Love Slave

by Terry Wakelin

  Her uncle took her arm and, with Suleiman ushering them up the steps, they entered the villa. In the cool of the entrance hall, they were met by turbaned retainers in silk robes who, bowing and scraping as if they were royalty, first took their cloaks, then led them into a large reception room; Sir James no doubt breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that, following his advice, Charlotte had changed her dress to one which showed considerably less of her figure.

  Not knowing quite what to expect, Charlotte looked to the raised dais where, like a prince, a distinguished looking, grey-bearded Arab reclined on soft cushions surrounded by half a dozen women, all heavily veiled and clothed in rich silken robes.

  The Sheikh got to his feet as they entered. “James, my brother,” he smiled, “too long have you been absent from my house. ”

  “Omar, brother,” replied Sir James Brandon easily. “My heart leaps to see you once more. ”

  Though this was the first time she had heard Arabic spoken by anyone except her uncle, Charlotte found that, thanks to his tutelage, she was easily able to understand what was being said.

  The stately old Arab smiled at Charlotte. “And this delightful creature? ”

  “This, of course, is Charlotte, my niece,” said Sir James, taking her by the hand to lead her forward.

  “So! ” said the Sheikh. “The little baby I once bounced on my knee has come home at last. ”

  Charlotte bowed her head and curtseyed, a gesture of respect which brought an indulgent beam of approval from the old Arab. “My uncle has told me much about you, Excellency,” she replied haltingly in Arabic, childishly pleased when she saw one eyebrow lift in faint surprise. “I was very young when my uncle took me away, and do not remember you clearly, but it pleases me very much to at last be able to pay my respects to his most valued friend. ”

  Sheikh Omar smiled; obviously pleased by the somewhat flowery phrases which had taken Charlotte so much time to rehearse. “So, the niece of my old friend has learned to speak the language of the Prophet, may Allah bless his name. I salute you and bid you welcome, daughter. Your loveliness graces my house. Please, both of you, come sit at my side and take refreshment! ”

  Following her uncle’s example, Charlotte made her way to the cushioned dais where, within moments, a large and heavily ornamented silver tray appeared, upon which were loaded various sweetmeats and all the paraphernalia required for making that sweet mint beverage which the Arab calls ‘tea’.

  Helping herself to one of the strange looking sweetmeats, Charlotte looked curiously at the veiled women, noticing that although many were of a darkish hue, several seemed to have skins almost as white as her own. Where did they come from? she wondered. Were some European? Were they wives, or just concubines? These and a hundred other thoughts slipped through her mind as she studied the gorgeous silken robes, the filmy veils and the dark, kohl-lined eyes which stared back at her with as much curiosity as her own.

  “Well now, daughter,” said the Sheikh seriously, “first, we must see to your needs! ”He snapped his fingers at one of the veiled females, who immediately rose from her place to prostrate herself at his feet. “This is Meylissah,” he said. “She will be your body slave. ”He smiled down, father-like, at the prostrate girl and, to Charlotte’s great surprise, addressed her in English. “Unveil yourself, Meylissah! This is now your Mistress. You will obey her as you would me! ”

  The English girl was shocked. Were all the women here, then, slaves? And this particular girl? Omar had spoken to her in English! Surely it was not possible that an English girl could be held such?

  The girl moved obediently to kneel in front of Charlotte. Gracefully, eyes lowered submissively, she removed her hooded headress and veil. Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise. The girl was almost as light-skinned as herself, though her hair was dark. She also looked to be even younger . . . probably no more than sixteen or seventeen . . . and quite beautiful. The lovely, high-cheek-boned features might have graced a social gathering anywhere.

  “I shall be your most obedient slave, Mistress,” the young girl said in softly accented, though perfectly understandable, English. “Command me and I will obey! ”

  The princely old Arab chuckled at the bemused look on Charlotte’s face. “For some time Suleiman has been instructing her in English,” he told her. “Already she understands much and I had thought she might be of some use to your uncle as a translator. Now I see it is Allah’s will that she serve you instead? ”He turned to Sir James. “The girl is Circassian and has the gift of tongues; a thing many of her people have. Apart from English and Arabic, she also speaks French and Spanish, and is also quite fluent in Greek and Italian. ”

  “But. . . but . . . I have no need of a body slave,” Charlotte began to protest.

