened to her before. She should be embarrassed, self-conscious about being laid across the pillows, her pussy exposed for everyone in this room to see, but all she knew was she wanted Owen. She wanted to see him. See his cock. She wanted him. She wanted the pleasure he could bring. The pleasure she knew he would bring to her.

When he kicked his jeans off, his dick sprung forward, hard and ready. She pulled him down, pushing him against the pillows.

“I need you,” she moaned.

Her ears popped. And she blinked. Blinked over and over again, fast and disjointed.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. It dripped down the walls. The smell of acrid smoke and burning wood bit into her nose. The disgusting aroma of rotting flesh and the distinct ammonia scent of urine bit into her consciousness. There was so much blood. How could there be this much blood?

The taint was washed away with the tang of incense and the underlying smell of marijuana. So much better than the smell of blood. She wanted to hold onto that smell. She didn’t want to smell the blood anymore.

Owen’s mouth on her tits brought her back to pleasure. To the heady smell of jasmine.

“Oh God,” she moaned. Owen drew her to him and her vision became blurry. All she knew was Owen.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling herself onto him. She aligned her sex with his hard dick and took him into her. She was so wet, so slick with need that he slid into her without any resistance. They both screamed as their need overtook them.

“Sierra,” he whispered as she moved on him. Taking him into her in a violent rocking motion. He licked her breasts as they bounced against his face.

She faded in and out of reality, only staying aware of Owen. Of how he fit inside of her. Of the way their bodies joined together. It was bliss. It was pleasure. She came with a scream, but continued to pump over him. She didn’t ever want this to end. She could ride him until she passed out.

He flipped her onto her back and his big body spread her legs. They kissed as he plunged into her. He whispered her name in her ear as his body emptied into her. His orgasm was intense and she felt it deep within her core. Hot. Liquid. Perfect. This was pleasure. This was right. This was where she needed to be.

They lay still for only a few seconds, still joined. His cock never softened. He never withdrew. He moved her until she was on her side and he was at her back and pushing into her again and again. She raised her leg so he could have better access and he took her as she watched the sexual escapades of the people around her.

There were more people. It had only been the Sultan and the dancers before, but now there were people on every available surface. They were all engaged in different sexual acts. Two, three and four people grouped together. Men with men, women with women, all lost in passion. They were all very different. Their styles. Their dress, even though most were undressed. Sierra noticed a woman with long light hair that curled in tight ringlets down her back. She was nude, but wore very distinct plastic bangles on her wrists and her hair was teased in a style out of the 80s, not the 1880s…the 1980s. There was also a young couple, vigorously engaged in oral sex on one large man that stood over their kneeling forms. The girl’s hair was done in pin curls, the man’s hair was short and slicked back with gel.

They were people out of time. People who shouldn’t be here. A woman cried out and Sierra’s attention went to her. The woman was leaning back on a mound of pillows with another woman between her legs. The woman still wore her shirt, it was a local team’s jersey. The New Orleans football team. A very modern shirt that didn’t belong in this vintage environment.

Sierra’s ears popped. She screamed. This time not in pleasure. This time in horror.

The sumptuous room was replaced with a den of horrors. Blood was everywhere. Splatters of it were all over the walls and on every available surface. Sierra was even laying in it. She lifted her hand from the pillow and it came away slick with blood. And the corpses. There were dead bodies everywhere. The woman in the jersey, she lay dead, motionless, her jersey soaked with blood.

Sierra shot away from Owen, slipping in the blood and accidentally slapping her hand against a woman that was lying on the floor. She too was dead. A moment ago she had watched as that woman was taken by the two men with the thick brown ponytails, now all three of them were missing their heads. They were in pieces. Their body parts strewn over the floor. The head of the woman was on the other side of a pile of pillows, frozen in shock, her mouth open as if to scream.

The guard who had watched impassively at the door was on the floor too. His head also missing, his hand still gripping the curved blade of his scimitar.

“Oh shit.” Sierra jerked away. Owen came up behind her, his hands on her. His bloody hands. She tried to pull away.

“Sierra,” he murmured. His hands stroked her, they slipped between her legs, rubbing her. He held her strong. The pleasure was too intense. The way he made her feel. The blood faded. She sighed. But the blood, it was everywhere.

Owen kissed her. There was no blood.

O
wen was drowning
in the sensations. Falling under a spell that he couldn’t come back from. He was lost in this woman. Nothing like this before. Nothing like this again. They had fucked so many times he had lost count. He never went soft. His dick was as hard as a rock.

The intensity of another orgasm whipped through him and he was seeing double. Double vision. Two worlds. One space. Horror. So much horror. But so much pleasure. He couldn’t bring together what he was seeing. His brain felt so heavy. So full.

He shook his head and he forced himself to retreat from Sierra. She whined in protest. She was covered in blood.

Blood. There was blood everywhere.

