by Zia Wesley
This did not sound like a bad alternative to Aimée. “Why might I not choose him if I could?”
“He is only slightly younger than the Sultan, but unlike our sovereign, he is a cruel man. In fact, several of his wives have died under rather suspicious circumstances... and then there are the others. Of course, a man may do whatever he wishes to a wife, but mutilation seems so extreme.”
Aimée showed no response.
“Do you understand mutilation?”
“I do not.”
“Ah. It involves cutting away part of a woman’s body, the part that allows her the greatest sexual pleasure. It is very painful, horribly disfiguring and often fatal. I tell you this not to frighten you but to educate so you will think very carefully about all the possibilities available to you and then choose wisely. You may go.”
Returning to the bathing chamber, Aimée immersed herself in the fragrant waters of the hamam, weighed down by the thought of a fate she had never before entertained. She realized she was pondering the same problems she had at Baba’s: marriage, sin, retribution, fate and God’s wishes. Only now, if she did not find a way to accept her new circumstances, she would pay an exorbitant price. She shuddered at the thought of mutilation and what if she was beaten like a slave? She enjoyed the pampering of harem life. Never had she lived in such opulent surroundings, eaten such delicious foods and been attended to by dozens of servants solely devoted to her comfort.
All my life I was taught that sex was a sin outside of marriage. But, which God proclaimed that? Apparently not the Moslem God. Do I embrace my new life more than the old one? I certainly do. If Fate means for me to sire a king, surely that must be God’s will too.
Submerging herself completely beneath the warm water, a feeling of relief and excitement ran through her body. I must embrace it all.
~ ~ ~
In five months’ time, Aimée’s newly discovered ability to give herself to pleasure was complete and she had made a life-changing discovery: turning her mind fully to any task she chose gave her the ability to master it. This newly discovered power made her feel different than she ever had—willful, stronger and more alive. And after the months of feasting and relaxation, her body had begun to fill out nicely, her hips more round, her breasts full and inviting.
The Vekil Usta was proud of the girl and anxious to exhibit her before the Circassian Kadine. With this in mind, she summoned the Kizlar Agasi to her quarters one afternoon in October.
After gently closing the door, she whispered excitedly, “She is ready.”
“Truly?” he said.
“She is magnificent. In twenty years as Vekil Usta, I have seen none that could compare to her.”
“Well then, let us allow her three days to prepare for the tests, and I will notify the Circassian Kadine. Pray that she fulfills our every wish. Well, done, Zeyneb,” he said, using her given name. “You shall be rewarded well.”
She bowed to him as he left to arrange for the tests, then summoned Aimée to her quarters and closed the door to insure privacy.
Aimée was shocked and pleased by the news, unable to fathom how much she had changed in so little time.
“I will assist you with preparations,” the Vekil Usta said. “We begin tomorrow after the morning meal and have three days to make ready. There is much to do, so eat and rest well tonight.”
~ ~ ~
Aimée found it difficult to sleep at all that night. She lay awake on her divan, filled with excitement, her heart pounding in her ears. She had no fear of the tests, knowing without vanity that she was the most talented student in the school. But try as she might, she could not picture herself with the Sultan. She thought of all the lessons she had learned and tried to imagine what her first night of lovemaking would be like for her. In theory, she knew everything that would happen, but perhaps a bit of her old girlhood fantasy remained.
From the age of twelve, Aimée had imagined her wedding night and her husband—but this was so very different. How would she feel without real passion and love? Perhaps passion and love were the true fantasy. Think of poor Rose. Doubt entered her mind and for the first time in a long while she thought of Mr. Braugham, then quickly recovered her senses. That was never meant to be. This is my destiny. The Sultan holds my fate.
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and shifted her position to focus her mind. I must take control of the situation and remain in control without the Sultan’s knowledge. To do this she must open to him completely. The most enticing seduction was allowing oneself to be seduced.
I may be considered his property, but I will make him mine.
~ ~ ~
It was the last week of October and the palace gardens were still alive and vibrant, the winter fruit trees heavy with apples, pomegranates, pears and persimmons. The last of the summer’s flowers blossomed in a rainbow of colors that would wither and die. Throughout the garden, songbirds swooped from branch to branch, and hummingbirds drank themselves giddy with nectar as if they knew it might be their last feast.
