by Paul Blades
I was overwhelmed now with lust. I slammed my hips against hers and grabbed the sides of her face with my hands. She was breathing heavily and pouring little intermittent cries into my mouth. Again and again I drove my cock deep into her womb. It seemed that all of me was centered there, that all the nerve endings of my body were wired to my manhood. Suddenly, the girl’s little cries became shouts. Her fingers dug deep into my back, her legs held me vice-like between them. As her hips ground hard against mine I let loose a stream of hot cum deep within her. Our lips had parted and I was calling out my pleasure loudly. Our mutual orgasms seemed to last forever, our bodies merged into one writhing, shuddering beast. When the pulsing of my long, thick rod subsided, I could still feel the hard, rhythmic contractions of her pussy. Finally, we lay still together, intertwined, overwhelmed by our spent passion.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ONE WOMAN’S PLEASURE
Fatima’s morning began with a resounding slap on her ass. The Prince was awake and while he was awake his whore was not permitted sleep. The girl gave a sharp cry, deadened by the leather ball in her mouth and the silk sack over her head. She felt the Prince get up off of the bed and heard him enter the bathroom and pee. The shower began to run and she heard the sounds of him stepping in. She had suffered terribly the night before, worse than she had suffered since her first day as a slave. The sound of the running water gave her some slight comfort as it meant that the Prince was engaged in another activity and could not harm or abuse her.
When the shower ended, Fatima’s stomach began to turn. She knew that it was unlikely that her tormentor would commence his day’s activities, if he had any that is, without directing his attention to his new plaything. The Prince emerged from the bathroom drying himself off with a heavy, thick cotton towel. He looked at the red striped woman who lay on his bed. Maybe he had overdone it a little, he thought. But he had derived immeasurable pleasure from it. He resolved that it would not be the only night she would be tortured. In the meantime, the shower had relieved his hangover and he was randy. He wanted to fuck his new slave. That’s what she was for, wasn’t it?
Not bothering to untie the girl, the prince swung her legs off of the bed and turned her torso so that she was face down, lying horizontally across the mattress. He bracketed her legs with his. Her body was folded on the bed’s edge in such a way to present her rear globes and the hidden entrance between them nicely. No need to untie her ankles, it would be tighter this way.
Fatima felt the head of the Prince’s cock probing at her rear opening. With her ankles tied, the entrance was constricted and narrow. As the Prince pressed forward, Fatima felt her tender flesh being stretched and torn. Although the way was difficult, the Prince just pressed harder until he was admitted to the her bowels. She squealed in pain as the hard sword of flesh delved inside her. Once inside, the Prince began to saw his stiff cock across the pursed lips of her anus. The mattress rocked the girl’s body up and down with each of his thrusts. She struggled at her bonds, rebelling against this new abuse.
The Prince’s hands were on the bed on either side of the girl’s body and his locked elbows kept him poised above her. He admired her twisting hands as they involuntarily conveyed her dismay. The hole was tight and the ring of flesh clung firmly to his shaft. He groaned as he felt his orgasm build. When he felt the pulsing of his member, he drove it home to the hilt, letting his sperm jet deep inside her.
The French girl welcomed the Prince’s release. She gratefully felt him withdraw. The stretched lips burned as the thick member drew across them.
The Prince wiped his now flaccid tool with the towel he had used to dry himself and tossed it aside. He had things to do today. He dressed quickly, leaving Fatima draped across the bed. She dared not stir without instruction. When he was fully dressed, smart black pants, a loose, blue cotton shirt, fine black, leather Italian shoes, he rang for a servant. To his surprise Ngomo entered the room.
“Yes, Ngomo, what is your business here?” he inquired.
“If you Lordship will permit, I have come to retrieve the slave,” the tall coffee colored eunuch answered.
“Never mind that,” the Prince said disdainfully. “She is to remain here.”
“It is as your Lordship wishes,” Ngomo replied deferentially. “But if salve is not placed on her wounds, she will scar. And she needs to be fed and bathed, and to rest, so that she may serve you again tonight.”
