by Zia Wesley
Two heavily armed eunuchs guarded the massive bronze doors that led to the Sultan’s sleeping chamber. As they approached, the Kizlar Agasi spoke one brief command and they pulled the doors open.
At the far end of the room, the Sultan lay among his pillows, wearing a dark green robe trimmed in ermine. He had been propped up enough to appear to be sitting, but his head drooped lazily to one side and hung over his shoulder. The Kizlar Agasi backed out of the room and closed the doors. The harem musicians, who had preceded Aimée into the room, began to play. The Sultan straightened his head with some effort and opened his eyes wide to see what was going on.
Aimée took a deep breath, releasing her hold on the marble phallus hidden within her girdle. There was no time for thought now, no time for sinking into the sorrows of her past, no time for regret. She had made her choice, and there was no other.
Lifting her head high, she spun effortlessly around the room and, purely for effect, pulled off the dark purple veil that covered her hair, allowing the long, blonde tresses to fall free. This elicited the desired response, as the Sultan leaned forward slightly to get a better look. He followed the hypnotic swaying of her mane, then signaled for her to remove the veil that covered her face. When the veil was discarded, she beamed a smile directly to him, hoping he would notice her blue eyes. He squinted to see her more clearly, then leaned back against his pillows.
The dance was long and complicated, designed to titillate and arouse. At the halfway point, Aimée noticed the Sultan’s shoulders swaying slightly and his head tilting from side to side. Whatever potion the Circassian Kadine had administered seemed to have taken effect.
Aimée shimmied her hips as she spun around the room faster and faster, shaking the little bells on her girdle and gracefully unwrapping the second-to-last veil from her body. Then the music stopped as she sank to her knees and spread them wide. At this the Sultan leaned forward and opened his robe. She arched her back and brought her hips forward, bringing her pelvis down towards the floor. The Sultan seemed entranced. He had seen the same dance performed many times, but not by one such as this.
The slow rhythmic drumming became a heartbeat to which Aimée’s hips moved independently from the rest of her body. Still on her back, the crown of her head resting on the floor, she arched her back higher as she shimmied her belly and breasts. The pace of the music increased, and the musicians cried out their ancient call, vibrating their tongues against the roofs of their mouths.
Aimée slowly twisted up to a standing position, arranging herself for the Sultan to see her profile. Then she rolled her body back and forth in a wave that began at her knees and reached all the way up to the top of her head. She moved so fluidly it looked as if she did not have a backbone. The music played faster and faster, and she began to spin wildly, ululating shrilly. When the music stopped abruptly, she sank to her knees again, spreading them even wider than before. She slowly peeled the last veil from her body, sliding it away, then teasingly holding it between her parted thighs, like a curtain, raising and then lowering it, exposing and then hiding herself. By bringing her knees together then apart, she allowed the Sultan intermittent glimpses of her sex, adorned with the glittering diamonds, through the transparent trousers.
The Sultan reached between his legs and stroked himself, whispering something that she could not hear.
She removed her girdle and secreted the small penis in her hand. Then she unfastened the flimsy trousers, which fell away from her body, exposing her open sex fully to his view.
“Come now,” he whispered hoarsely, making a beckoning motion with his right hand. Her advisors had been right. The old man did not stand on protocol when he was aroused. Seeing her climb onto the bed, the harem musicians quietly made their exit.
Aimée began the slow crawl to the Sultan’s feet, and could see the tip of his withered sex poking through the folds of his open robe. His eyes looked glazed and he mumbled things that she could not understand, but she did not stop her forward progress until she had taken one of his feet in her hand and nuzzled it to her face. She ran her tongue along its arch, then took the big toe between her lips and circled it with her tongue. The Sultan moaned and reached down to grasp her hair with his hands. He allowed the flaxen curls to fall through his fingers, looking on in wonder. He slid down onto his back, and pulled her on top of him, bringing her sex to his mouth to lick her.