The Circassian Kadine received the Kizlar Agasi in her private garden, with its magnificent view of the Bosporus. Swathed in layers of yellow silk, her long, curly black hair was woven with tiny floral blossoms made of gemstones. Several ropes of diamonds loosely wound around her neck and gathered in a shimmering pile in her lap. Reclining on a gilded divan bolstered by silk pillows embroidered with gold and jewels, she was shaded from the sun by a carved, gilded copula. Had the sun’s rays been striking her directly, the Kizlar Agasi thought he might have been blinded by the glare.
The Circassian Kadine’s position in the harem was an unusual one. She was the favorite wife of the late Sultan, Mustapha the Third, and mother of his son, Selim, heir to the throne.
Had the present Sultan’s mother been alive, she would have held the highest position a woman could occupy in the royal household and the Empire: Valide Sultana, Mother of the Sultan. Out of fondness for his nephew Selim, the present Sultan had raised the Circassian Kadine to that position, installing her in a palace apartment second only in size to his own. It did not take her long to ingratiate herself to the Sultan and become his closest confidant.
The Circassian Kadine and Kizlar Agasi secretly belonged to a small group of liberally minded public officials who wanted to open Turkey to the West, nudging it closer toward a more progressive political climate, while also broadening trade. Turkey’s dogged adherence to ancient customs had kept it firmly rooted in the past for hundreds of years. Although the country could boast of many “modern” conveniences, barbaric practices still prevailed. The heads of dead criminals were still displayed on pikes along its roadways, and Janissaries were free to go on rampages, raping, looting and killing those who crossed their paths. Recently, another fanatical fundamentalist religious faction had appeared: The “Wahabi,” Desert Warriors. If they gained local support they might join with the cruel and unruly Janissaries to make them even more powerful.
Outside the palace walls, the liberal faction was supported by the wealthy and powerful Mufti Velly Zade. With his influence, money and private army, they hoped one day to overthrow the Janissaries, who had become so disproportionately strong during the last few decades. It was becoming increasingly unclear who truly ruled the Empire, they or the Sultan. As the Sultan’s melancholy and lack of interest increased, so did the Janissaries’ power.
When the Kizlar Agasi entered the private garden, he dismissed all of the royal handmaidens and slaves who waited there. The Circassian Kadine’s sensuous mouth curved into a warm smile, the faintest hint of fine lines appearing at the corners of her dark, almond eyes. Her olive skin stretched taught over her prominent cheekbones on an otherwise unlined face, making her look a decade younger than her thirty-nine years.
“Welcome, my friend,” she said.
The intimacy of their friendship allowed them to dispense with polite greetings.
“Wonderful news.” he said. “She is ready.”
The Kadi
ne’s perfectly arched brows raised in surprise. “So, soon? She must be as extraordinary as you say.”
The Kizlar Agasi could barely contain his excitement. “I tell you, Mihrisah, you will not be immune to her charms. I pray that her European perspective will find expression in our purpose. She could become an invaluable ally, the one we have prayed for.” he exclaimed.
“Well, your heart has been captivated, and that is a feat that tells me much. You are a harder nut to crack than Abdul. He is simply bored beyond reach.”
“Not beyond her reach, I’ll wager.” He paced back and forth nervously. This was the only place where he could speak his mind freely and allow his true feelings to show. “She begins the tests in three days. Then we must both do our parts to bring her to the Sultan immediately. He is already a little interested by my news of her, but as you say, so uninterested in everything, so melancholy.” He threw his hands up in a gesture of frustration. “Pray that she will ignite his fires. She may be our last hope. Most certainly mine.”
She absently stroked the strands of diamonds gathered in her lap. “Yes, if Mustapha inherits we shall all die. Yet, prayer so rarely yields results that I prefer to take matters into my own hands.”
“Yes, my lady,” he bowed. “Your very competent hands.”
