“My days as a Passion Master are over,” he said softly to himself. “I cannot allow a thing like this to happen. I must be getting old, for I am helpless to control my emotions any longer.”
Reaching out, he stroked Zaynab’s satiny skin. He must teach her more than just erotic arts. He would have to teach her how to survive in the harem of her master. Abd-al Rahman’s favorite wife, Zahra, was a powerful woman known to be vindictive, even to use poison. It was her grown son who was his father’s heir. She guarded her son’s fate jealously and fiercely. Zahra would not welcome this young, beauteous rival. Indeed, she would do all in her power to remove Zaynab should she please the caliph too much, and Karim al Malina would see to it that Zaynab did indeed please Abd-al Rahman. It was his duty.
“It was wonderful!”
The girl’s breathless words reached out to pierce his own thoughts. Looking down into her eyes, he smiled a slow smile. “You’re no longer frightened? You understand how sweet passion can be?” he queried.
“Aye! I want to do it again, my lord! Please!”
His warm laughter waved over her. “You are simply too impatient, my flower,” he chided her. “Have I not counseled you to patience? There is so much to teach you. So much for you to learn. First we must bathe each other with the love cloths. Go, and fetch the basin on the windowsill. The cloths are with it, my beauty. Then we will discuss your request further.”
She scrambled from the mattress, hurrying to do his bidding. When she had brought the basin to him, she asked, “What should I do, my dear lord?” She knelt by his side expectantly.
She is a most adorable pupil, he thought. He wanted to take her in his arms, to smother her upturned face with kisses. Instead he said in a pedantic tone, “The water in the basin should always be warmed. In the future it must be scented with your fragrance. The cloths with the water should be of the finest, softest linen. Take one up now, Zaynab, and refresh my manhood. I will then do the same for you. Remember, I have tasted the most intimate portion of your body. I may want to do it again. Eventually I will teach you to accept a manhood within your mouth to give it a different kind of pleasure than it receives sheathed within your body.”
She raised her startled eyes to his at this new information, but said nothing to him, instead wringing out one of the cloths and bathing his member. Her touch was gentle, and she was quite thorough. She was surprised that something now so small could have offered her such rapture. Then she noted that his manhood was disfigured. “Ohhh,” she cried softly. “When were you so grievously injured, my lord?”
“Injured?” For a moment he was puzzled, and then realizing her confusion, said, “I am not deformed, Zaynab. I am circumcised. All Moors, Jews, and other men of the East are. I was seven when it was done. My brothers were also. I was given a special sherbet to drink that had a small amount of narcotic in it to dull my pain. Then the foreskin of my member was drawn up hard, and cut. My father is a charitable man. When each of his sons was circumcised, poor boys of our city who were seven were invited to be circumcised with us, thereby sharing in all festivities at my father’s expense. It does not harm a man, or as you can certainly attest, his ability to give pleasure. It is a health measure. In hot climates it is sometimes difficult if not impossible to find enough water to drink, let alone bathe. We men of al-Andalus are clean people. We love our baths. Removing the foreskin of the male simply makes it easier for him to keep his manhood clean and disease free.”
“I thought ye had been hurt,” she answered. “I feel most foolish now.”
“How could you know?” he told her. “Do not be afraid to ask questions, Zaynab, my jewel. You cannot learn unless you do. A woman’s body pleasures a man in many ways, but a wise man also enjoys more of her than just her body. In a few days we shall sail for my home. Once there, I shall undertake to educate you, not simply in the amatory arts, but you shall learn to dance, to sing, and to play at least one instrument. You shall be taught poetry, the history of my people, and any other intellectual pursuit for which you appear to have a talent. You must learn Arabic and Romance, our two most important languages. You will study all manner of things that you cannot imagine, but when I finally deem you fit for the caliph’s harem, you will be neither ashamed nor afraid of who you are. You will rise above all other women known to Abd-al Rahman, even as the sun shines brighter than the moon. I shall, however, teach you discretion, that you not offend the lady Zahra, the mother of the caliph’s heir. Good manners are the hallmark of a Love Slave.”
