Sultana the Arabian Sultan's Concubine 1925 Golf Towel

The air hung heavy with the scent of rosewater and spiced incense, the flickering candlelight dancing upon Sultana's alabaster skin. Her golden gown, the color of spun sunlight, shimmered with each movement, a cascade of liquid wealth catching the warm glow. It clung to her curves like a second skin, perfectly mimicking the enticing oval of a seedless grape – the very reason the Sultan had bestowed that name upon her. But tonight, the familiar endearment felt hollow, a cruel reminder of his absence. - Through the intricate filigree of the round window, the vast expanse of the night sky spilled in. A breathtaking tapestry of inky blackness dotted with a million twinkling stars spilled in. Beyond, a crescent moon, like a silver scimitar, cast its silvery sheen upon the rippling waves of the Bosphorus. The moonlight painted a glistening path that stretched towards the distant, silhouetted forms of other palaces, their minarets like slender fingers reaching for the heavens. Yet, Sultana saw none of it tonight. Her gaze was fixed on the empty space beside her on the opulent divan, a plush stage conspicuously devoid of its usual occupant. - The Sultan was with Nazira, the new concubine, a fiery creature whose name itself whispered of forbidden pleasures. A tremor of jealousy, sharp and unwelcome, coursed through Sultana. Her hand strayed to the small indentation on her hip, a permanent reminder of the Sultan's last fervent possession. However, a different kind of longing flickered within her... a yearning for a deeper connection, a partnership built on more than fleeting passion. - Sultana rose, the golden silk whispering against her skin as she shed the light garment with practiced grace. Each movement was a deliberate display, a silent invitation that spoke volumes without a single word. She approached the window, the cool night air sending goosebumps erupting on her exposed skin in delightful contrast to the simmering heat rising within her. - Leaning against the cool stone of the window frame, she offered a glimpse of the valley between her breasts, a subtle suggestion of the captivating beauty that awaited him. Her unbound dark hair, like a cascade of midnight, tumbled down her back in a display of untamed elegance. Her gaze drifted beyond the city, seeking solace in the vastness of the night sky, a mirror to the yearning in her heart. In its depths, she envisioned a future where she wasn't just the Sultan's "Sultana," a possession to be admired, but a trusted confidante, a partner who could walk beside him and share the burdens of his reign. - The sound of hurried footsteps sliced through the heavy silence. The Sultan, his robes askew and his eyes burning with a mix of desire and concern, emerged from the shadows. - "Sultana," he rasped, his voice thick with urgency. "You shouldn't be out here alone." - His words held a veiled warning, an acknowledgement of the danger she courted with her captivating display. But Sultana, fueled by a potent mix of longing and resolve, met his gaze head-on. - "Perhaps not," she murmured, her voice a silken caress. "But perhaps you need reminding of what lies neglected in your own garden, Sultan." - The air crackled with unspoken desire, yet a deeper yearning as well. He knew the power she held over him, the way her beauty could enthrall him, but tonight, he saw a different kind of fire in her eyes – a fire that mirrored his own secret desire for a more profound connection. Sultana, the forbidden fruit he couldn't resist, was ready to claim more than just a nickname. She was ready to claim a place in his heart, not just his bedchamber. - This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published (or registered with the U.S. Copyright Office) before January 1, 1927.