Oh fuck, he hurt her. She was dead. What had he done to her? But she still moved. She beckoned him with her hands. She tried to pull him down, she wanted everything from him. He wanted to give her more of him.

There was a bloody handprint on her leg. There was more on her stomach. It looked like it was from him. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood. She was writhing in it. He was buried inside of her, his dick in her pumping and they were both covered in blood.

He stared down at her in horror. The world shifted and his ears popped. It hurt, like the time he had been on a plane when it had plummeted too fast during turbulence.

His double vision rectified, fading into one. Fading into one house of horrors.

The drapes that decorated the walls were shredded. They were shredded by the victims desperate to get away. One still clung to the fabric, wrapped in it, her body torn, ripped to shreds, her intestines were no longer inside of her, but hung loose from her body in thick, red ropes.

Sierra touched him and her soft hands drew him back, drew him back to the pleasure. He looked down at her body and his own clenched in want. In need. In must have. He shook his head to clear it. This wasn’t right. What they were doing wasn’t right. This wasn’t him. He traced a finger over the pattern of her tattoos. He wanted to look closely at them, figure out what they meant.

She felt so good. He wanted to come again and again in her. Make her his. Make her unable to ever leave.

His own thoughts scared him. His ears popped again.

“Sierra, no, Sierra.” He pushed her hands away and shook her by the shoulders.

“This is wrong, this is so wrong.” He was on the verge of sobbing. He was so thrown off by his surroundings. This was so unbelievably wrong. He had taken this woman, a woman he had only recently met, in a pool of blood. Her back was coated in it. Her eyes were unfocused and she reached for him, focused on one thing, pleasure. He drew in a sharp breath, trying to resist the call of her touch. The urge to fall back into her, to lose himself. Something he wanted desperately to do. He didn’t want to stay in this reality. This horror. He wanted to fall back into the spell. He was still buried inside of her…all it took was one thrust and the spell would be back.

Spell. That was it. It had to be some kind of thrall they were in. His muddled thoughts put two and two together. He would never have given himself so readily to the moment like this. The reality had to be the blood, the death, the rank odor of the dead. It had to be. There was no other explanation. Even though it was such a terrible reality.

“Sierra.” He shook her. Her eyes remained unfocused. She pulled on his arm, moaning, begging for him.

“Sierra,” he said again more insistently and he shook her harder. Her head snapped to the side, banging into the leg of a chair. Her hands flew up, the pain jolting her out of the lust filled world she had been stuck within.

He knew he had her when her eyes widened in horror and she covered her breasts demurely, whimpering when she saw the blood on her hands. Owen got to his feet and rummaged around for his shirt, handing it to her. She slipped it over her head gratefully.

He pulled on his pants and shoes and pulled her to her feet. His shirt fell to her thighs and for some reason he found that sexier than when she was nude and underneath him. He pulled her to him and began brushing off the stuffing from the pillow that had been their makeshift bed.

“What happened to us?” she said, looking anywhere but at him.

“I think we were trapped in some kind of lust spell, I don’t know. That’s the only thing I can think of. Spell. That’s my answer. What the ever living fuck?” He went to run a hand through his hair but thought better of it and wiped his palms on his jeans.

“Before this trip I didn’t believe in ghosts or spells or anything, but what we did, that wasn’t natural. What happened to us, that’s not me, I would never.” He tried to explain it the best way he could without being insulting. Hard to do when they were trying to avoid stepping on body parts and he had just screwed her brains out for God knows how long.

“Are these ghosts?” She looked down at the dead around her, tears were running down her cheeks. The horror was so immense it was surreal, almost unbelievable. Owen processed it all like he would a movie. Nothing this horrible could be real.

Owen pulled back the curtains and looked out into night. The sun had set and there were gas lanterns burning across the street. They were still in the past.

“I think this is just another reality, the reality after everyone was killed.”

“This is horrible.” She went to step over a small female strewn across the floor and she missed, slipping in the woman’s blood. Owen grabbed for her to steady her. She was staring at her toes, her open sandals were now coated in blood. “I can’t…” She rushed to the side and began to vomit. It took everything in Owen’s reserves not to join her. His senses were overwhelmed, but he was still thinking rationally, he was still holding it together. He had to. If not for him, for Sierra. If he broke down there would be no going back. He was displaced and confused. This was some sort of alternate reality. He had to stay focused to get them out of here. Everything would be okay.

This wasn’t real.

It was real. A long time ago. But not now. Not real now.

Sierra was done being sick. She straightened up and wiped at her mouth, her eyes were dim. She was in shock. No one could process these atrocities. Owen dug a pack a gum out of his jeans pocket and handed Sierra a piece. She took it and nodded gratefully. Was he sick to still be attracted to her? Was it the spell, he asked himself?

“How do we get out of here?”

“I think we have to do what we intended, help them and then we’ll be able to leave,” he replied. It was the only logical ending to this mess.

“Then I guess we have to figure out how to help,” she said, her back straight, her eyes determined.