The Sheik and the Slave

by Italia, Nicola

  She stepped directly in front of him, so close she could run her fingers over his chest. He reached out and took the sponge from her; it was her only tangible lifeline tethering her to sanity.

  “Again,” he said.

  “Mohammed,” she repeated. Her lips puckered as she spoke his name and he couldn’t stop his desire.

  “Once more,” he commanded. He watched her lips pucker as she breathed out.

  “Moha,” she began. With his name still on her lips, he pulled her against him suddenly. His mouth descended upon hers and devoured her breath and his name. His tongue delved into her mouth, as he had dreamed about so many times. He had been inside her with his mouth and fingers but he had never kissed her before, and he reveled in it. He pulled her slim hips to him and she was nestled between his legs.

  His hands moved to touch her face and his tongue delicately opened her mouth. His fingers threaded into her golden hair as his lips took hers. He would not stop.

  “Ah!” she exclaimed and backed away from him suddenly, holding her hand before her mouth.

  Her tongue darted out and he saw that he had bit her. He saw a drop of blood.

  “Katharine,” he said, starting to apologize, but then he realized what he was doing. He had never apologized to any woman for anything.

  She tried to lower her eyes before he saw the tears in them, but it was too late. He saw them.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied.

  Katharine left the bath and felt the water sluicing down her body, leaving a trail of her wet footprints along the tiles. When he could no longer see or hear her, she felt tears falling down her cheeks. She was so frightened. The feelings he aroused in her were strange and very strong. She couldn’t fight them forever.

  She knew it was only a matter of time.

  Chapter 4

  There was great excitement in the harem the next day. Women were throwing open their wooden chests and opening drawers to pick their finest clothes for the evening.

  The sheik had prepared a large musical festival for the palace, and a smaller concert had been arranged for the harem women. The women were kept separate to protect them from male eyes and to preserve the honor of the family. However, Mohammed thought of them and wanted them to enjoy the festivities.

  The traditional Arabian music usually consisted of the oud, qanun, nay and sagat. The music was lively, but could also be solemn and yearning when partnered with a singer. The oud was a beautiful instrument and could be compared to the Western guitar. The nay was a flute and could sound hauntingly beautiful.

  "We will have a fine evening with all the accomplished musicians," cried Gameela, happily trying on her beautiful jewel-toned clothes.

  Nahweh, the West African girl with dark skin, chose a deep blue outfit that complimented her.

  The women stood around in small groups, discussing the upcoming concert and ready to attend the party, as Katharine approached Bashasha.

  "Bashasha, may I speak with you?" Katharine asked.

  "Of course, little one, what is it?" Bashasha asked her.

  "May I stay behind for a little while? I never have any time to myself and don’t enjoy public bathing. It's very uncomfortable for me," she said. Katharine struggled with her frustration.

  Bashasha tried to stem her impatience. She had heard that the English were a cold, restrained people, and Katharine seemed ashamed of her own body.

  "As it's a concert, everyone will be there.” Katharine continued. “The sheik has planned dozens of activities and will have no need of me. I will certainly not be missed. Please," she lowered her voice at this last request.

  Bashasha watched as the other women made their way down to the quiet gardens and knew that Katharine would not be missed.

  "All right little one. You are excused, but only for a short while. When you have bathed and are ready, please join us. I don't want the other women accusing me of favoritism and I certainly don't want to explain your absence, should anyone ask. I will say the sheik asked for you."

  "Thank you, Bashasha," she said. Katharine watched the last of the women leave the harem and sighed with relief.

  ***

  Mohammed had been watching the women leave for their concert from his private balcony high above. He noticed his favorites leave, and then the kindly Bashasha exited, but he failed to see the little falcon.

  He had rested poorly the night before. Her lips beckoned him into a fitful sleep and had he not been an educated man, he would have been convinced of witchcraft. He relived their bath again and again in his mind and could not escape it. Her hair smelling of vanilla, her soft lips underneath his and urging him on no matter what she said. Her breasts and hips curving into his own body and his cock, even now, hard and thrusting forward, wanting to tear into her body. He wanted to feel the rippled walls of her tight pussy as she lifted her legs around his waist. He would relish the feel of her nails on his back as she raked them, leaving her mark on him. He would claim her virginity as no other man had or would and watch her grow round with his son, the next sheik.

  ***

  Katharine bolted the door behind the women and began to ready herself for the bath.

  Mohammed walked down the tiled corridor and into a small hallway that twisted and turned awkwardly. It led into a secret panel that opened into the bathing area of the harem. The panel had small holes that were part of a decoration on the harem side but in actuality served as peeping holes.

  His father had been a sexual man like himself, but had been particularly fond of voyeurism. He had loved to watch his harem beauties bathing and coupling in intercourse with visiting dignitaries. He enjoyed hearing the moans and grunts of the men and women while in the act of sex. He especially loved to listen as the women were rammed and filled to the brim in group acts and loved watching them being filled in the mouth with thick cock.

  He liked the women who would cry out and then turn into wanton bitches, enjoying the hard cocks and pushing back, wanting more.

