A Cruel Passing of Innocence

by J. D. Jensen

  How glad she was that Zheeno could not see her now, as closing her eyes again he came down and filled her. She felt his massive occupation linger there, as though waiting for the active vacuum pressure to begin its work. Stealing herself now to make ready the inner muscles of her mouth and throat, so as to perform the task, she breathed in deeply, feeling her lungs fill with fresh air, as if it might have been her last breath of purity.

  But he spoke softly still, encouraging her. ‘My spear is there, Nassara, erect for you, ready for your tongue of passion to explore, ready for you to suck.’

  The plugged confines of her mouth, filled again by its waiting burden, seemed to her no less perversely bolted than her rear passage had so recently been, and it seemed that slaves’ flesh was to be offered for breaching at whim by vulgar, heartless creatures. Yet the master’s words were said quietly, and with such deceptive kindness that there was confusion in her mind. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as if seeking reassurance that such kindliness of tone must surely deny the true nature of words that came so shockingly. For a second of weakness, her hatred momentarily smothered by a veil of self-pitying sadness, she held his gaze with an expression that entreated him to bring her more slowly and gently to his ways.

  But the black beads of Sulliman-Mahadji’s eyes only glinted mischievously back at her, devoid of concessions, unyielding to appeals of humanity. ‘Make your lips slide swiftly along the shaft, my slave, and draw my rich fluid into you, then suck hard and diligently.’

  For some minutes Nassara adapted herself to the task, clumsily at first, then with greater harmony of her flesh with his; first tongue, then lips; making as though to busy herself hungrily. Then she drew upon him from her lungs and swallowed, even though her mouth seemed obstinately dry.

  He grasped both her hands, making her put one on either side of his thighs, so as to steady her own inclining torso, her balance and her rhythm now determined by his thrusting hips. Her arm muscles strained at the awkwardness of such unfamiliar movement, her neck and spine arched as she fought to retain the proper distance to better perform her task. From time to time the chains of her slavery snagged painfully at her nipples and at the delicate folds of her sex.

  Abruptly he withdrew, such that she remained rigidly in that same posture, surprised at the interruption and retreat. Her flushed, sweating face waited expectantly, her mouth open from the unaccustomed emptiness, gulping with urgent pants for air. With puzzled eyes looking up at him, she prayed it was not her who had given cause to the halting of his pleasure. Had she been inadequate in her performance? Was there not more to come? After all, there had been no explosive burst, and he had not shuddered as she remembered her stepfather had, nor had she felt the vileness of the master’s seed in her throat. So why had he stopped?

  He smiled down at her again, as if understanding her puzzlement. Then pushing her down onto the cushions again, he reached down and spread her legs wide apart, so that her pubic flush yawned open for him. The chains and bells that hung there gave an insipid little trill before resting again in their new repose. Then bending low over her he inclined his head until his nose hovered just above her shaven portals. She heard him sniffing deeply at her scent.

  ‘Nassara, how sweet is your smell,’ he murmured. ‘You are like a freshly plucked berry from a Legunhya-syrup tree. So rich and succulent, even though you sweat with fear of me.’ He released his breath slowly as he spoke, unhurried to free his lungs of such sweet fullness, before again allowing his nostrils to draw greedily in. Looking down at him she saw how his nose flared in the eagerness of his inhaling.

  Then she felt his tongue, gliding against her neatly sculpted slit, nudging the tiny gold rings, his lips nibbling her. Then taking some chain between his lips he tugged gently, so that the bell tinkled momentarily. At his first touch her heart had chilled at such unaccustomed contact, but she forced herself not to pull away, managing to stifle the shudder that threatened to seize her.

  But at least he was gentle; sometimes content to linger, at others to delve deep, firmly parting her flesh as he inquisitively foraged into her tight channel. Once or twice he paused in his intrusiveness, to lap around the delicate walls of that depth of flesh already conquered. Then he would go deeper again, then withdrawing suddenly to glide around the outer perimeters of her sex.