He took up the other cloth from his basin. “Now, let me bathe you, my jewel. Lie back amid the pillows and open yourself to me, Zaynab.”
She repressed a small shiver as he began his task. This fine art of lovemaking was so intimate a thing. His touch was very delicate; very, very sensual against her sensitive flesh. Slowly, with great care, he gently erased all evidence of their bout with Eros. At the same time, however, he was skillfully arousing her once more. She could feel a single finger, wrapped in the soft cloth, teasing subtly at her. Her eyes closed for the briefest moment as she dared to enjoy the delectable sensations he was awakening in her. Why could other men not be like Karim al Malina? Or were all the men of al-Andalus like him? Perhaps it was only the men of the north who were so crude and brutal.
Placing the cloth back in the basin, he said to her, “Now, take but a single finger, Zaynab, and touch that sentient little jewel of yours.” He watched as she obeyed him, shyly at first, and then, as she discovered what she herself was capable of, more boldly. When her flesh had become moist and pearlescent to his eyes, he grasped her wrist. Drawing her hand to his mouth he took the finger into his mouth, sucking hard upon it. “You’re like pungent, wild honey,” he told her, releasing his grip.
She was breathless for the moment as he smiled that slow smile of his that always set her heart to racing. For a moment she thought she might swoon.
He swung his body over hers, seating himself lightly upon her chest. “Put your hands behind your head,” he commanded her.
“Why?” she countered, all efforts at obedience gone. She wanted to trust him completely, but her ignorance caused her to be afraid.
“It is the position a woman takes for this particular exercise in sensuality, my jewel. You need not be afraid,” he explained patiently. Leaning forward, he propped her shoulders up with the pillows. Then raising up his manhood, which, she now noted, had enlarged a bit, he said, “Open your mouth, Zaynab, and take it in. You will use your tongue to tantalize it, but your teeth must never harm your master. When you are comfortable with this new sensation, you will suckle on me. I will tell you when to cease.”
She shook her head. “I canna,” she whispered, shocked yet at the same time fascinated by his directive.
“You can,” he told her quietly.
“Nay!” she declared vehemently. “Nay!”
He did not argue further with her. Instead he reached out and pinched her nostrils shut with his two fingers. Deprived of air, Zaynab gasped, and Karim pushed his manhood firmly between her lips, releasing his grip on her nose as he did. “Now, gently begin to tongue me, my flower. Nay, do not take your hands from behind your head, or I shall have Donal Righ beat you. Remember, obedience to your master at all times.”
For what seemed like a very long time she lay frozen, her mouth filled with him, not quite certain what to do with it. Then, curious, she slipped her tongue, which she had drawn far back in her mouth, forward to make contact with his flesh. He watched her through half-closed eyes, barely breathing. This was a hard test. Tentatively she licked at him. Then again. Her eyes met his.
He nodded encouragingly. “That’s it, my jewel. Do not be afraid. Your tongue will not hurt me. Run it around the knob now.”
The taste of him was not unpleasant. It was slightly saline. Her fear was beginning to wane away. Slowly she lapped at him, her tongue swirling over his smooth flesh, feeling him begin to swell within the warm cave of her mouth.
“Su
ckle upon me,” he commanded in a tight, hard voice.
Obeying him, she found the action to be exciting. He groaned low as Zaynab stared up at him, amazed. His eyes were closed, his face tense with a mixture of rising desire and utter pleasure. She realized to her surprise that it was she who was in control of the situation, not Karim. Suckling hard on him, her own excitement soared with this newly discovered power.
“Cease!” his voice ground out harshly, as, pinching her nostrils shut again, he forced her mouth open and withdrew his swollen manhood.
Her eyes widened at its new size. “Hae I displeased ye?” she whispered, half afraid again.
“Nay,” he told her, sliding off of her, his head dropping to plant kisses on her naked body. She murmured, reassured, her body arching as he fastened his mouth upon a nipple. He suckled, nipped, and then kissed it. One hand traveled down her silken torso, slipping between her legs, seeking out the little pearl of her sex, finding it, teasing at it. “I want you,” he told her. His fingers pushed themselves into her. “You’re young, and ill-trained, my flower, but you were born to be a Love Slave.”
