The Love Slave

by Bertrice Small

  Zaynab nodded slowly. It was a game of unbearably sweet sexual torture. She was not certain the caliph was up to such a game, despite his vigorous health. “I will play it with you only, my lord, if you allow me to direct our game. It can be dangerous, you understand. Have you played it before?”

  “In my youth,” he said, “and I agree to your terms.”

  “I shall gather what we need, then,” she said, rising from the bed. “Very shortly, my lord, I shall be at your complete mercy.”

  He watched her through half-closed eyes as she returned to him carrying a basket containing the silver love balls, four silken cords, a narrow band of white silk, a large fluffy plume, and a long, sharply pointed egret’s feather. Setting the basket next to him, she lay upon the bed, spread-eagled, and smiling, said, “I am at your mercy, my lord. Once you have rendered me helpless, you may have your way with me, and I shall not be free to protest.”

  His eyes widened just the tiniest bit. She had never refused him anything, yet he had never felt he was in complete possession of her, body and soul. That invisible independence fretted him the way a grain of sand might fret an oyster. She was his slave, and he wanted some acknowledgment from her that he held the power of life and death over her. To his amazement, he had actually fallen in love with her, and if she did not love him, she would at least admit to his mastery of her by the time they were through. Kneeling, he drew the twisted silken cords from the basket, then firmly but gently bound her to the four corners of their bed. Making four loops, he slipped them over the short carved bedposts that decorated the dais. The four matching loops he slipped about her slender wrists and ankles.

  “Struggle,” he commanded her. “I want to ascertain that you are bound fast, yet comfortably, my beauty.”

  “Who taught you this game?” Zaynab asked him. She tested her bonds. She was quite helpless. “They are fastened well, my lord,” she assured him with a small smile.

  “Years ago when I was but a young prince,” he told her, “a friend’s father possessed a Love Slave. One day my friend and I went hunting. When we returned, I spent the night. His father loaned me the girl in a gesture of great hospitality.” He looked at Zaynab’s breasts thrusting upward, her torso tightening as she strained at the silken bonds, and grew very excited.

  She watched the play of emotions across his face. How like little boys men were, but then had not Karim told her that some men enjoyed playing these sensual games? She was fortunate the caliph was not a man who enjoyed inflicting pain as some men did.

  “I am going to gag you, but only for a short time,” he told her. “I will soon have a better use for your mouth.” Gently, he tied the silk band around her mouth. “Can you breathe properly?” he inquired solicitously, peering down at her.

  Zaynab nodded. The trick to this was to remain calm, to allow yourself to trust your partner totally and completely.

  The caliph reached for the pouch that held the silver love balls, spilled them into his palm, and then slowly, slowly, pushed each of the perfect little orbs into her love channel. Sitting back on his heels, for some long moments he contemplated his beautiful captive. She was totally and utterly at his mercy. The realization excited him. Soon her exquisite body would ache with his delicious torture.

  Zaynab was fascinated as to what he would do next. She lay very still, for movement would set the love balls into motion, and she would be afire. It was really quite cruel of him to have inserted them, considering what was to come.

  Reaching out, the caliph began to caress her with a single hand. His touch was very gentle as it moved in leisurely fashion over her body, down her silken torso. He brushed his fingers around her nipples, smiling slightly as they puckered for him like rosebuds touched by the frost. His fingers trailed slowly across her belly, causing goose bumps; over her plump mont, then back up again in the crease between it and her left thigh; sliding around her hip to fondle a buttock before moving down her leg.

  She moaned through the silk gag as the love balls met within her, sending a jolt of painful pleasure through her.

  His eyes met hers in triumph, seeming to say, You see, you really are mine to do with as I please. Then taking one of her feet in his hands, he stroked it. “You have the loveliest feet,” he commented. He kissed it, then began licking her flesh at the ankle, moving up again over her rounded knee, her shapely thigh. His tongue was now teasing at her navel, then pushing his face farther up her torso, he moved into the valley between her breasts, licking and blowing alternately.

