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Kismet Ch. 01

By: RedHairedandFriendly



Author's Note: Following is the first chapter of a new chain story which I hope many of you will enjoy. This idea came to me from an Avatar that a poster in Literotica's forum uses. The image is of a painting titled The Slave Market. The artist, Jean-Leon Gerome has many works of art that are quite lovely. This particular one made me wonder what kind of story the writers, here at Literotica, could create for her. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the upcoming ones that will include works from both experienced and new writers. A heartfelt thanks to LoquaciousLady for editing. Comments are very much appreciated. Thank you and enjoy. ~ RedHairedandFriendly 

Hera stared at the woman displayed before the men of the village. Tears fell down her face as she watched strangers paw at her. They ran their hands down her figure, squeezed her breasts, forced her legs apart, and invaded her privates with thick fingers. Yet, she knew in her heart that none invaded her too deeply, fearing the wrath of whomever won the right to possess her. Hera's gaze shifted to Mada, a woman she'd considered her friend; a woman she'd visited once a year for the past eighteen years. This year however, Hera knew would be the last. She would never see Mada again, nor would she ever return to her homeland. Mada had plans for her; she would not grace the market place stage, nor would she have to witness the disgrace of her daughter. For that Hera was thankful. 

Shouts brought Hera back to the trembling, yet proud form of her daughter. Her black hair had been freed of its bonds; it flowed down her back, over her shoulders and caressed the round cheeks of her ass. Her hair, Hera had told her often was her crowning glory. Yet here in Azerbaidistan, it was not only her hair that drove the bidding up, but her skin as well. The creamy white flesh bore no flaws; her emerald eyes made many stop and stare in awe. Afsoon was unique to the people of Azerbaidistan and her uniqueness, as well as her untouched maidenhead would make many envious. Hera closed her eyes as a shout of victory came from the one man she had prayed would not win her daughter. 

Risay smirked. His dark gray eyes connected with Mada's silver ones. He bowed his head slightly, then glanced at the battered woman that stood unwillingly beside the Sultan's wife. Her lips were swollen; her eyes blackened, presumably by the beefy hands that now gripped her arms to her side. One of her wrist looked to be cocked at an odd angle. Risay wondered if her legs, hidden behind the thick skirt she wore, bore similar damage. Obviously Mada had no use for the woman she'd once called friend. Risay knew why too. Mada had shared with him the story of Hera after they had spent hours exploring each one's flesh. 



"The bitch was my friend," Mada muttered as her naked and well used body lay atop Risay's, "she came here every year. We walked through the village. We shopped. We danced for Azlan. We laughed like children. She dined at my table!" 

"Yet, she hid this secret from you?" Risay asked, his fingers toyed with the sweaty locks of Mada's hair. 

"For eighteen years she kept this secret." Risay kissed the Sultan's wife's head and then trailed a finger down her jaw, before rolling her to her back. "She only told me now because she feels she has no choice. Her husband has died and all his goods are left to Afsoon. But Afsoon is not his! She is Azlan's! If the men in her country discover her lies, then she will lose all." 

"So why come here? Why confess all to you and not Azlan?" Risay asked just before his mouth moved to nibble on Mada's neck. 

Mada moaned softly, tilting her head to give her lover easier access to her delicate flesh. She wanted him to be more vigorous in their love-making, but knew this was something she could not have. If she were marked by any other than Azlan she would not live another hour longer. 

"Because I am her friend," Mada sneered, "she came to me in hopes I would appeal to Azlan and convince him to take Afsoon and her into his world. She loves him!" Mada shouted, pushing her lover away and rolling to her stomach. Her hands moved under her chin and she propped herself up, pouting like a child. 

"And you do not want her here?"

"I was fooled Risay. I did not know she was bedding the Sultan, my Azlan. I share him with so many women. I wanted one to be just my friend, to not look upon the Sultan and desire to pleasure him. I wanted someone that was not out to gain something for themselves, but to..." she sighed and licked her lips, opening her legs when she felt Risay's hands nudging them apart, "...just be my confidant. I thought Hera was that." 

"But she was fucking your mate." 