His touch was setting her afire with a hunger to be possessed by him again. He taunted her, drawing down her love juices to bedew his digits. His mouth covered hers in a burning kiss to which there seemed to be no end. Their tongues entwined in a sensual dance. His other hand played with her until she thought she would scream. Her flesh grew taut with her desire. Both her belly and her breasts felt heavy, as if they would burst and pour forth a rich sweetness.
“Please!” she whimpered to him.
“Please, what?” he demanded.
“Please!” she pleaded again.
“A Love Slave never begs, though it is flattering to her master to know that she wants him,” he advised. Then he swung his body over hers and drove himself deep within her, his groan of pleasure punctuating the room.
Her cry of delight encouraged his lusty efforts. He felt enormous within her. The hot, hard throbbing pulse of him almost took her breath away. “Ohhh, my lord, ye will kill me wi’ this pleasure!” she half sobbed.
“Very good, my jewel,” he lauded her, his buttocks contracting and releasing as he thrust rhythmically into her tight sheath.
She wrapped her legs tightly about him. Her slender arms wound themselves around his neck. “Dinna stop!” she begged him. “It is too sweet! Ahh, I die!” She shuddered lightly.
“Not yet, Zaynab,” he told her. “You’re too quick. You must give yourself again, for I am not yet satisfied. Remember, your master must first know delight. Only then can you take yours.”
“I dinna think I can,” her voice came weakly to him.
“Aye, you can!” he insisted and began to thrust hard into her.
“Nay! Nay!” She half struggled against him, but then her body arched, her breasts pressing against him. “Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” she sobbed. It was happening once more, to her utter amazement. The feeling was even stronger than it had been but a moment ago. How could she have been so easily satisfied? Her nails raked down his back as her own lust rose, almost overwhelming her in its intensity.
“Little bitch!” he growled fiercely in her ear, and bending, sucked hard upon a breast. He could feel himself almost to the point of shattering, but now she would not let him go, encouraging him on in this overwhelming desire that she had aroused in him. Farther and farther he pushed himself within her until he could go no deeper, his hunger for this girl mushrooming until it erupted wildly in a hot explosion of fiery, staccato bursts.
For several long minutes they lay entwined. They were both wet and sticky with their exertions. Their hearts hammered wildly at first, then slowed. Karim finally said, “Call Oma. Instruct her to bring us a fresh basin of water, love cloths, and wine. We both need to regain our strength.”
“Ye would hae my servant see us like this?” Zaynab was shocked.
“She must learn to serve you in all situations,” he responded. “Have you not seen each other naked in the baths?”
“But ye are naked!” Zaynab persisted.
“Aye,” he answered her calmly.
The girl shook her head wonderingly. “This world to which ye are taking me is so different from the one in which I was born into, my lord,” she told him. Then she called to Oma, instructing her while the blushing girl listened; struggling, not without difficulty, to keep her eyes from Karim al Malina’s attractive body.
“I hae heard that all men from yer land were dark-eyed,” Zaynab said while they waited for Oma to return. “Why are yer eyes blue?”
“My mother is a Norsewoman,” he told her. “She was captured in a raid, and given to my father as a gift. He made her his second wife. My two brothers are dark-eyed, as is my sister.”
“Second wife? How many wives does yer sire hae?” Zaynab was not certain whether or not to be shocked. Were Moors like the Saxons in Angleland? Saxons were known to take several wives.
“My father has only two wives. He is a very romantic man, and will but marry for love. He has a harem of concubines, however, to keep himself from becoming bored. There are perhaps a dozen women in it. ’Tis considered a small harem. The caliph has a hundred or more women for his personal pleasure,” Karim told her, “and there are several thousand ladies living in the caliph’s harem.”
“Several thousand?” Zaynab was astounded. “How do ye expect that I shall attract the attention of this mighty ruler amongst all those others, my lord? He shall nae see me. I will die friendless and alone!”