  Her body strained against the cords as he worked over her flesh, and the little silver orbs clanged silently within her, setting her afire. She moaned a second time, the sound coming in small pants.

  The caliph picked up the white plume and began to stroke her with it. “Do you enjoy this, my beauty?” he murmured. The fluffy plume slid with a soft, teasing motion around her breasts, over her chest and shoulders, and down each arm, before sliding across her belly and down both legs in turn. Drawing the wide plume back and forth over her mont, the caliph suddenly laid it aside and pressed the heel of his palm down upon the plump flesh, smiling wickedly as Zaynab’s eyes widened; she made a muffled little noise of surprise as the pressure from his hand sent another bolt of desire racing through her.

  Leaning forward, Abd-al Rahman began to suckle her nipples, each in its turn, drawing strongly upon her until she was squirming beneath him, making mewling noises from behind the gag as her arousal increased. He bit down upon the flesh, then fiercely licked the hurt away, pleased by the sound of her breathing, which had become sharper. Delving into her love channel, he withdrew the love balls, but before she might recover, he settled himself comfortably between her spread legs. Taking up the pointed-tipped egret feather, he leaned forward, parting her nether lips to reveal the tiny badge of her sex to his gaze. Then holding the flesh apart on either side of it, he applied the narrow tip of the feather to her little jewel, experimenting with just the right touch and frequency of movement, which he ascertained by her increasing struggles and the rasping sounds of her breathing.

  Fascinated, he watched as the deep rosy inner flesh began to grow moist with a pearly dew and the tiny nub of her little jewel burgeoned with rising excitement. He moved the pointed feather relentlessly back and forth over it until Zaynab arched her body, then shuddered almost violently, collapsing weakly with her utter pleasure.

  Immediately the caliph laid aside the feather and, reaching out, untied the gag about her mouth, kissing her tenderly as he did so, beginning a sweet new erotic torture. His tongue slipped between her lips, and she sucked on it hungrily while he gave her a brief moment to recover herself. Then, as his member was in great need of calming, for his labors had not simply aroused Zaynab, but his manhood as well, he moved his muscular body up to sit lightly upon her chest, presenting himself to her mouth for soothing while he reached back with one hand and began to play with her.

  “Loose my hands,” she said.

  “Nay,” he told her.

  “One hand,” she begged.

  “You will use only your mouth and tongue, my beauty,” he said sternly. “Remember that I am the master here.”

  She began to lick at him with slow strokes of her tongue, encircling the ruby head of his manhood even as his fingers brought her to another sweet crisis. He was driving her wild with his teasing, and Zaynab was most impressed by his skilled naughtiness, for he was obviously as facile at this game as she was. She quivered as the pleasure raced through her once again. He really had the most talented fingers, she thought muzzily.

  Pulling away from her, he gazed on his captive possessively. Then he pushed his fingers into her mouth to suck upon. “Your love juices are flowing most copiously, my beauty,” he murmured low, “even as I promised you that they would. I will enjoy drinking from your fountain, Zaynab. There has never been a woman like you before, and you are mine!” Then carefully he reversed his position on her body, his head between her thighs, giving her full access
again to his own sex.

  His tongue lapped at her, teasing and torturing her almost beyond bearing. In return, however, she suckled upon his raging member, drawing her tongue slowly over his sensitive skin. Together they allowed themselves to be swept up in the raw passion of their lovemaking. She skillfully managed his wild lust, even while giving in to her own. Finally, when the caliph could bear no more, he reversed himself yet again, plunging deep into Zaynab, pumping her hard, reveling in the rising crescendo of her cries of pleasure.

  He was bigger and harder in her than he had ever been. Zaynab could feel him throbbing insistently, hot with his insatiable hunger for her. For a moment her eyes fluttered shut as she let the incredible excitement sweep over her, enveloping her in the mindless, blind desire of the moment A Love Slave never loses control. But for a moment she flew with the birds, soaring in a rainbow of wildly spiraling emotions.

  Abd-al Rahman’s crisis approached and he could no longer hold himself back. All control lost, he cried out with his pleasure as his manhood pumped a torrent of his love juices into her. He collapsed atop Zaynab with a gusty sigh of relief and utter gratification.