Risay's cock slipped easily into the slick opening of Mada's pussy. He grinned as her muscles clenched around his shaft. As he pumped in and out of her, she explained that Hera had been fucking the Sultan from the first visit she and her husband had made to Azerbaidistan. She had fallen in love, Hera had told her, but because she was already wed, she had to stay with her husband. Her husband had been a great business man and every year they came to the country to trade with the people, staying as honored guests in the houses of Azlan. 

That first month Hera had gotten pregnant; she had no doubts that the child was Azlan's because her husband was aged and they had never consummated their marriage vows. The marriage had been a business arrangement. Hera would be the hostess of great parties and run the nobleman's house and he would provide for her and her family, a family that was not financially secure and needed dowries for their other daughters. 

Risay had listened as his cock had found release once again in Mada's sex. He knew she would not birth his children, nor any man's. Her last child, a son, had almost killed her upon his arrival into the world and the result had left her barren. He pulled from her, flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes. Mada rolled back over, cuddled up to him and continued to pout, then later as she readied herself to leave Risay's bed, she began to plot. 

"Azlan will return in a week," she said as she fastened a gold belt to her waist, "I need you to arrange an auction." 

Risay frowned. "Azlan will not be happy to have missed one and if you are thinking to sell Hera..." 

"No. I will not sell Hera. I do not want her anywhere near Azlan and selling her would not keep her out of our lives...my life. Her daughter though," Hera sneered, "she is beautiful. She has her father's face, stern and proud. I want that pride wiped from her ivory features. I want her mother to see her daughter in the hands of a madman. I want her to go to her death knowing that Afsoon suffers." 

"And who is this man?" 

Hera laughed. "You, my dear." 

Risay's brows rose. "Me?" 

"Yes, I do not love you like I do Azlan. You know this. I do however know how you treat your slaves. I have seen the bruises. I know the stories of how they are abused if they make the slightest mistake, if they do not pleasure you the way you wish to be pleasured. Make her suffer Risay... for me." 

"Then why not give her to me? Why an auction?" 

"Because I want Hera to watch her daughter be humiliated. There is no reason other than that. I have been humiliated for eighteen years! That I did not see the truth infuriates me! I have been fooled. I have been laughed at and now... Hera can watch the one thing she loves more than life fall to the hands of you, a well known abuser of women." 

Risay's laughter echoed through his bed chambers as Hera slipped out a hidden door and made her way home. Armed guards, paid handsomely for their silence, remained at her side until she reached the harem courtyard. 



The skin on the inner side of Afsoon's cheek was sore and bleeding. The metallic taste of blood did little to aid her in focusing on something other than the hands that pawed at her. Her gaze had held that of her mother's for as long as possible. The welts and cuts that littered the once beautiful face would forever be etched in Afsoon's mind. The woman that stood next to her held an air of grace and her beauty was apparent. The colors she wore were ones that Afsoon knew to be the colors of Azerbaidistan. She also knew by the stories her mother had told her while growing up, that the woman was her father's wife. Afsoon had no qualms calling another man her father, though she had never met him. The man whom she had lived with, the man that had given her his name because he'd wed her mother shortly before she'd gotten pregnant, was not someone she ever loved. Nor was he someone she would miss as she heard the final bid being held and confirmed. 

Her green eyes flew to those of the winner. Fear shot through her as she saw the sneer on his face directed toward her mother and a look of satisfaction when he looked at Mada. Mada...how had her mother been so wrong about her long time friend?

Afsoon had been told that the Sultan's wife was a remarkable creature. Kind. Considerate. Compassionate to the plight of the poor. Yet when Mada had heard the story surrounding Afsoon's birth and her sudden appearance at Azerbaidistan, Mada had struck Hera, ordered guards to take her and Afsoon away and for two days her mother was beaten in front of Afsoon, repeatedly violated by the guards. Afsoon was threatened the same treatment if she breathed a word to any of her true paternity.

She would have screamed the truth had it not been for the threat to her mother's life. Afsoon had lived for only one person... her mother. Her life with her foster father, as she referred to him, was not one she had cared for. She was no more than a servant to him. Lord Byran had been a cruel man. Cruel to her. Cruel to her mother; even more so, Hera confessed, after learning of her affair with Azlan. Yet, he had continued to visit Azerbaidistan fully knowing his wife was bedding the Sultan. Afsoon however had never been allowed to travel with her mother. At home she'd remained until Byran's untimely death; her mother immediately packed their belongings and sought passage on one of Lord Byran's ships before all learned of Afsoon's true heritage. 