  His father's favorite passion had been watching women experience anal sex for the first time. He had loved to hear them scream, cry, beg to stop, and then beg to continue. The young girls would at first cry that they had never taken it up there. Then, the men would tear into the little holes, trying not to hurt but unable to stop. The women would beg them to stop, but then, as the men guided their asses lovingly, the women would become wanton, arching their asses into the air and begging the men to continue. The men would eventually spill their cream inside the tight little virgin holes.

  Mohammed the son had stumbled upon this secret viewing room by accident. Though he enjoyed watching the women in secret, nothing compared to the sex act itself.

  He watched as the young blonde stripped naked in the bathhouse. Her slim, long legs were the color of ivory. Her slim hips curved out, her waist dipped in, and her high breasts jutted out again. Her delicate nipples were the color of pomegranates. She was very feminine, with a slim hourglass figure. Her mass of blonde hair had been secured up and he watched her step into the water. She sighed as the water pooled around her legs, bottom and waist. She settled into the warm water in deep appreciation for the solitude. She picked up the luf sponge and massaged herself.

  Mohammed watched the entire scene and felt himself growing hard as well as angry at her. She always kept herself so aloof and cool. She pretended to be a marble statue in his arms, yet he knew she wanted him. He was a man and she was a woman. It was a natural act between them. He remembered how she had been in the bath with him and his cock jerked awake. He lifted up his long robe to fill his hand with himself. His hand moved down the length of him and then up again while he watched her in the water.

  She sponged her legs, feet and arms, and then her breasts and back. She settled back onto the stone seat underwater and then slipped her hand into the water. Her fingers were between her legs.

  "Ah," she sighed into the lonely bathhouse, as her fingers encircled the va
gina lips and then sank into the small opening. She was a virgin and had never been touched by any man except for the sheik. He had laid claim to her already. Little by little, he was taking what he wanted.

  In England, she had pushed the societal rules by rebuffing a marriage proposal from one man and been outraged by the role of mistress offered by another. But here she was in a foreign land, being offered the role of mistress by a completely different man. A confident and handsome man. She had never seen a man equal to him in England. Why was she fighting him? I want him, she admitted to herself.

  If only she weren’t a slave! But she was a slave, his slave, and she was not free to give what she had. He would demand, and she would have to submit. That could not be the way! she thought. No, I must fight him.

  She rested her head back, inserted her fingers into the passage, and moved them in and out quickly without breaking the thin barrier. Her breathy sighs echoed in the room.

  Mohammed watched her close her eyes and finger herself just as his hand moved quicker along his cock and he could feel his climax building.

  "Mohammed," she cried into the bathhouse and came quickly.

  His cream shot onto the wall where he was standing and he looked at the little blonde incredulously. So, the little falcon wasn’t so immune to him as she would like him to believe. He watched her leave the bath, admiring the small ass he ached to pound. She wrapped herself in a towel. He smoothed his robe down and emerged into the bathhouse.

  "Princess," he said quietly. She whirled around to face him.

  "My God, you frightened me!"

  He said nothing.

  "What do you want?" she asked warily as she clung to the towel.

  Her hair was lovely, pulled up onto her head, with small little curls escaping everywhere. Her eyes were so expressive; he could barely wait to thrust into her and watch them change colors.

  He stood before her and said, "There is a banquet tonight. You will attend me."

  "You mean bathe you in public?" Katharine asked, shocked.

  Mohammed smiled.

  "No,” he explained. “I want you to sit with me and eat. Nothing more."

  "I cannot. Your wife would be furious," Katharine said, not wanting to incur the hot little Yasmeen's temper, who was sure to find out about this.

  "I command this. Yasmeen commands nothing."

  "Please. Your whim this evening is that I attend you. Yet tomorrow you will be gone, and I will go back to the harem and incur her wrath."

  "I command this. Yasmeen will not harm you," he said. He reached up and withdrew her combs, letting her hair fall into a mass of gold around her face and neck.

  "And never bind your hair up when I summon you," he said, placing the combs in her hands.

  "You never summon me. I'm not a harem girl," she said. She tried to look away from his mouth as she remembered his warm mouth on her.

  "No, you're not," he said. He watched her as she watched his mouth. He was a man who knew desire. He knew when a woman wanted him, and she could not hide it.

  His lips touched her ear and bit it lightly. Goose pimples broke out along her arms.

  "Come to me tonight. Not because I command it, but because you want to," he whispered. His voice was so low he barely recognized himself. He wanted this little falcon and no one else.

  "I will attend the banquet," Katharine sighed.

  "No," he spoke in her ear again. "Come to me tonight. After the banquet. After the festivities. When night is settled. When the dignitaries are visiting with the women, when the princess should be sleeping on her mat and pillows. Come to me. Come to me," he whispered.

  "No. I won't," she said. She shook her head, feeling the juices pooling between her legs.

  "Don't you desire me, princess?" he asked softly.

  "No, I don't," she lied. Their eyes locked.

  "You don't?"

  "No," she said. She swallowed nervously.

  "So why did you cry my name as you climaxed?" he asked. His eyes met her shocked ones.

  "You were spying?" Katharine said, embarrassed.