Rashan felt that he was being out maneuvered by the slave master. He looked back at the girl for a few seconds and then turned to Ngomo. “All right. But have her back here before dinnertime.”
“As your Lordship commands,” Ngomo said with a slight bow. He despised the Prince, his Western ways, his excesses. This girl was a delicate flower to be enjoyed, not a cow to be beaten for no reason. The eunuch was aware that men took pleasure in administering pain to women. The Emir often had the slaves whipped for his amusement. But everything was to be taken in moderation. He said a silent prayer for the Emir’s long life.
Fatima heard the discourse between her tormentor and the slave master. She recognized his deep baritone voice. She knew that she was the subject of their debate and hoped that the resolution of their disagreement would not visit more torment and abuse on her. She felt her ankles being untied and then strong arms lifting her from the bed. She sagged when she was brought to her feet. The Slave Master held her body close to his until she was able to balance herself. A leash was clipped to her collar, she was hooded and then led from the room.
For the next two weeks, Fatima satisfied the Prince’s pleasures nightly. Each night she hoped that her considerable sexual skills would dissuade him from further torment of her body. Some nights, the nights that he was not drunk, and they were few, she was able to deflect his violent disposition by the slow, mesmerizing service of his manhood. She had a dexterous cunt and a wonderful mouth. Her rear entrance was supple and she knew how to grip his tool tightly. Each time he orgasmed, she would subtly and slowly reignite his passion, stroking his instrument, rubbing her breasts against him, writhing her torso atop his.
She allowed herself to be carried away with lust as he pounded his cock inside her loins or her ass. She knew that only the most passionate of embraces would entrance this demon who owned her. It made tolerable the callous exploitation of her flesh.
During the days, Fatima was allowed to freely consort with her fellow slaves. She treasured her times with the three slave girls who had comforted her on her first day. They taught her the simple rules of their cruel prison. Foremost of all was the need to obey. There was another French girl there and Fatima was relieved to have someone to talk to. It was forbidden to speak of their former lives in any but the most general of terms.
Most of the other slave girls were sympathetic of Fatima’s fate as the property of the cruel and sadistic Prince. Compared to him, the Emir was kind. The only unpleasant aspect of spending her days in the harem was the Spanish girl. She lorded it over the others and on more than one occasion had delivered unwarranted and unexpected blows to Fatima.
One day, however, the Spanish girl received her comeuppance. She had been taken to service the Emir at his afternoon siesta. When she returned, there were bright red stripes about her body, the evidence of a severe lashing. When her hood was removed, it was seen that she was masked by a leather gag. Only her forlorn eyes could be seen.
Ngomo unceremoniously pushed her to the floor and attached a chain from the ceiling to her ankles. He pulled the chain taut and she rose from the floor. Ngomo took from his belt a thick leather encased crop and commenced belaboring her body with it ruthlessly. The Spanish girl groaned and shrieked as the force of the blows caused her body to sway back and forth, her voice stifled by her gag.
When Ngomo was done, he left her hanging there for several hours. Seeing their chance at revenge, the slave girls repeatedly and viciously slapped and punched her defenseless form. Even Fatima joined in, pinching and twisting the upside down girl’s
breasts and nipples, cursing at her in French.
When Ngomo returned, all of the girls fell dutifully to the floor, pressing their heads down and crossing their arms behind their backs. Ngomo lowered the Spaniard to the floor, rehooded her and dragged her from the room. None of the girls ever learned what the Spanish had done to merit Ngomo’s wrath. She was never seen again.
There finally came a time when Prince Rashan did not call for Fatima’s services. Even Ngomo had developed sympathy for the girl. He entered the harem one afternoon. The girls all made their supplicating bows. He called out Fatima’s name. As required, and as she had done now a good two dozen times, Fatima rose from her kneeling position, ran to Ngomo and fell down at his feet, her hands behind her, head to the floor. She expected the silken bag to be affixed over her head and her hands to be tied prefatory to being led to the Prince’s chambers. Each time she had run to Ngomo, her stomach had churned. Her revulsion at the Prince and his cruelty to her was complete. She prayed every day that he would not call her, cried every morning when she was returned.