Byran had left everything to his daughter; why? Hera's opinion had been that in time all would be revealed to their more notable friends and humiliation like none other would fall down on her and her family. They would be financially destroyed, so what better way to avoid the potential downfall than to hide from it? Afsoon begged her mother to not flee, but to stay and fight. Hera refused. Now Afsoon stood, no longer a free woman, but one that would be used just like her mother had been used the nights prior to the auction. 

Renewed excitement from the crowd made Afsoon's attention return to the present. She was pulled off the stage and another woman, equally bare of all clothing took her place. Two men, both elegantly dressed in long tunics moved to either side of her. One took a firm hold on the silver chain that had been attached to a collar on her neck. He tugged it, spoke harshly to her and pointed toward a group of servants as well as horses. 

A house seal bearing a black rose sat snuggly on the shoulder of each man. Afsoon's gaze ran quickly over their figures, noting a blade attached to each hip. For a brief moment she thought of escaping, grabbing a blade and thrusting it into its owner. Yet the words of Mada echoed in her ear. She was too remain passive on the auction stage. She was to submit to the wills of all the men that touched her. She was to go willingly to her Master or...her mother would suffer even more. 

Afsoon was taken away. A cry of anguish echoed through the market place. Afsoon knew it to be the cry of a mother losing her only child. 

Risay remained in the village. He had no doubt that the woman he'd just purchased would be cared for. The men he'd entrusted her to were loyal servants. They knew their place and would take Afsoon to his home where she would be treated like a goddess. Mada was convinced she was a virgin, a treat that Risay's men knew he would enjoy deflowering. When the physicians in the market had confirmed her innocence still existed, he had paid handsomely for it. He snickered to himself as he entered one business after another, conducting transactions that he normally would have handled during a scheduled trip. He found himself looking forward to breaking in the young woman. 

*****

Afsoon had not fought the guards; the looming voice of Mada accompanied her throughout the trip to what she knew was to be her home. Her eyes had remained on her clenched fists. Her naked body had remained viewable to the guards that had taken her from the market place. They'd placed her in the back of a wagon; a pale white canvas shielded her from the sun and other prying eyes, yet the men had climbed in behind her. She had remained impassive as they spoke candidly about what their Master would do to her. Heat flooded her features as they described the man whom she would serve. She learned his name and was soon rewarded with the stories of how he liked to have his women pleasure him. 

By the time they reached their destination Afsoon was shaking. She wanted to flee, yet knew in this country she was nothing more than a piece of property. What freedom she had held in her world was no longer available to her. She had no voice and if one felt she did not exist, then exist she did not. 

One of the guards bellowed loudly once the group had exited the wagon. A woman appeared, her features showed her age as did the silver of her hair. Afsoon looked imploring at her, hoping to find some shimmer of compassion and friendship. A sliver of humanity existed no where in the woman's hard stare and the hope Afsoon held within her chest melted away. There would be no freedom from this place. 

With a deep sigh, she squared her shoulders and followed the old woman down a rocky path. Trees and various flowers grew along side the worn walkway. The fragrant blooms went ignored by Afsoon. Each step she took brought her closer to what she knew, from her mother's stories, to be the harem of her Master. She swallowed nervously; when she entered a courtyard of giggling and chattering females all noises ceased. 

The old woman clapped her hands, gathering the attention of all the females. "This is Afsoon. She is to be bathed and readied for Master Risay." 

Soft mumblings came from various groups. Afsoon tried to remain impassive as dozens of eyes stared at her. She could feel various degrees of curiosity as well as hostility. Her mother had tried to prepare her during the short times they were allowed to speak with each other. She had told her how the men of Azerbaidistan would wed one or two women, but keep dozens, sometimes hundreds or thousands in their own mini-community. These women were part of the Master's harem. Once Afsoon had agreed to the terms Mada had set forth, the stories of her childhood became more real. 

A movement to her left brought Afsoon's attention to a woman who looked to be a few years older than  her eighteen. She tried to divert her gaze from the thin veiled figure as she closed the distance between them. The woman was beautiful, Afsoon quickly saw. Her hair was black. Her skin bronze. Her eyes were almost as dark as coal. Immediately Afsoon felt a connection and once again hope sprung anew. 