  The Sheikh was obviously going to brook no argument. “You must take her then to please me! ” he said firmly. “She is young like you . . . and speaks your language well. Maybe stop you getting bored while your uncle and I see to our business. ”

  Charlotte looked helplessly towards her uncle. Sir James merely smiled and inclined his head. He knew his old friend very well. The richest and most powerful merchant in Valletta was used to getting his own way. It was no good arguing with him.

  “She is lovely. Where did you find her? ” Sir James asked in a whispered aside.

  “She was taken in the raid on El Marsa last year. My friend Bashir financed it and had her on his string. ”Sheikh Omar answered. “Like the fool he is, though, Bashir did not recognise the girl’s true worth and allowed her on the block with the rest of the slaves. My agent saw her there and purchased her for me. ”He turned back to Charlotte, addressing her directly. “If she displeases you, daughter, send her to Suleiman! He is expert with the whip and will not disfigure her. Suleiman is eunuch, of course,” he added quickly, seeing Charlotte’s frown. “She will be quite safe with him in that way. ”

  Charlotte caught her breath at the casual statement. The thought of anyone using a whip on such a beautiful young girl chilled her to the marrow. Of course she knew that, here in the East, slaves were often treated quite harshly by their owners. She knew, also, about eunuchs and what was done to make them so. Her uncle had been quite explicit, thinking it best that she be prepared for such things. “Th . . . thank you, my Lord,” she stammered. “I am sure the girl will be most . . . most . . . suitable. ”

  The kneeling girl took hold of her new Mistress’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Command me and I shall obey, my Lady! ” she whispered fiercely. “I promise Mistress shall have no need of the whip. ”

  “Now then, daughter,” interjected the Sheikh, “I expect both you are tired from your trip. ”He looked at her indulgently. “Go you now with Meylissah! She will show you to your quarters. ”

  Charlotte rose to her feet a little reluctantly, realising she’d been rather summarily, even if politely, dismissed. She glanced towards her uncle and received a reassuring nod as the two men began to talk quietly together. “So what is going on, Omar? ” she heard him ask quietly. “Suleiman tells me the English are none too popular in Valletta just now. ”

  “Bad things have happened, my friend,” she heard the Sheikh reply before she passed out of earshot. “It seems your El Draque’s depredations in the New World have also reached new heights. ”The old Arab frowned. “A dozen or more settlements and towns sacked, many ships sunk and much treasure taken. King Philip, it is said, is beside himself with rage and plans invasion of your country. ”He shrugged his shoulders. “Malta’s Knights, of course, will support Philip. So you see . . . this is perhaps not the best time for you to be visiting us here. ”

  Chapter Two

  ‘Favoured One’

  That the tall, blonde-haired girl on the balcony was exceptionally beautiful would have been obvious to the most casual of observers.

  Clad in a thin, almost transpar
ent sleeping robe, she gazed as if entranced across the rosy, dawn-lit roofs and spires of the old city to the jumbled mass of masts and rigging of the many ships moored in Grand Harbour, turning her head briefly when another girl, clad almost as lightly in a silken sifsari, joined her on the balcony. With a grace born of long practice, the newcomer, a slimmer, dark haired girl of about the same age, dropped to her knees and bowed her head respectfully. Statuses were thus established. The first girl was free; the second a slave.

  The slave girl, unveiled and just as clearly nude under her own diaphanous garment, was also quite lovely. Not so tall, perhaps, nor quite as generously curved as her Mistress, but still quite breathtaking in her own way.

