The Love Slave

by Bertrice Small

  Zaynab removed the black onyx jar. Inside was a thick odorless cream. She set it aside, asking him instead, “What is the pale pink liquid, my lord? It smells like my gardenias.”

  “It will make the skin very sensitive to touch,” he said. “Let me rub some on you, my flower. The caliph will enjoy exciting you in such a way, and it gives him time to become aroused as well. It is subtle, but very effective. There are special herbs in it which Oma will be told of so she can keep you well-supplied” He began to smooth the pale cream over her skin, and she purred contentedly at him.

  “And the other cream? The one in the jar?” she asked.

  “It is but a lubricant for the dildo,” he answered.

  She was silent for a short time, and then she said, “What are those dainty little chains for, my lord?”

  “Playing,” he told her. “The caliph may enjoy the little games that men and women often play to amuse themselves. I shall begin to teach you such games soon. Perhaps the caliph would like to pretend that he has captured you in battle. You would resist his attentions if free to do so, but he chains you, and you are forced to give him pleasure. Or perhaps he would enjoy being your captive. Older men like to play games. It keeps their bed sport interesting, Zaynab.” He rolled her over, and pouring some of the liquid cream into his palm, began to massage her breasts and her belly. “Do you like it?” he queried.

  “Ummmm, it feels tingly, my lord,” she replied.

  “All over?” he murmured, his hands kneading her legs and thighs.

  “Yesss, all over!” she admitted, squirming slightly beneath his touch. In fact the touch of his hands was becoming almost unbearable.

  “Roll onto your belly,” he said, and when she had done so, he continued. “Now draw your legs up beneath you. Good. Arch your back deeply, Zaynab. Keep your shoulders as flat as you can. Rest your head in the cradle of your folded arms. Excellent! That is the position you must take when the caliph decides he wishes to enter into your body through your Temple of Sodom. Stay that way while I prepare the dildo.” He dipped the instrument into the lubricant, and kneeling behind her, he prepared to insert it “Do not be frightened. It is a different sensation. If you feel the need, arch your back in a deeper curve to accommodate the dildo.” Firmly he spread the twin moons of her buttocks with his thumb and forefinger, revealing the small rosette between them. He positioned the dildo and applied gentle pressure until the tight flesh began to give and the head of the ivory penis entered her tense body a small way.

  Zaynab gasped. It wasn’t that it hurt It was simply a wretchedly uncomfortable sensation. She didn’t like it, and she told him so. “Why are you doing this to me, my lord? It is unnatural!”

  “To some, my jewel, but not all,” he told her. “As a Love Slave you must be prepared to accept your master in a variety of ways. You have already accepted a manhood in two of your three orifices. There can be no surprises for you once you become a member of the caliph’s harem. You must be perfection in all ways.” He pushed the dildo in a bit farther, and she attempted to squirm away from him, but Karim placed a firm hand upon her neck. “Obedience at all times,” he reminded her.

  “I hate this!” she cried to him. “I hate this!”

  His grip on her neck was hard as he pressed the dildo its full length into her, withdrawing it halfway and thrusting it forward once more, and yet again and again, in a fierce rhythm.

  She could not struggle against him, with his harsh grasp upon her. She hated what he was doing, what was happening, and then to her growing horror she felt a thrill of pleasure ripple through her uneasy body. She was pushing her buttocks back and forth in counterpoint to the thrusts of the dildo. “I hate you for this!” she spat at him, but her body was already shuddering with release even as he drew the dildo from her body, allowing her to collapse into a heap.

  “It is not an activity that I enjoy,” he said in a flat voice, “but you will remember that I am training you for the caliph’s bed and not my own. Abd-al Rahman, I am told, occasionally enjoys this kind of sport. You must be ready to accede to his wishes should he desire you in this fashion. Twice weekly from now on you will take the dildo into your body in this fashion to prepare you.”

  Zaynab did not answer him. Forcing her onto her back, he saw that her cheeks were wet with her tears, although she had made no sound at all. Tenderly he kissed each tear, and then he gathered her into his arms. It was her undoing. “I hated it!” she sobbed, and then her anger sweeping her up, she cried out, “and I hate you!” Furiously, she began to pummel him with her fists. “You hurt me!”