Despite the old man’s unappealing appearance and intoxicated state, her body responded. She knelt over him, holding his head in her hands to thrust her hips against his mouth. She had never felt anything like this, and fought not to lose herself in passion’s grip. Reaching back to feel him, she was pleased to find that he was hard. She turned around and took his member in both of her hands, to bring it to her mouth.
The Sultan drove a finger deep into her bottom and moaned loudly.
When she thought that he was ready to spill his seed, she straddled him and guided him into her body. A searing pain shot up her spine, but she bit her lower lip and continued to press her hips down onto him. She looked down to see her blood trickling onto his testicles, and gasped in pain as he began thrusting into her harder and faster, controlling the movement of her hips with his hands, until his entire body shook with pleasure and he screamed, “Ahhhhhyy yaaaaaa.”
The old man collapsed onto his pillows, his member immediately becoming flaccid and slipping from Aimée’s body. For several minutes he lay on his back with his eyes closed and his mouth open wide, breathing hard. As his breath began to return to normal, he opened his eyes and noticed Aimée, who had carefully dismounted and was kneeling beside him. He touched the blood on the inside of her thigh, fascinated by the dark, scarlet streak against her milky white skin. Then he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Surprised by their deep sapphire color, he smiled wanly.
“Blue eyes? Hmmmm.” He closed his eyes and drifted off for several moments.
Aimée was not sure if he had fallen asleep. Her throbbing pain took all of her attention, as she waited for a sign of consciousness from him.
A moment later, he opened his eyes sleepily and whispered, “What is your name?”
“I am called Nakshidil, sire.”
“Nakshidil?”
“Yes, sire,” she affirmed.
“You have given me pleasure, Nakshidil. You may go now,” he said, closing his eyes.
Aimée bowed her head, retrieved the marble phallus from its hiding place, climbed off the bed, and gathered her clothing into her arms. She put on her robe and gingerly began to open the door. As soon as the guards saw the door move, they pulled it open all the way and looked in on the Sultan, who appeared to be sleeping soundly.
Aimée wiped the tears from her face and bit her lower lip to keep from crying more. She walked as quickly as she could to the apartment of the Circassian Kadine and found her reclining on a divan, smoking a nargileh that filled the room with the pungent smell of opium.
“My sweet child,” she whispered, smiling as if she had just awakened from a lovely dream.
“It is done, my lady,” Aimée managed to say, as her legs gave out beneath her and she sank to the floor. Having been so focused on preparations for the evening, she had not allowed herself to feel any of the fear or anxiety that would normally have accompanied the monumental act of losing her virginity. Now that it was over, a wave of sadness rocked her body as she realized her girlhood was gone. She was now a woman. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed as confusing emotions assaulted her—thinking of her Aunt Lavinia, Mother Superior, and Father Christophe, a lifetime ago. I am unwed. No priest has given the Lord’s blessing. I have entered into an unholy union. I do not love him, and he does not even know who I am. I am ruined. Feeling utter despair, she sobbed harder. I am alone and, surely, God has also forsaken me.
As she collapsed, the Circassian Kadine clapped her hands and shouted, which brought three slaves and two eunuchs running into the room. “Tend to her,” she commanded, frightened that something terrible had
happened. What had that foolish old man done to the girl to cause such upset?
One of the eunuchs picked Aimée up in his arms and laid her down on a divan, where she curled into a ball and cried into the silk pillows.
The slave girls brought coffee and a nargileh filled with opium. They fanned her with large peacock-feather fans as she cried harder than she had in many months. All of her strength left her as she gave in to the unexpressed emotions she had secretly harbored since entering the seraglio. Her release was so powerful that after several minutes, her sobs began to subside. When she was once again in control of herself, she propped herself up onto her left elbow and took a sip of coffee. She had chased away the old demons by reminding herself that she was no longer a child.
Wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, she smiled wanly at the Kadine. “I am all right. It was just a shock, I suppose.”