But this day, Ngomo did not prepare her for transport. Instead he announced matter of factly that her master had gone away on a trip and would not be back for ten days. He then turned and left.
Fatima was shocked that Ngomo would break protocol to give a slave any information regarding her future. But after a moment, her joy overcame her surprise. Ten whole days! She was free of her cruel and heinous master for ten whole days! She rushed back to the harem common room and hugged Gelela for joy. They had become constant lovers and the best of friends. Gelela joined Fatima’s celebration.
The next few days were like heaven to Fatima. She rose leisurely each day, refreshed and contented. For the first time she was able to spend the night wrapped in the arms of her lover. With the Spaniard gone, there was no reason for fear from her. Gelela and the others were subject to being called for by the Emir, but there were seven slaves and he could not have all of them every night. Fatima was happy to be able to greet Gelela on her return from the Emir’s bed following the two evenings that she spent there during this period.
One night, all of the slaves, save Fatima, were called to serve. The Emir was having a banquet and the girls were to entertain his guests. For the first time, Fatima was all alone in the harem. It was a strange experience not to be surrounded by a bevy of nearly naked women. Fatima prepared herself for a long and lonely night. But about an hour after the other girls had been led in a bound and hooded procession from the harem, Ngomo returned. Fatima was in the dormitory, reclining on her bed when she heard his deep voice call her name.
The French girl sprinted to the common room and fell to her knees before the Slave Master. Her mind was afire with fear. Had the Prince returned? He was not due for another three days. Her whole body tingled with apprehension. Was her ordeal to start anew?
Ngomo hooded and bound the girl and, after leashing her, led her from the harem. As usual, Ngomo’s strides were long and quick and she had to scurry blindly behind him. She was brought to a halt while a door was opened and led inside. She had steeled herself to her fate, but something told her that she was not in the Prince’s bedroom. Another hand grabbed her leash and tugged on it gently. The pace was then more leisurely. Fatima smelt the scent of perfume. It was a woman leading her.
She passed through several more corridors and through a series of doors. She was brought to a halt and her hood was removed. She was in a large bedroom, decorated in a feminine style. There were long pink gauze curtains on the windows, a soft red carpet and large paintings of flowers and scenes of nature on the walls. The walls themselves were rose colored. In the middle of one of the walls was a large canopied bed with a blue and white flowered bedspread and large fluffy pillows.
It was the Queen who held her leash. She looked the slave girl over, making sure that he makeup was complete. Fatima was dressed in a sheer, coffee colored teddy. Her nails had been painted a dark brown and a dark red lipstick had been applied to her lips, nipples and labia. Her shiny black hair had been trimmed to frame her face. An ironclad harem rule was that all slaves must be ready to serve at all times. Fatima, even though she had not expected to be called out tonight had dutifully complied with the rule and she was a delectable vision. The Queen smiled at her and caressed her breast saying something soft and sweet sounding in Arabic.
Fatima was led over to the bed and her leash removed. She knelt in submission. After a few moments the door to the bathroom opened and the Princess Alliyah emerged, dressed in a flowing, sheer, green and white nightgown. Her black hair was tied in a long braid behind her head. She looked nervous.
The Queen took the Princess into her arms. “You look lovely, my dear,” she said to her in Arabic.
“Oh Mother, are you sure that this is right?”
“Of course, sweet one. Come, take a look at her. She’s beautiful.”
The Queen guided the Princess over to where Fatima knelt, her arms still bound behind her. She gently took Fatima’s face in her hands and turned it upwards so that the Princess could look into it.
“This girl is a creature of pleasure. She has been trained to give delight. She knows how to pleasure a woman. It’s time you learned what fleshly pleasures a woman’s body is capable of. Do not fear this girl. She will treat you gently and with loving care. She is yours for the night. Enjoy her.” The Queen kissed her daughter and left the room.