  He drew back slightly and looked up across Nassara’s belly, between her breasts, his eyes glinting in the dimmed light of the oil lamps. She looked back at him, anxious again, not knowing what was expected of her now, wondering whether she was to remain passive in her reclining posture, allowing him to roam freely with his tongue and lips.

  She thought it strange he should desire such oral pursuits. Were these not the humble tasks of slaves to perform upon their masters? This place, she reflected ruefully, abounded with such contrasting extremes of perversity.

  He smiled wickedly at her before dipping his tongue into her afresh. Then she felt him reach with his hand and thrust his fingers – fingers together to form a wedge – deep between her buttocks, ploughing inside where once the bolt of silver had lodged. Gasping at the suddenness of the penetration her thighs quivered, his fingers wedging ever deeper into her anal depths, causing her to stir and moan, but not from any want of pleasure, only from shock and uncertainty. But her reaction seemed to find favour with his lust.

  ‘See, Nassara, masters too can pleasure their slaves,’ he murmured. ‘Does not your flesh flutter at the touch of my tongue, and my fingers that visit your cushioned depths make you happy to have a master who returns the pleasure given by his slave?’

  He dipped his head again and repeated the action, his fingers rotating indelicately in her passage, making her quiver and moan again. ‘Is that not good, slave girl? Why do you not reply?’

  ‘Oh yes, master, yes!’ she gasped hastily, realising her imprudent silence, forcing her body not to shy away from his intrusions.

  ‘Then now I shall take you,’ he vowed. ‘Now that I have readied you with the seeping moisture of our joined passion, now you are primed for me like ripened fruit.’

  So now her moment was come, and she prepared herself for him, settling back into the cushions, as though eager to make his entrance swift and cosy, not letting him see the distaste in her expression.

  Kneeling between her open thighs, he looked down at the plateau of her tummy and the repose of her breasts. Then leaning suddenly over her he seized her thighs, forcing her knees back against those mouth-watering breasts and held them there, her sex vulnerable to him.

  He paused for a moment, watching for any last rebellion, then pulled her lower body up and back onto him, grunting as he thrust inside her, causing a stunted tinkle of protest by her chains and bells.

  She gasped again, feeling his hands grope her breasts, feeling the snagging pain to her ringed nipples. For a second Zheeno’s smiling face seemed to dance before her eyes, but it was quickly the hazy image of her stepfather’s face that stared down at her in the raptures of his instruction. Then it was only the reality of the contorted features of the master as he pumped into her, his eyes glazed with such intensity of lust.

  Soon she felt his burst and heard his shuddering sigh, before he rolled away, panting, and all she could think of as she gazed up at the ceiling through tear-filled eyes was her beloved Zheeno.

  Chapter 10

  The moon was high when Nassara was led back to her quarters, exhausted and despondent, her mind swirling with tumbled thoughts and smouldering resentment.

  The muscles of her legs and arms ached from the merciless haste with which Ahmood had forced her to move, tugging constantly at her leash. She could hear the subdued crying of Belithza and Safarah as she stood while Ahmood squatted between her legs to unfasten the leash. He leered up at her before getting to his feet, gesturing for her to lie down upon the welcome cushions.

  The doors slammed shut and the bolts were drawn. The dormit
ory was silent, and from time to time the glistening bodies of her naked companions stirred fitfully in the uneasy semidarkness. She looked over at Belithza, who lay nearby, her eyes closed and her tearstained features shining in the dim light of the oil lamps. ‘Belithza, are you awake?’ she asked.

  ‘Nassara, why are we to suffer so?’ her friend gasped. ‘What demons brought us to this place?’ The girl opened her eyes, staring vacantly at Nassara. ‘My master, I see his cruel eyes now as they feast on my body. I feel his hands crawling all over me, and where his teeth bite at the buds of my breasts, and where his lips suck them, and I feel…’

  ‘Shhhh… it is over now for this night.’ But Nassara’s words sounded hollow, knowing the ordeal would come again soon enough. She felt the throbbing of her own body and the taste of her master still in her throat, thinking guiltily and sadly of Zheeno. ‘Belithza, do you know…?’ she began, scarcely disguising the eagerness in her voice, needing desperately to find out about him. ‘Have you news about the male slaves? Were they also taken to the masters’ chambers? Do you know?’