  "Yes. And I have been emptied of seed again because of you."

  Katharine turned her head away from him. Then, he changed the subject casually.

  "You have been to many grand dinners, no doubt, as the daughter of a lord."

  “Yes,” she answered.

  "Then you will attend me tonight in a fine gown. You will smile, enjoy the dinner, converse, and impress these men who have come for business with me," he explained to her.

  "As your whore," she spat out.

  He grasped her small chin in his large hand.

  "As a lady within my household,” he corrected her. “As a lady who can converse intelligently, as Yasmeen cannot."

  Katharine held her tongue as he spoke the last sentence.

  "And tonight?" she asked him.

  "Yes?" he replied. His liquid brown eyes held hers.

  "What would you have me do tonight?" she asked, fearing his answer.

  He pulled her to him and opened the towel at the junction of her legs. One long, sun-darkened finger licked into her tight pussy that was dripping and longing for his cock.

  "What would you like to do tonight?" he asked, mocking her.

  She blushed darkly and said, "Yasmeen is your wife. I am your prisoner. By the laws of my God, what you ask of me is a sin. As a whore, it is adultery. As a woman, adultery. You think because I am in this place, that I can forget the rules and laws that I was raised by?" She tried to pull away, but he would not allow it.

  "And if Yasmeen was not my wife? If you were my wife?" he asked. He pulled her to him so tightly that she had to look up into his dark face.

  "What game do you play?" she asked. Her heart thundered.

  "I asked you a question, Lady Katharine Fairfax. If you were my wife, what then?"

  His handsome face was serious. She saw no mockery.

  Katharine shook her head, but saw that he would hear her response. "If I was your wife, you would be my husband. By English law, I could deny you nothing. You would have my dowry and my body." She spoke to him and he watched those lips, so full and seductive, move as she spoke. It hardened him.

  He moved his finger into her again and her pussy dripped for him. Katharine gasped at the intrusion and the pleasure he caused her. He removed his finger and she watched as he sucked his finger with her juices still on it. She closed her towel tightly and almost stumbled, stepping away from him.

  "I will tell Bashasha. You will attend me at the Banquet."

  She lowered her head.

  "And tonight you will come to me," he told her harshly.

  She began to protest.

  "Yes. I will have you with me tonight, if for nothing more than to read me to sleep and be beside me when I wake up," he said calmly. Even as he said the words, he knew it was a farce. It was a dangerous game.

  Katharine’s voice rang through the room when she asked, "Read? Sleep?"

  "Yes. If you want more from me, I am sorry. All I require tonight is a good book."

  Katharine shuddered. To sleep beside his warm body and not feel his touch would be torture.

  Mohammed strode out of the bathhouse. Why play this dangerous game? he asked himself. With the hot and cold falcon, he would get no sleep, just an unsatisfied cock.

  Katharine watched him leave the harem and knew her resolve was breaking. I must find a way to escape the palace and escape him, she thought. Before it is too late.

  Chapter 5

  Bashasha lowered her head quietly and waited for the great sheik to speak. She had been summoned before him and prayed to Allah that neither she nor any of the harem girls had angered him.

  “Praise be to Allah, great sheik. I am yours to command,” she spoke, head lowered, waiting for the young man’s reply.

  Mohammed watched the older woman in a compliant position and smiled fondly. She had always been a figure in the household. As a young girl, she had been a lowly servant in the kitchens
. As she gained experience and showed competence in her work, she had become supervisor of the palace kitchens. As she aged, her pleasing manner and relationships with other servants caused the sheik to place her as chief of the harem. Often, this role was given to the mother of the sheik or a Chief Eunuch, but because of her service and his regard for her, Bashasha ruled over the harem. It was a great honor that required skill in keeping the women happy, free from bickering, and pleasuring the sheik above all else.

  “Dear Bashasha. You served my father before me.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “You have done your duty well.”

  “Thank you, sire. Inshallah.”

  “The harem women will attend the men after the banquet tonight. I know that they are readying themselves, but I require a special addition tonight.”

  Bashasha waited patiently for him to continue.

  Mohammed stood and his long white robes flowed about him. His height was impressive, and Bashasha had always considered him a handsome man. His father had been known for his good looks, but Mohammed’s mother had been a great Egyptian beauty. He had inherited her dark bronzed skin and flashing liquid eyes.

  “This banquet tonight is for the palace, but it is for business. These gentlemen have come from far away to deal with me and to discuss the Arabian horses and coffee to export to their lands. I require a different service tonight,” he said. He walked across the floor in front of Bashasha, pacing.

  “These men know our ways, but some things are foreign to them. Someone who knows their language and ways would put them at ease and make the business transactions go smoother. Someone who is indeed one of them.”

  Bashasha nodded. He was a wise man indeed.

  “Therefore,” he said, stopping before the older woman and meeting her eyes, “I would like Lady Katharine to attend the banquet tonight.”

  “I will ready her myself,” Bashasha said.

  “I would like her attired in the traditional abaya but with no veil. That would be suitable if only Arabs were attending, but these foreign men would find it uncomfortable and strange.”