  “My lord, release me!” Zaynab managed to gasp, and to her relief he did so before succumbing to exhaustion upon her breasts.

  “Wonderful!” he said. “That was absolutely wonderful. You are surely the finest Love Slave ever trained, my beauty. I prize you above all my other possessions. Allah bless the day Donal Righ found you and gave you to Karim al Malina for training. His reputation is more than justified. What a shame he will train no more women.”

  “I am happy that I please you, my lord,” Zaynab said softly. Karim! Why was it the mere mention of his name brought back the memories of those wonderful days in Malina? Those times were gone. She knew it. He was married to another woman now. Fate had taken them in two different directions. There was no going back. She did not love Abd-al Rahman, but the caliph was a kind man, and he encouraged her desire to learn. She would not think of Karim al Malina again!

  For the next few weeks Zaynab lived happily at al-Rusafa. The caliph left her during the day but returned most nights. Abd-al Rahman was a ruler who truly ruled. He did not allow the bureaucrats who peopled his government to rule for him. They did their jobs, but he did his. His grandfather had brought Slavic warriors from northern Europe to form a personal guard for the rulers of al-Andalus and their families. These men provided protection from the various court factions. The Saqalibah, as they were called, were loyal to the caliph, and to the caliph alone.

  Abd-al Rahman had introduced a program of social integration into his government which allowed the newer Muslims, the Muwalladun, to participate. Those were people whose ancestors had followed other faiths but who had converted over the two centuries since the first Abd-al Rahman had conquered al-Andalus. Non-Muslims were in the minority in al-Andalus, but they were also in the mainstream of society. Each faith was protected by its own religious law. Every citizen could own property, and each religion had complete jurisdiction over its own marriages, divorces, dietary laws, families, and civil affairs. They joined craft guilds and engaged in other trades.

  Non-Muslims, of course, paid a poll and a land tax. They could not bear arms or propagate their own faith to others. They could not testify in the courts against a Muslim when that Muslim was legally entangled with a non-Muslim. These were not particularly onerous restrictions for the Christians and Jews to bear. All the faiths lived in peace.

  The caliph’s court, however, was filled with various factions. There were Muwalladun; Mozarabs, who were Arabized Christians; Jews; Berbers; and Arabs. Each faction pursued its own agenda while Abd-al Rahman navigated his way through them all, his sole purpose the good of al-Andalus. It was a difficult game he played, but his predecessor, his grandfather, Emir Abdallah, had taught him well. The caliph was a skilled player of the game of government. He was respected by Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike, and his wise counsel was sought after by foreign governments of all faiths.

  As the caliph worked hard, his leisure hours were important to him. He had always enjoyed the company of beautiful and clever women, but Zaynab brought a new peace to his life, one he had never before enjoyed. She truly existed for him, and him alone. She had not allowed herself to be drawn into harem politics. So it disturbed him that someone would have attempted to harm her. She had made him happy. He wanted her to be as happy, and completely free from fear.

  He gave orders for certain work to be done in the harem while she recuperated at al-Rusafa. New apartments within yet separate from the rest of the harem were created. It was to be called the Court of the Green Columns. The court itself was square. Each of its four sides was edged in a portico held up by three of the green agate columns sent the caliph from Eire. There was no roof over the court. In its center was a fountain of green marble in a frame of gilded bronze. It was ringed by twelve different creatures: on one side of the fountain a lion, an antelope, and a crocodile faced a dragon, an eagle, and a vulture; on the other side, a pigeon, a falcon, and a kite faced a duck, a hen, and a cock. The creatures were made of pure gold, and studded with jewels. Water came forth from their mouths. The floor within the court was fashioned of large squares of both white and green marble.

  On one side of the court a narrow door entered from the main section of the harem. On the opposite side of the court there was but a single entry into the new apartments—double doors made of ebony, banded and studded in gold. There was a gold lion’s head knocker on each side of the doors, outside of which the Saqalibah would stand guard twenty-four hours a day. Green and white porcelain tubs of gardenias were set about the court to perfume it.