Without understanding the words, Fatima understood exactly what was expected of her. She looked up at the shy, uncertain girl. The Princess was a desirable young woman. She had kind eyes. Her breasts were firm and ample enough for her slender frame. She had a pretty face, unmarked by avarice or cruelty. The French girl’s loins stirred at that thought of the sweet caresses she could give her.
The lights in the room had been turned down low and there was a sweet smell of incense in the room. The Princess sat on the bed nervously contemplating the young girl who knelt beside her. Part of her yearned for the girl’s embrace, and the other part wanted to call the whole thing off. This girl was vastly experienced at sex and she had none. Not even a kiss. The Princess was afraid that the girl would mock her innocence. Suddenly, as if propelled to action, the Princess got up from the bed. She moved about the room lighting small votive candles. When she had finished, she turned off the lights.
The room was even dimmer now, and the Princess felt less uneasy about the task to come. For she saw it as a task, one compelled by her mother’s wishes. Alliyah dreamed of a strong man’s arms; like she had read of in the cheap romance novels she had stolen from her mother’s room. She wanted to be overcome by a man’s passion, possessed by him. She had never harbored a desire to make love to a woman. But her mother had said that she must and so she would, just this once, just to see what it was like.
Fatima had watched the young princess scurry nervously about the room. When the lights were extinguished she understood the Princess’s need for the cover of darkness. She remembered when she was innocent, when she first yearned for a lover’s touch. It had been a young boy in her school, a year ahead of her. They had made love at his house, when his parents were away. She was afraid to be seen naked, afraid to see a look of disappointment in the young boy’s eyes. She had made him turn off all of the lights. Now her nakedness was for all to see.
When the Princess returned to the bed and resumed her sitting position, Fatima realized that she would have to take matters into her own hands. She did not want to make an enemy of the Queen by failing in her duty. She sensed a hard taskmaster in the Queen and remembered the hard slaps she had given her on the day of her arrival. She had been beaten almost senseless by Rashan, but she sensed that any punishment inflicted by the Queen would be infinitely more exquisite.
Fatima rose from her knees and turning her back to the Princess offered her her bound wrists. The Princess was startled by the slave girl’s sudden movement, but she realized that she would have to untie the girl. Her hands, moist with sweat, and trep
idation in her heart, she undid the leather thong.
Fatima’s hands were free. She turned and looked the Princess in the eyes. The flickering candles made shadows dance across the Princess’s face. Fatima sat next to her and reaching a hand up, gently stroked the other woman’s cheek. The Princess drew back slightly, but allowed the caress. The hand was warm, almost hot. Alliyah trembled.
Encouraged by her boldness, Fatima leaned forwards slowly. With her hand still on the Princess’s cheek, she drew her lips close to hers. She could feel the nervousness of the girl. Before placing her lips on the Princess’s, she hesitated, looking for a sign of resistance or refusal. Seeing none, Fatima leaned forwards just a quarter inch more and the lips of the two girls met. It was a soft kiss, more like a caress. The Princess’s lips were soft and sweet. Fatima felt a well of affection rise within her. She leaned back and smiled. The Princess’s eyes looked downwards demurely and she smiled too.
The French girl now placed her other hand on the Princess’s face and, holding her head steady, kissed her again, stronger now, bolder. She made small kisses around the outline of the Princess’s mouth, along her chin and over her eyes. She drew her body closer. The two women could feel each other’s warmth through their delicate clothes. Alliyah sighed, mesmerized by Fatima’s eager lips. Fatima found the Princess’s lips again and, after pressing them firmly with her own, gently guided the young girl’s mouth open.
Alliyah inhaled the hot breath of the slave girl. She was feeling things that she never would have guessed at. Her nipples had grown firm, and there was an incipient yearning in her loins.
When Fatima’s tongue touched hers, a soft, hesitant touch, Alliyah felt a flow of warmth through her body. All her thoughts were on the gentle tongue in her mouth and the hot, but sweet breath of the other girl. Unconsciously, her hands reached out for the body of the other, and she rested them on the slave girl’s hips. Fatima delved deeper into Alliyah’s mouth, her own passions rising.