“Of course. I understand. Would you like to smoke? I find it very soothing.”
“No, thank you,” she declined.
“What did he do to you, child?”
“Nothing more than was expected. He was quite aroused, and I did not need to use this,” she said, handing her the marble phallus. “Afterwards, he asked my name.”
“Asked your name? Really? That is very good. He must have been pleased.”
“Yes, my lady. He said I had given him pleasure, and then fell asleep.”
“He said that to you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Excellent, child, excellent. You are the first in many months. Would you like some?” she asked again, offering the long pipe.
“No thank you, my lady. I would like very much to bathe and then sleep.”
“By all means. Use my bath and we will speak in the morning. Come to me after the morning meal,” she said drowsily, and closed her eyes.
~ ~ ~
Aimée sat beneath a steaming hot waterfall in the Kadine’s bath, allowing the water to cascade over her head and shoulders. She must never allow sad thoughts about her past to intrude again. It would do her no good, she told herself, to long for the impossible. She was truly a woman now, and life was going to be different. She must remain focused on the future and hope that her efforts to please the Sultan had been successful. Mother Mary, uphold my purpose. She immediately blushed at the blasphemous prayer. How can Mary still be mother to me? The tears returned despite her resolve. The Holy Virgin had always brought her comfort. Well, she would find other sources of comfort now.
A little while later, curled up on her bed, she used a little trick she had invented to help her sleep. She imagined herself in the future, bedecked in the finest clothes and jewels, sitting upon a golden throne with an infant son in her arms. The vision always filled her with joy—sometimes it even brought tears of happiness to her eyes. She smiled contentedly, and then slept soundly, neither stirring nor dreaming.
When she awoke in the morning she noticed a small bloodstain on her gown and as she rose from her bed, felt a slight trickle run down the inside of her left thigh. She smiled to herself and fixed the cotton cloths that she used during her moon times. Then she ate a small breakfast and went to see the Circassian Kadine.
Chapter 28
When she entered the Kadine’s apartment that morning, a very different woman greeted Aimée. The Kadine was gracious as usual, although businesslike, firing a stream of questions. She wanted to know every detail of the previous night: Was the Sultan awake? Did he smile? Had he become hard? Had he penetrated her maidenhead himself? Did he cry out?
Aimée’s answers appeared to relieve the Kadine’s anxiety, and she began to relax. “You are the first in a long time to elicit such responses,” she said.
The Kadine clapped her hands and a slave appeared with a tray of coffee. She poured two servings into tiny gold porcelain cups, and handed one to each woman.
“Well,” the Kadine said with a smile, “we shall see what gift he sends. That will tell us much.”
“Does his majesty always send a gift following a night of pleasure?”
“Only if he is pleased. The more pleased, the greater the gift.” She raised her eyebrows and sipped her coffee, realizing that she was as nervous as if she herself was awaiting word from the Sultan.
“Let’s bathe together this morning, and I will leave word to notify us immediately should a gift arrive for you.”
Aimée hoped to receive a splendid gift, and wondered what might happen in the event that she did not. “Should I not receive a gift, my lady, will I be called upon again?”
“That is difficult to predict,” the Kadine lied. “But it is far too early to become concerned. The Kalif is not even awake at this hour. Come. Let’s bathe.”
The two women spent the entire morning in the baths, speaking very little while enjoying the pampering ministrations of the well-trained servants. Afterwards they ate their mid-day meal together in the Kadine’s apartment and made light conversation to pass the time and cover their nervousness. However, by then, both had begun to doubt the eminent arrival of a gift.
They had just finished their final serbet of pears and roses, when Zahar burst into the room unannounced, carrying a small, beautifully wrapped package. “My lady,” she said breathlessly, handing it to Aimée, “For you... from the Sultan.”
It was a small package wrapped in fuchsia silk, and tied with thin, shimmering ropes of silver. Aimée unwrapped the silk to reveal a small sandalwood box set with mother-of-pearl. She admired the intricate carving and design, examining it carefully on all sides then holding it up for the Circassian Kadine to see. “Isn’t it lovely?”