  Lady Charlotte Brandon yawned and stretched, the rising sun outlining the full-bosomed curves under the gossamer robe. “Well then, Meylissah! ” she said somewhat breathlessly in English. “Late again? I’ve been up for simply ages. ”

  The slave girl replied in the same language. “I beg forgiveness, my Lady. Other duties have keep me from your side. ”The voice was low and pleasant; her English very good, though clearly it was not her native tongue. Nervously she looked around. “Mistress should not stand on balcony so! ” she admonished gently. “Maybe someone see. ”

  Charlotte glanced carelessly at the darkened windows of the other apartments. “There is no-one to see, Meylissah. Everyone is asleep. ”She smiled. “And the air is so cool and refreshing out here ”

  Meylissah remained uneasy. “Please, my Lady! ”

  Realisation dawned and Charlotte was suddenly contrite. Of course the girl was right. Walking around practically naked inside the apartment was one thing; outside on the balcony quite another. Familiar with the strict discipline maintained in the household, she knew that, should anyone from the neighbouring apartments catch sight of her so blatantly exposed, it would be the slave who would bear the brunt of her host’s anger for not better looking after his guest. Unbidden, her gaze strayed down to the heavy whipping frame from which miscreants were hung naked to receive punishment. In the Sheikh Omar’s household, punishments inflicted on errant slaves were administered summarily and ruthlessly. Only yesterday she had watched horrified as Suleiman had administered a sound whipping to a girl caught stealing extra food from the kitchen. She shivered at the memory of the slave girl’s screams and pleas for mercy as the whip had striped the soft flesh of her back and buttocks. She pulled her sleeping robe closer. “You are right, of course, Meylissah,” she said apologetically. “Come, let us go in! ”

  Inside, Charlotte stretched out thankfully on soft cushions and dabbed at a trickle of perspiration already running in the valley between her breasts. She breathed deeply, trying to draw some air into her lungs. Here in the apartment, even with the doors and windows open, it seemed so hot and humid; nothing like the clean, fresh country air of the Essex countryside. Loosening her robe, she dabbed at the perspiration, lying back with a murmur of contentment as pleasant memories of the long, temperate summers she had enjoyed as a young girl flooded into her mind. With a sigh, she remembered bathing ‘sans clothes’ at the secluded lake, secretly thrilling at the thought that perhaps one or other of the village boys might actually catch sight of her unclothed body.

  Remembering the cooler air of the balcony with some regret, she sighed as Meylissah padded sinuously across the chamber to where the breakfast tray, loaded as usual with a variety of dishes, sat on a small side table. “Oh God, Meylissah, I shall get fat,” she protested cheerfully at the sight of the laden tray. “You feed me far too well. ”

  “Truly Allah blesses Mistress with much beauty,” said Meylissah, her frankly envious glance directed at the other’s fuller figure. She indicated the many dishes on the tray. “Mistress eat just little from each, and . . . ‘inshallah’ . . . stay same! ”

  Charlotte smiled a little to herself. ‘Inshallah’ - as Allah wills - was a sentiment much in evidence among the slave girls and concubines in Sheikh Omar ibn Saiid’s household; a sentiment which no doubt helped them towards an unquestioning acceptance of their lot! To the true believer, everything was Maktub - written.

  How very different everything was here. The language, customs . . . even the morality. Their host was a slaver . . . a trade regarded as quite respectable here in the east . . . supplying girls and young boys to many of Valletta’s brothels as well as to the ruling Knights, to whom he also passed information gleaned from his many other business interests, principally in Ottoman-controlled Egypt and North Africa.

  Charlotte looked at Meylissah’s lithe figure and sighed again, conceding with a wry smile that certain parts of her own anatomy were certainly a lot more generous than seemed usual here. Certainly none of the women she’d seen were as tall or big-bosomed as she.

  Taking the girl’s advice, she helped herself to no more than a mouthful from each dish, eating with her fingers as was the custom, rinsing them in a bowl of scented water between each course. Tasting a tiny portion of delicious honey cake, she mumbled: “Would you like some, Meylissah? ”

  “Oh no . . . not fitting, Mistress. Meylissah eat later. ”

  Suitably reproved, Charlotte placed the dish to one side and allowed herself to sink deeper into the softness of the cushions while Meylissah sank submissively to her knees beside the couch. “Massage now, Mistress? ” asked the slave girl softly; bright eyes and a sudden huskiness in her voice belying her innocent expression.