~ ~ ~
Since their plans would not be revealed unless she won the Sultan’s favor, Aimée was unaware that so many people wanted her to succeed as fervently as she herself wished to. For the next three days, she practiced under the watchful eyes of the Kizlar Agasi and the Vekil Usta. She had become quite comfortable with the young eunuch with whom she practiced the arts of lovemaking (in a limited fashion), and on occasion, even experienced an inkling of desire which she secretly hoped the Sultan would kindle even more. The eunuch wore prosthetic male sex organs in place of his own, which had been severed, but Aimée believed the boy would have been overwhelmed with pleasure had the organs been real.
Her determination to succeed allowed her to learn the art of lovemaking in the same way she practiced her harp—repeatedly until perfected. Repetition had made her comfortable and confident, but she had not yet experienced the benefit of the sexual act... orgasm was still theoretical.
For her dance performance, Aimée wore a classic costume patterned after those worn for hundreds of years, made with her favorite rose-colored silk. Transparent silk trousers hugged her ankles beneath a full skirt that ended just above her knees. A gold and silver embroidered girdle with dozens of tiny silver bells cinched the blouse just below her belly, which was now quite a bit larger than it had been when she entered the school. Ropes of silver bells encircled her ankles and jangled at every step. Layers of rose-colored silk veils (that would be removed one by one throughout her dance) swathed her shoulders and breasts and tucked into her girdle. The silk turban that wound around her head would also be removed during the performance to allow her blonde tresses to cascade dramatically to her waist.
During her final dance practice, the music began and she twirled around the dance floor, shimmying her hips, stepping quickly, and making the bells on her girdle tinkle loudly. Then the music slowed and she languidly unwound the first veil, undulating her hips in a circle and using the silk to swirl patterns in the perfumed air around her body. As she moved her hips, she hid her face behind the veil, which she then lowered just enough to peek over, and then cleverly tucked it into the silken sash at her waist. As the pace of the music increased, she emitted an ancient cry with one hand over her mouth, her tongue vibrating against her palate, and deftly removed the second veil. She used this to cover her mouth while she ululated and spun in circles around the room.
When the rhythmic drumming came to a sudden halt, she sank to her knees, spreading them wide and arching backwards until the crown of her head rested on the floor atop the veil that she had dropped. In one quick motion, she unfastened her turban, allowing her long, blonde tresses to spill over the floor around her. From this position, she slowly and artfully removed the last of her veils, exposing the hardened nipples of her pert breasts that pushed against her flimsy blouse. She arched her back, higher and higher, thrusting her breasts into the air and moving her upper body as if it were attached to invisible threads from the ceiling. The Kizlar Agasi held his breath.
~ ~ ~
The final day of practice was devoted solely to testing her sexual abilities. She wore a costume that resembled the one she would wear on her first visit to the Sultan. Four chemises of the palest rose-colored gauze were layered over white silk trousers that fastened at the ankle with tiny pearl buttons. Over this, an azure blue velvet caftan, trimmed in sable, trailed behind her with an eight-foot train. Her hands and feet were decorated with intricate hennaed designs, and the pearl-encrusted pillbox hat that would become her signature style perched atop her hair, which hung loosely to her waist. A rope of pearls, interspersed with sapphires Baba had given her, hung in a loop reaching her knees, and a small sapphire butterfly fastened to her hair beside her right eye, complemented her eye’s dark blue beauty.
The young eunuch awaited her, just as the Sultan would, on a huge bed propped up by pillows. He wore a silk caftan opened in front to reveal his smooth, hairless, coffee-colored skin.
Aimée knelt behind the heavy curtain that hung a few feet from the foot of the bed.
At his signal, two slaves parted the curtain. “Stand,” he commanded.
Aimée stood with her hands clasped demurely behind her and her head bowed.
“Lift your head,” he said and she did as she was told.
“Remove your robe,” he said, and the slaves removed her heavy caftan.
“Remove one dress,” he said, and the slaves removed it.
“Turn,” he said, and she obliged his command by turning slowly in a circle.
“Remove one dress,” he said, and the slaves obliged.
“Another,” he commanded, and again the slaves obliged, leaving Aimée now clothed in only one of the sheerest dresses.
“Approach,” he commanded, and Aimée stepped onto the footstool and climbed onto the bed. She crouched on her knees, her head bowed to the heavy brocade coverlet until he spoke again.