  “It will hurt less each time,” he said, grabbing her wrists and imprisoning them in his grip. “In time your body will easily give, and it will not hurt you.” He pressed her down upon the mattress, his big body covering hers, seeking her mouth with his, leaving her utterly breathless, and even angrier at him.

  “It matters not even if it doesn’t hurt. I hated it!” she shrieked at him, pulling her head from his, baring her teeth in fury.

  At that he lost his own control. His mouth crushed bruisingly down on hers again, kissing her fiercely. Damn her! Damn her! She was the most exciting woman he had ever known, and he loved her. Yet he must not. He dared not. He could not!

  She felt the hardness of his manhood against her thigh. She felt his kiss deepening, softening, and her anger tempered. Ohh, why did she love Karim so very much? He was a cold and cruel man whose only interest in her was in training her like an animal to please the sensual appetites of some potentate. She sighed deeply, returning his kisses. She didn’t care! If this was all she was to have of happiness, then she would grab at it for the brief time she would have with him. It was more than Sorcha had ever had. More than Gruoch would ever have.

  Zaynab wrapped her arms about her lover, drawing him as close as she could. Her lips welcomed him, parting to invite his tongue into her mouth to play with her tongue. Her hands caressed him, tangling in his soft hair, running down his long muscled back, encouraging him in his deepening passion. Her throat strained in a silent scream as he pressed hot kisses upon it, inhaling the perfumed flesh. Straddling her, he leaned back, his hands playing with her breasts until they were taut with desire, her nipples puckering into tight points that begged to be suckled upon. He heard their quiet message and obliged, his mouth closing first around one nipple, and then the other. He sucked hard upon her, sending a ripple of desire down to that little jewel between her legs. She moaned, satisfied, as he slid between those milky thighs and pushed his raging lance into her eager body.

  “Impatient as ever,” he teased her through gritted teeth.

  “You have but taken the edge off my appetite,” she told him boldly, and her nails ran lightly down his back, causing him to shiver. “Now you are well mounted, my lord, let us see if you can run the course like that fine Arab stallion you have brought back from the mountains!”

  His knees gripped her hard. Slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor, he began to ride her. He showed no mercy, driving her up one peak and another, and yet another. Now her nails raked him cruelly, her little whimpers urging him onward until finally they both collapsed, exhausted with their passionate labors. Rolling off her, he cradled her in his arms. “If you belonged to me, Zaynab, I should never make you unhappy,” he said softly. It was the closest he had dared come to admitting his love for her.

  “If I belonged to you, my lord Karim, I should never be unhappy,” she responded. It was the closest she dared to come to admitting her love.

  But he knew, and she knew, and the pain was almost too much to bear. “I am a man of honor, my jewel. In the spring I will deliver you to the caliph in Cordoba,” he said to her.

  “And I am a woman of honor, my lord Karim. I will go without question, and do honor to both your name and Donal Righ’s,” Zaynab told him.

  There was nothing more to say. There was so little time left for them. Silently, each vowed they would not waste that time.

  Chapter 8<
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  “I believe I have found a bride for you, my son,” Habib ibn Malik told Karim. “Her name is Hatiba.”

  “If you think she is suitable, my father, then so be it,” Karim answered. What difference did it make? he thought to himself. I will never love her as I love Zaynab.

  “She is a lovely girl,” Alimah added, but she could see that her youngest son was otherwise preoccupied. “Are you certain, Karim, that you wish to marry at this time? Perhaps you would enjoy one more voyage on I’timad.”

  “I will take that voyage when I sail to Cordoba with Zaynab and her train,” he answered, “and then I will go on to Eire to inform Donal Righ of the caliph’s delight in his gifts. It is time that I married. Arrange the wedding for next autumn.”

  “Let me tell you about Hatiba,” said his father, who was not quite as intuitive as Alimah. “She is the daughter of Hussein ibn Hussein.”

  “A Berber?” Allah help him. Berber girls were noted for their docile temperaments. She would be obedient, and boring beyond belief, but perhaps that was what he needed. There could be no comparisons to Zaynab. Zaynab. His golden-haired passionate love.