  “Mmmmmm . . . thank you,” replied Charlotte, stretching luxuriously as she allowed her robe to slip from her shoulders. This was certainly the life. Despite her first misgivings about owning a slave, the past weeks being looked after by her had been most pleasant. Meylissah had been able to impart much about the eastern way of life to her Mistress and, just as importantly to the English girl, enabled her to pick up more and more of the strange Arabic tongue she had determined to learn.

  And of course there had been the other things; things that only a girl steeped in the sapphic traditions of the harem might know, and be pleased to demonstrate to her at first bemused, yet decidedly interested Mistress.

  Charlotte had known from puberty, in pure biological terms, what it was that men did with the women they desired and that babies were the common result of such liaisons. She knew, also, that there were certain things one might do to make sure that this did not happen. In that respect her uncle had been at pains to make sure that her education had been most complete. Indeed, she had eagerly looked forward to the day when she too might sample the pleasures of a physical relationship. Reality, unfortunately, had meant disappointment to her growing libido and, despite entering boldly into a number of affaires d’amour with various lads of her own age, all had remained unconsummated and her passions unquenched.

  With Meylissah, however, things had proved to be decidedly different!

  The slave girl shrugged off her sifsari and, unstoppering a small vial, tipped a little of the contents into the palm of one hand. Then, as Charlotte turned over onto her stomach, she began to rub the sweet-smelling oil gently into her shoulders.

  Charlotte gave an appreciative ‘mmmmmm’, realising with a sudden startling insight just how desirable such a girl as Meylissah might be to a man. Trained from an early age to please whoever owned her in every possible way, the beautiful slave would be a priceless possession. She shivered as another thought entered her mind. What must it be like . . . to be owned, body and soul; to have no will of one’s own; for one’s body to be totally and utterly subject to the will of a Master or Mistress? Then, as the oily fingers delved deeper, the thought was driven from her mind. Sighing with pleasure, the English girl widened her thighs as Meylissah began to rub the sweet-smelling substance deep into the flesh around and between the soft buttocks, one sly finger sliding down to insert itself gently into the shaded, puckered little entrance.

  “Mistress like? ” whispered Meylissah, probing yet deeper as another finger
found the entrance to the other’s sex channel and slipped gently inside.

  Charlotte was lost to the powerful sensations building inside her. “Mmmmmmmmm . . . yes . . . yes,” she sighed. “Don’t stop . . . please! ”

  Meylissah smiled and slapped her gently on her bottom. “Please to turn over now, Mistress! ” she ordered.

  Eagerly, Charlotte turned over on to her back, closing her eyes as the knowing, oily hands began to massage her upper body, now paying particular attention to her breasts.

  “Ooooooooh,” she breathed, her legs spreading of their own accord as a gentle hand slipped down first to her stomach and then beyond to the downy blonde muff at the juncture of her thighs, one finger gently parting the puffy lower lips to seek out and tease the already stiff little nub of flesh sheltering under its protective hood. Bending her head to kiss and lick at the intimate flesh so presented to her, Meylissah reached up to take each erecting nipple between thumb and forefinger. Charlotte stifled a groan. How easily the girl aroused her! Briefly she wondered what uncle James would say if he ever discovered what was going on. Yet how could a pleasure so sweet, so all-consuming, possibly be wrong?

  Meylissah continued to lap sensuously between her Mistress’s spread thighs; her small, darting tongue flickering knowingly between the already wet, swollen lips; thumbs and forefingers alternately rolling and squeezing the stiffening nubs of flesh.

  “Nnnnnnnng . . . mmmmmmmmm . . . oooooooooh,” murmured Charlotte as the sharp little teeth nibbled gently and, alternately, a warm wet tongue licked maddeningly at her most secret place. She squared her shoulders, lifting her breasts as her nipples were mercilessly stretched and squeezed. “Mmmmmmmmm . . . don’t stop, Meylissah . . . please, don’t stop! ”