  For a moment she thought Belithza was too filled with self-pity to reply, and regretted asking, not wishing to impose further upon her companion’s distress.

  ‘The male slaves?’ Belithza repeated distantly, momentarily distracted by the question. ‘They… they were taken there. Did you not see them behind us? Did you not feel their fear? Did you not see that terrible master of masters, the one called the sultan, waiting at the end of the long hallway?’

  Nassara felt dread permeate her body and fought an image of Zheeno naked and helpless… and the leering, fat sultan, master of all the masters. Then she remembered the dead slave in the courtyard, and quickly shut her mind to it, wanting to purge her thoughts of such impurity.

  Belithza was rambling quietly to herself, and Nassara lay back on the cushions fighting her own tears, fighting the sickening images filling her tormented head.

  Soon Belithza was silent and sleep came to them both, and the palace was still, its despicable secrets hidden for a while in the darkness.

  ‘I see you, Nassara…’

  ‘I see you, master.’ She let her respectfully downcast eyes flicker upwards to Sulliman-Mahadji’s handsome features as she stood before him, her leash removed. He seemed to be smiling, his fierce eyes sparkling mischievously as they travelled over her body. His tone seemed kindly, almost affectionate. He nodded for Ahmood to leave, and he bowed and scurried away.

  ‘So, you have come again to me, this night.’

  ‘I have come, master,’ she acknowledged. ‘I am brought here by the leash that Ahmood…’

  He interrupted curtly, his features suddenly set in a mocking scowl. ‘So, did you not wish to come here, slave girl? Did you not enjoy pleasuring your master previously?’

  ‘Oh yes, master!’ Nassara was quick to respond.

  Raising his eyebrows, his gaze focussed on her face as he took a step closer until she could feel his breath upon her. ‘Do you mean, slave girl, that yes, you wished not to come here, or that yes, you did not enjoy pleasuring me? Which of these do you mean, Nassara?’

  She was at once confused, her eyes wide with sudden anxiety. She stammered her answer, her words coming awkwardly, struggling to express herself with sufficient humility and denial. ‘No, master, I mean that… oh, I don’t…’

  A look of amusement came over Sulliman-Mahadji’s countenance, and with a quick movement he shrugged off his robe and stood naked before her nakedness. He reached out and touched her breast, his fingers circling it tenderly before snagging against the taut chain attached to her nipple. Then he cupped her breast, his palm warm, squeezing gently.

  ‘You are a thing of beauty, Nassara, my slave,’ he told her. ‘How your eyes sparkle, even in your fear. Your skin is finer than the silk of the robe at my feet. How voluptuous are the curves of your body, making my eyes ache for you.’ He held her firmly, pulling her closer to him by her breast chain, her body stiffening at the power of his unrelenting grasp upon it. ‘Kneel before me,’ he commanded, and placing both hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down to her knees. His risen shaft bobbed before her eyes. ‘See how I harden quickly for you. See how urgently I await your lips.’

  Nassara knew her duty, not daring to delay in showing her eagerness. Tentatively she parted her lips and took him between them, allowing her mouth to close over the rigid veined trunk, the familiar texture of his flesh sliding into her and assaulting her confused senses. Feeling him shudder momentarily, her nostrils again took in the familiar musky scent of his dark pubic nest as her lips descended to the base of his shank.

  ‘Aaaah… Nassara… that is very pleasing…’ he croaked.

  Her own feelings numbed, her mind shut against all thoughts other than the task of survival, she began to draw back on him. Then judging the moment carefully her lips slid downwards again. Her knowledge and instinct, so recently acquired, guided her motions mechanically. At the conclusion of each sequence, never omitting to pause at the extremity of her withdrawal, she allowed her tongue to flit around the smooth head. She looked up at her master, not knowing quite why she should seek his appraisal, but seeking it nonetheless. His eyes were already waiting to meet hers.