  “I have done very well by you, Karim,” his father continued. “Hussein ibn Hussein is an enormously wealthy breeder of fine Arabians. The horses you bought undoubtedly came from one of his farms. He is giving Hatiba a breeding facility, one hundred mares, and two young stallions in their prime as part of her dowry. What think you of that, my son? Is it not impressive?” Habib ibn Malik was enormously pleased with this match, which would add to his family’s wealth and prestige.

  “Most impressive. Is she ugly, then, that her father feels the need to show such generosity?” Karim wondered aloud.

  “I have seen Hatiba, and she is very fair,” his mother responded. “She has pale gold skin that absolutely glows with her good health. Her hair is lustrous and silky, as black as ebony. She has gray eyes and a sweet, pretty face. Her demeanor is modest and soft-spoken. If her father is generous, it is because she is his last child, the daughter of his favorite wife. I have spoken with that lady myself. She tells me that Hussein ibn Hussein dotes on Hatiba. That is why he has been so loath to make a match for her, but she will soon be too old, so he has at last relented.”

  “How old is she?” Karim asked.

  “Fifteen, my son,” his father answered.

  “The same age as Zaynab,” he said low, but Alimah heard him.

  Later, when her husband had gone, she sat with her son and questioned him. “You have not fallen in love with this girl, Karim, have you?” Her lovely face was genuinely concerned.

  “I love her,” he said bluntly, “and she loves me.”

  Alimah’s hand went to her heart. “She has told you so?” she asked him. This was all her husband’s fault When Karim, in his youth, had shown himself to be an extremely sensual man, Habib had, at the wicked suggestion of Ja’far and Ayyub, sent her younger son to the School of the Passion Masters in Samarkand. The brothers had meant it as a jest, but Habib had taken them seriously. Karim had obviously been diligent in his studies, because for a time he was successful in this field.

  But Karim was a sensitive man, although men, Alimah knew, rarely admitted to such feelings. He had felt great guilt when the Love Slave Leila had killed herself over him. It had only been a matter of time before something like this was bound to happen. She had been so relieved when he decided to cease his activities, and worried once more when her son had taken Zaynab on for friendship’s sake. Now this!

  “Neither Zaynab nor I have openly admitted—voiced, if you will, my mother—the love we have for one another. Would it change anything? The pain is already almost unbearable,” he answered her.

  “Send her to Cordoba now with Alaeddin,” Alimah begged.

  He shook his head. “She goes in the spring, and not before. She is not quite ready yet, my mother. Besides, Alaeddin will captain my new vessel, Iniga. It will take two vessels to carry all the gifts that Donal Righ has sent to Abd-al Rahman.”

  “I am sorry for you both,” Alimah said quietly. “Sadly, the heart is not often wise. It cannot be controlled by reason. You may never love another woman as you do Zaynab, my son, but in time the pain will lessen and you will love again. So will she. Not as she loves you perhaps, but then you do not want her to be unhappy, I hope.”

  “No,” he replied sadly. “I do not want her to be unhappy.”

  His mother put a comforting hand upon his. “Hatiba will please you, I promise you that Be good to her, for she is the innocent in this.”

  “When have I not been kind to a woman?” he asked her bitterly. “I have been taught to appreciate women as no other man. Hatiba bat Hussein will be my first wife. She will be respected and honored as such.”

  “Then I shall tell your father to formalize the arrangements and sign the contracts?”

  “How much dowry will I give my bride?” Karim asked her. It was the custom for a bride to be given a price as well as to give her husband a dowry. Islam protected its womenfolk. If in the future Karim divorced Hatiba, both her dowry and her bride price would be given to her in settlement Her children would remain the father’s responsibility.

  “The bride price will be three thousand gold dinars. Such a sum honors both father and daughter,” Alimah told her son.

  Karim nodded. “It is generous, but fair,” he said. “Tell Father I will be responsible for the bride price myself. I can more than afford it When will the qadi come to record the contract?”

  “The marriage contract will be signed the day of Iniga’s wedding. Hussein ibn Hussein has been invited. He has insisted, however, that you not see Hatiba until the day of the wedding,” she explained. “I know it is old-fashioned, but it is his wish as her father.”