Almost bursting with anticipation, the Kadine said, “The box is not the gift, I hope. Open it, dearest.”
Aimée slowly lifted the top off the box and gasped. It was filled with sapphires. There must have been fifty stones of every shape and size. Her mouth dropped open as she held the box for the Kadine to see.
Instantly, the Kadine’s face transformed with the magnitude of her smile, as her hand flew to cover her heart. “Oh, my dear. My dearest dear, you have done it. You have won him. He has never given such a gift. Never.”
Aimée gazed at the gems, filled with excitement. “They are so beautiful. What does this mean, my lady?”
“It means that he will send for you again and...” her voice trailed off because her thoughts were coming faster than she could speak. “Summon the Kizlar Agasi at once,” she said to Zahar. Then she turned back to Aimée. “I have much to tell you, my dear.”
While they awaited the arrival of the Kizlar Agasi, the Circassian Kadine began a new phase of Aimée’s education by explaining the Sultan’s descent into lethargy.
It seemed that until a few months earlier the Sultan had been active in affairs of state and interested in all aspects of the Empire. Although, following the Ottoman tradition of the last two hundred years, he did not physically participate in any military enterprise; his wisdom guided the Empire’s continual wars on many fronts. But a crushing darkness had descended upon him of late, and every attempt to spark his interest had failed—until the previous night.
Aimée bit into a fig. “Maybe he is just tired of women with black hair.”
“Or perhaps he is simply tired of being Sultan,” the Circassian Kadine replied.
“Well, if that is so, what can one do? Does our government make provisions for such a thing?” Aimée asked.
The Circassian Kadine tilted her head to one side and studied the girl. “What a fine mind you have to even think to ask such a question.”
Aimée was flattered, but did not understand why a simple and logical question should elicit such a response.
The Kadine took a deep breath and considered whether it was time for her to say what she was thinking. Deciding in the affirmative, she let out a long sigh. “I will speak freely because it seems you have won the Sultan’s favor. I believe that you can play an important role in the future of the Empire.” She paused to sip her coffee and let her statemen
t take effect and then continued.
“I came to the seraglio when I was nineteen years old—a gift from my father, who was governor of Nalchik province in Circassia. As the eldest of four girls and with no brothers, I stood to inherit all that belonged to my family when I married. For this reason, my father had educated me well. I understood the machinations of governments, ours as well as others that were different from our own. Had I been a man I would have followed my father as the next governor. Because I was not a man, I chose to do the next best thing. Circassia had been under Turkish rule for a hundred years without any representation in that government. The Turks did not care that Russia threatened us continually. I gave myself in an attempt to protect my country.”
Aimée was fascinated. “And was it so?” she asked.
“Yes, Circassia was protected while Mustapha Sultan lived, and for the first six years of Abdul’s reign. But he has become weak with age, and the Janissaries have become stronger. Circassia will prevail. It is Turkey that concerns me now.”
“Please, my lady. Tell me about the Janissaries. I know very little.”
“The Janissaries are taken as young boys of seven or eight from Christian families. They are converted to Islam and trained for many years to make them fearless warriors. They believe themselves to be the keepers of the Faith, and call themselves the ‘Soldiers of Allah.’ They go into battle with war banners displaying inspirational quotes from the Quran. Their allegiance is to Allah first, and then to the Sultan. Within the palace, they function as guards, and in the city as police. The Sultan’s army is made up of Janissaries. They are not castrated, like eunuchs, but until recently were required to be celibate and to live apart from everyone else. Even though they may now marry and have children, they still choose to live apart and sleep, eat and converse solely with each other. Their exclusivity and separation causes them to form unusually strong relationships with one another. In many ways, the lives of the Janissaries are much like those of the women in the harem.” She paused for a moment to allow the last bit of information to sink in.