“Come to me,” he said.
She began the slow crawl towards his feet. When she was within range of touching them she stopped and waited for the next command, keeping her face bowed to the coverlet.
“You may touch me,” he said and, rather than using her hands, she inched her face forward and nuzzled the arch of his right foot with her cheek. Then she slowly took his big toe into her mouth and gently sucked.
The eunuch groaned with pleasure, as she hoped the Sultan would. Taking this as a signal, she ran her hands up the boy’s legs, following with soft kisses up one leg then down the other.
For the next hour, she fondled and teased, tickled and sucked before finally kneeling over him to present her sex to his mouth, as she had been taught. She gasped with genuine surprise as the eunuch lightly flicked the moist petals between her thighs with his tongue before rolling her over onto her stomach and placing a large silk pillow beneath her belly.
She barely had time to register the sensation she had just felt, and wondered how she might feel were it prolonged.
Gently stroking her little bottom with one hand, the boy applied a mixture of aloe and sesame oil to the phallus, then slowly eased it into her behind. This was what the Sultan may wish to do, and she must be prepared. However, the Vekil Usta had given strict instructions not to allow the Sultan’s seed to spill in this way. Her womb must receive the seed. The seed must beget an heir.
Aimée allowed the thrusting to continue until such time as she felt the real Sultan would be frantic with desire. She grasped the phallus firmly with one hand to guide it towards the entrance to her womb. Hovering over the phallus, she performed the undulating dance of desire expertly while the tip rested at the entrance to her body. She looked up and smiled at the Vekil Usta and Kizlar Agasi, who stood observing a few fee
t away.
“Yes, yes, that will do,” her teacher whispered breathlessly. “The best student I have ever had. Put on your clothes and come directly to my quarters.”
~ ~ ~
When Aimée knocked on the door of the Vekil Usta’s apartment, her teacher and the Kizlar Agasi were enthusiastically discussing her performance. Both smiled broadly as she entered. The Kizlar Agasi clasped her gently by the shoulders and smiled down at her, nodding his head. “I have no doubt that you will pass your tests quite well.”
“I would not be worthy if not for the guidance you have both given me,” she said, bowing.
Ah, if only she remains this gracious afterwards, he thought.
That night Aimée felt a greater sense of accomplishment than she ever had. Her strong sense of purpose had allowed her to accept her new goal, and she had even learned to enjoy it. How much more wonderful was it going to be with a real man? She rolled onto her belly and squealed into her pillow. After tomorrow she would find out.
Chapter 26
August, 1782
On the following morning, Aimée sat on a large silk cushion, her harp poised on her lap. The Kizlar Agasi, the Vekil Usta and several other women whom Aimée had never seen, reclined, facing her on divans set against the room’s three walls.
The door opened and a procession of four eunuchs entered, each carrying a large gold tray piled high with dozens of pieces of jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, rings, belts, anklets and hair ornaments. Aimée had heard that some of the harem wives were so rich they possessed more jewelry than they could wear at one time. In order to flaunt their wealth when visiting other wives, slaves carried their excess jewelry before them. Aimée had dismissed this as outrageous rumor, but here it was, literally piles of priceless jewelry.
And then, the infamous Kadine appeared. Aimée gasped at the sight of her (which fortunately in harem culture was a compliment rather than an insult). None of the rumors whispered amongst the novices could have prepared her for the magnificence of the vision before her. The Kadine’s fur-trimmed caftan was artfully embroidered with rubies, diamonds and pearls. With each floating step she took, the cloth shimmered so brightly it appeared to be made of liquid light. Her pantaloons, spun from fine golden threads were cuffed at the ankles with wide bands of diamonds. A ten-inch wide girdle of solid diamonds, for which she was famous, belted a sheer red silk over blouse. Five ropes of diamonds, each stone the size of a grape, wound around her neck, then fell past her knees. Her jet-black hair was caught up on one side by a bouquet of flowers made entirely of precious stones, and a rope of the same jewels encircled her head. Eight magnificent rings adorned her fingers, and elaborate diamond earrings cascaded past her shoulders. At the center of this splendor was the most beautiful face Aimée had ever seen.