  Within the new apartments were several spacious rooms, including a large day room where Zaynab might entertain the caliph, a comfortable bedchamber, a kitchen, and several rooms for her servants and for storage. The apartment was lavishly decorated with rich velvets, silks, and satin. The furnishings and other fixtures were of the finest.

  Naja was sent to the main slave market in Cordoba to purchase a cook. The woman, a Negress named Aida, was brought before the caliph himself and personally given his instructions. Her loyalty was to belong to Abd-al Rahman first, and his beautiful Zaynab second. Should anyone attempt to bribe her, she was to report immediately to Naja, who would so inform the caliph. She would take orders only from her mistress, the caliph, Naja, or Oma. No one else was to have authority over her. If they said they did, Aida was to report the miscreant to Naja.

  The inhabitants of the caliph’s harem watched the construction of the Court of the Green Columns with varying degrees of interest. To some it was no more than an interesting diversion. Many cared not at all. But Zahra was astounded by what was happening before her very eyes in the city named for her. Outrage followed astonishment. The girl was a concubine, not a wife. True, the caliph’s favored women had their own apartments, but nothing like the rooms now being prepared for Zaynab. Abd-al Rahman was treating the girl like a royal bride. Had he lost his mind entirely? Or had she influenced him to supplant Zahra and the others? And if she had, what other demands would she make on the besotted caliph?

  Again Tarub tried to calm her friend, and Zahra’s eldest son, Hakam, was amazed by the depth of his mother’s anger.

  “It is wonderful that he has found love again at his age,” Hakam said generously. “What is the matter with you, Mother?”

  “He gives her too much, and elevates her too high,” Zahra sputtered furiously. “He is behaving like an old fool. I question his sanity in this matter. Or has the girl bewitched him?”

  “What he gives is his to give, and if he heaps honor upon her, it is his right to do so, Mother,” Hakam replied, sounding very much like his sire. “Father’s mind is sounder than it has ever been. There is no bewitchment involved, as you well know.” Hakam took his mother’s hand in his. “You are making yourself ill with this terrible jealousy you have for the lady Zaynab. You must cease, lest you displease my father, the c
aliph.”

  She snatched her hand away from his gentle grasp. “Do not presume to tell me what to do, Hakam! As for your father, do you think I care what he thinks, the old satyr? Let him have his young Love Slave! Let him make her queen of al-Andalus! I will not stop hating her!”

  “I cannot understand her ire,” Prince Hakam said to Tarub privately. “Has the lady Zaynab offended her in some way?”

  “Indeed she has,” Tarub answered the prince, “but her offense is not deliberate, nor can she help it. She is young, and she is very beautiful, my lord. It was bound to happen one day that such a girl would come along to offend your mother. I am content with the passing years. If I have grown plump with age, and childbearing, and a fondness for sweets, I accept it as my lot My kismet has been a kind one. Your father is fond of me. We share a son and two daughters. My grandchildren are many, and delight me.

  “Your mother, Hakam, has always been your father’s acknowledged favorite wife, his most favored woman. In her mind’s eye she is still young and beautiful and desirable. When she gazes in her mirror, she has never seen herself grow older. Not until the lady Zaynab came among us in all her youthful radiance. Now Zahra must admit the truth to herself. It angers her. She must face the fact that although your father loves her, he has not visited her bed in over five years.

  “You see, Hakam, the caliph is also reluctant to admit the passing years. An exquisite young Love Slave helps him to avoid that difficult issue. We women, however, do not have such broad choices. We must either accept our fates or grow bitter with the passage of time.”

  “Did my mother poison the lady Zaynab?” Hakam asked Tarub.

  Tarub’s warm brown eyes grew disturbed. “I honestly do not know the answer to that question, my lord,” she said. “A year ago I would have said it would be very unlike her, and also most foolish. Now, however, I do not know. Your mother has not been her old self in the last several months. If it were so, I do not believe Abd-al Rahman would forgive her easily.”