  Eventually, satisfied with the initial act of pleasure, he bade her rise and took her to the raised mound of cushions in the centre of the chamber. First he laid her on her back and knelt, as before, over her. Gently again caressing her tummy, then her breasts and nipples, and then with a gliding movement he ran his fingers quickly down to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Teasing the chains and bells that hung from her pubic lips his fingers lingered there awhile, before moving delicately back and forth across the soft contours of her sex.

  ‘Your body is more beautiful than any slave I have had before,’ he breathed. ‘You learn quickly, Nassara. Your lips and tongue play on my flesh like exotic feathers, my mind filling with you. Last night the dreams of my sleep were only for you. At sunrise I wake with your face dancing before my eyes, and I am the master; I should not think these things of a slave.’ He stared at her, his eyes intense, challenging her. ‘What is your reply to that, Nassara?’

  She was alarmed, not knowing what to reply. ‘Master, my mind and body are glad that I give you pleasure,’ was all she could manage, and no sooner had the words left her lips than she thought of Zheeno, and felt shame and guilt again.

  He turned her, positioning her on her hands and knees on the cushions. She tried to quell the tremor that threatened to engulf her as his fingers began to work between her buttocks, mumbling words of appreciation, his breath hot against her skin.

  Knowing she must neither flinch or pull away, she forced herself to offer her bottom proudly to him, and his inquisitive exploration soon ended he penetrated her where those evil bolts of silver had been before. His hands grasping her flanks, drawing her back onto him he rode her, slowly at first, then more determinedly as the pathway became accustomed to his girth and length and rhythm. She gasped, a tiny sound but one that seemed to please him.

  ‘There, slave,’ he grunted, ‘feel how my cock fits neatly in your deep well, snug in the warmth of your cosseting passage, reaching deeper and deeper.’

  He could not see that her eyes were closed, neither the expression on her face. She did not know how long he remained there, rutting into her, making her body jerk forward and then back, shuddering with each downward thrust, her arms and legs straining against the onslaught.

  When at last it was over he growled, leaving the void within her chilled and empty. She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut, trying to make the lustful images disappear from her head.

  Oh, my poor Zheeno. With a momentary wave of panic she feared she had uttered the words aloud, but the master lay on the cushions, his chest heaving contentedly.

  ‘You did very well, Nassara,’ he mumbled. ‘Go now, sleep peacefully and dream of when
next we meet, my beautiful slave girl.’

  He turned briefly to her, smiling, then quite mysteriously, as if lurking within earshot, Ahmood appeared silently at her side. Gently now, and without saying anything, he knelt and fastened the leash to her again.

  In the late afternoon Nassara had been massaged and oiled by Babbushan. He had worked diligently on her body, as if it were more deserving than usual of his ministrations, seeming almost proud of her. Perhaps the fat men were privileged to know their masters’ moods, being appraised of the performances of individual slaves at their duties.

  Babbushan spoke softly to her as he worked, Achoochi hovering beside him, from time to time smiling shyly at her as if perhaps he, too, had knowledge of the master’s satisfaction, knowing even which parts of her body must be tended to with the greatest care, studiously pouring the fragrant peach blossom lotion into her. His eyes were filled almost with respectful awe as his fingers held open the delicate folds of her flesh for his servant master, Babbushan, with a kind of knowing reverence.

  Nassara lay listening to Babbushan’s soft tones and the soothing utterances he made, and although knowing it would anger him to enquire, she was determined to seek confirmation of what Belithza had told her about the male slaves that previous evening.

  ‘Babbushan, last evening,’ she ventured cautiously, ‘when we were taken to the masters… were the male slaves also taken there? Was Zheeno…?’

  Before she finished Babbushan made a disgruntled noise of exasperation. ‘Have I not told you to speak only of matters that concern you, girl?’ he snapped. ‘Your thoughts should be only of contentment that your master is well pleased with you. Why spoil it with inquisitive words? Nassara, your heart will be broken like the neck of a young dove in a wolf’s mouth, yet you persist with a foolish infatuation that is doomed. Forget this Zheeno; he is, like you, merely the masters’ possession, no more, no less. Put him from your mind.’ Moving suddenly closer to her, he whispered, ‘At least, if you cannot do this let him dwell only in your dreams, not here in this place of harsh reality.’