  “She is obviously an obedient daughter,” he replied dryly. “I suppose it augurs well for my married life. Can you imagine Iniga’s reaction if you told her she was marrying a total stranger and could not lay eyes upon him until the marriage was celebrated, the deed done?”

  Alimah burst out laughing, and then said, “Fortunately, we do not have that problem with Iniga, as she and Ahmed have known each other their whole lives. They are a good match.”

  “Zaynab and Iniga have become friends,” he said.

  “I know,” Alimah said, frowning again. “I want to disapprove, but I cannot. Zaynab is charming and mannerly. She and Iniga are genuinely fond of one another. Who knows what Zaynab’s fate is to be? Should she become the caliph’s favorite, Iniga would have a very powerful friend in Cordoba.”

  “You like her too,” Karim noted softly.

  “Yes,” his mother admitted, “I do. I find her a sensible girl.”

  “Iniga has invited her to her wedding. I will bring her and Oma. Neither of them has really known a family. They seem to bloom in the warmth of ours. I will send her back to the villa when Ahmed’s procession comes to take Iniga to his father’s house.”

  “Very well, I will allow it,” Alimah said. “Iniga did not want a large wedding, and so it will be a simple affair in our gardens.”

  “I will leave the month after the wedding for Cordoba,” Karim said. “Then I will go on to Eire, but I shall not stay there. I go but to inform Donal Righ that I have completed my commission for him. I shall stay in Eire just long enough to take on water, stores, and whatever cargo I can find before returning home.”

  “And you will come back to your own wedding,” Alimah said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. He would marry a girl named Hatiba. A girl he had never met, who would never please him no matter how hard she tried; but she would never realize it. He would be kind and gentle to Hatiba, his Berber bride, and she would not ever know that he loved another woman with every fiber of his being. That he would always love her. That he would love no other but Zaynab, of the golden tresses.

  Karim brought Zaynab and Oma to see the city they had but briefly passed through on their arrival. The two young women, properly garbed in their black yashm
aks, nothing but their eyes showing, alighted from their litter and strolled about the market with Karim. It seemed to Zaynab and Oma that there was everything imaginable for sale, and many things they had never imagined. The awninged stalls overflowed with a plethora of goods. Colorful fabrics—silks and cottons, linens and brocades—were hung out for sale. They blew like banners in the gentle breeze. There was beautiful leatherwork, pottery, and brasswork; exquisite carved boxes of ivory, soapstone, and bone displayed with equally beautiful boxes that were delicately painted in bright colors on black lacquer.

  One stall sold colorful live birds, which hung confined in their willow cages. Some of the creatures sang sweetly, while others simply shrieked raucously, hanging upside down on the bars, glaring with beady black eyes at the passersby. A poulterer and a butcher were next to one another, their wares displayed for all to see. Beef and lamb hung side by side, boys with palm fans shooing the flies from the meat Chickens squawked, ducks quacked, and pigeons cooed, confined in their pens, awaiting a buyer. There were jewelers selling everything from cheap brass earrings to expensive baubles that glittered in the sunshine.

  Rounding a corner, they came upon a slave merchant. They stopped, fascinated. Strong young black men were paraded naked, and were quickly sold to new masters. A pretty dark-haired young girl was brought from behind a curtain. She tried to cover her nudity with her hands, but the slave master spoke sharply to her, and with reluctance she revealed all to an audience of eager bidders. The bidding was spirited. The girl, advertised as a virgin with a physician’s proof of her condition, sold quickly for three hundred thirty dinars.

  “Would that have happened to Oma and me if Donal Righ had not bought us?” Zaynab asked Karim.

  He nodded. “Yes, my jewel. A slave market is not a happy place.”

  Once again, Zaynab realized, but this time far more strongly, how fortunate she and Oma had been to be sold to Donal Righ. Oh, they had been told it often enough, but seeing that poor frightened girl just now had really made her understand. If men did not think me beautiful, she considered thoughtfully, I would have ended up terrified in some public marketplace, and Oma as well. She shuddered in her distaste, but her companions did not notice.