“The women in Abd-al Rahman’s harem are not all concubines,” he reassured her. “Many are serving women like your own Oma. Some are family members: aunts, cousins, daughters. Only those hundred or more women are for the caliph’s delectation. Besides, you are a Love Slave, a rare creature. You will be presented in a charming spectacle to your new master, along with the other gifts Donal Righ is sending. Abd-al Rahman will but see you once to desire you forever, I promise.”
“Is the caliph a young man?” she asked.
“Nay, but neither is he an old man, Zaynab. He is a man of great experience in sensual matters. He is yet vigorous as a lover, having fathered three children in the last two years. He is also a wise and great ruler, both beloved and respected by his people. Ahh, here is Oma.” He turned to the girl. “Did you scent the water as your mistress instructed you?”
“Aye, my lord,” she replied. Then placing the silver basin by the bed, she hurried from the chamber.
Zaynab did not need tutelage a second time. Taking up one of the love cloths, she bathed his manhood. Then lying back, she allowed him to do the same for her.
When he had finished, he said, “Are you hungry, my jewel?”
She nodded vigorously. “Are ye?”
“Aye, I am! Instructing you is hard work,” he teased.
“Learning is equally tiring,” she countered “I will call Oma again and hae her bring us food”
“If you are tired, perhaps you should rest first,” he suggested.
“Oh, nay, my lord,” she said “I would regain my strength, and then continue learning everything that you can teach me.”
He chuckled “Tell Oma I would have a bowl of oysters. They are an excellent restorative.”
“Then I will hae them too,” she replied laughing. “Yer a hard master, my lord, but I will keep up wi’ ye, I promise.”
“Aye, I think you will,” he told her, thinking as he did that the months to come would not be easy ones for him. The feelings this girl engendered in him were far different from those he had ever felt for any other woman. Was he falling in love with her? Because if he was, he must not. She could never really be his. He reminded himself that his possession of her body was but in order to train her, as one would train an animal, so that she would know how to give another man supreme pleasure. To love her, or to encourage her to love him, would be dishonorable. Such behavior would bring shame on them all.
The School of Passion Masters in Samarkand no longer existed.
He had been one of its last pupils, for the masters in his day had been ancient in years, and were now all dead. There had been none left to take their places. Mankind in general did not appreciate the arts of love any longer. Most cared little for the niceties. They knew naught of the supreme pleasures of love. They had passed on their knowledge to their last few pupils, then vanished from the face of the earth as if they had never even existed.
No one knew when the Passion Masters had come into existence. At the school there had been vague tales of the priests and priestesses of some ancient love goddess, but whatever the truth, the school was gone. He was one of the last Passion Masters remaining. He knew of no more than half a dozen scattered about the world. The others of his kind were in the Far East. That was why Love Slaves were so highly prized by connoisseurs in al-Andalus; why they were so few in number at all.
The disaster with the girl, Leila; his feelings for Zaynab; all served to convince him that he was no longer capable of practicing his art. He would settle down as a merchant of rare goods. When he had thoroughly schooled Zaynab for Donal Righ and presented her to the caliph, he would take a wife, as his family wanted him to do. The bride would naturally be a virgin. He could amuse himself teaching her, and those other women who would people his harem; but never again would he school a Love Slave.
Zaynab was clever, intelligent for a woman, and quick to learn. A year, no more. In that time he would have taught her what she needed to know to please the caliph; to survive in the world of the harem. He would present her to Abd-al Rahman, and that would be the end of it He would never think of Zaynab again. Never!
Part II
IFRIQIYA
A.D. 943–944
Chapter 6
I’timad rode low at her berth. The dark waters of the river Liffey lapped about her sleek body like a lover caressing his beloved. She was a beautiful ship, some two hundred ten feet in length, with a width of thirty feet. Her cargo capacity was one hundred twenty tons. This day her hold was filled to capacity with the gifts Donal Righ intended to send to the caliph along with Zaynab. They would be presented to Abd-al Rahman in a demonstrative spectacle of almost theatrical proportions.
The Love Slave Page 13