"Afsoon, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Malay." Malay took Afsoon's hand and tugged on it gently. The old woman nodded then walked away. Malay shot a look to several of the other women and most all turned away. "I am sure Master paid dearly for you. I shall prepare you myself, for I wish to please him." 

Afsoon went with the other woman. They left the harem courtyard, crossed a threshold that opened into a great hall. Down the hall Malay led Afsoon; they passed intricately carved statues of various gods and goddesses. Paintings. Tapestries. Artifacts that Afsoon had never seen or known existed had been placed on tables of what Afsoon thought was marble. Risay had paid handsomely and it seemed that he could have gone higher if the need had presented itself. This knowledge did not sit easily on her shoulders. A wealthy man was a man that took great means to protect what was his. Afsoon was now his. 

"Here we are." 

Malay's voice brought Afsoon out of her musings. She stared at a large pool of water. Steam rose from the rippling surface. Several servants, dressed in less finery that the veils of Malay stood ready to serve. Malay clapped her hands and the servants acted quickly. One woman approached Afsoon, the collar and it's matching chain were removed. Another slave disappeared, only to return a few minutes later with a pile of what Afsoon would later learn to be the clothes she would be expected to wear. 

"A bath," Malay whispered, motioning to the pool. 

Afsoon stepped forward, timidly at first and then more boldly as the servants chuckled behind their upraised hands. Malay shot them a knowing look and their giggles ceased. Afsoon gave a grateful smile to the woman as she slipped into the water. She breathed deep, recognized the scent of roses and remembered the symbol that the guards wore on their person and the etchings on their swords. "Why roses?" she suddenly asked. 

Malay smiled softly, disrobed and slipped into the water with Afsoon. She patted the girl's arm, when she saw the shock of sharing a bath ride over her features. "I am only here to wash you, prepare you for our Master. I am pleased you speak our language. The black rose is what Risay's name stands for, it is his family symbol and though it is a flower, one should fear the thorns." 

"Black roses mean death where I come from." 

"Risay brings death too," Malay answered back. Her voice had been easy to read. It was the voice of reason, a voice that spoke of certainty and acceptance of fate. "Go under the water and wet your hair. I will wash it." 

Afsoon did as she was told, dipping her entire body under the steamy surface. While she stayed submerged the thought of never rising bubbled to the forefront of her mind. She could stay under the water, breathe it in and end this life another had forced upon her. Another face suddenly appeared, it was the face of a battered woman. A woman that had crossed an ocean hoping to save herself and the life of her daughter. Afsoon rose from the water. She would not take the easy way out. Somehow she would make Mada pay for the crimes against her and her mother. It would take time and right now time was quite plentiful. 

Malay's hands worked scented soap into Afsoon's long locks. She massaged her scalp, caressed her neck and twisted the soapy suds several times before having the slave girl submerge herself again. When Afsoon rose up a second time Malay was there with a pumice stone in her hand. "Sit on the edge and give me your foot," she softly demanded. 

Afsoon watched as if in a trance as the harem slave worked the stone over her legs. She scrubbed softly at her thigh muscles, caressed her knees and calf muscles with care. Her feet were treated with a more vigorous washing and then Malay touched her sex. "You will need to be prepared," she whispered softly as her fingers brushed across the thick black curls of Afsoon's pussy. 

"Please don't," Afsoon begged. Her hands came up to cover her exposed sex. Malay frowned and pushed her fingers away. 

"It will not hurt," she told her. Malay snapped her fingers. A servant appeared and Afsoon watched as a sharp blade caught the light and its steel glinted threateningly in the slave woman's hand. 

Afsoon acted on instinct, grabbing Malay's hand and reaching out to grip the knife. It cut into her skin, causing her to cry out. Malay released it, not willing to fight the young woman. Instead she watched Afsoon rise from the water and search for an exit. She took two steps before four guards appeared. Their arms were thick like trees, their hands beefy and strong. Each one held a blade longer than any Afsoon had seen before. They stepped toward her. Malay watched with interest as the dark-haired Afsoon tried to take stock of her situation. 


Kismet Ch. 02



A hearty thanks to RedHairedandFriendly for the editing, the advice, and the opportunity to work with some real stars. I hope you enjoy my offering on this. Feedback is always welcome.

*

The sun rose, etching the sky with washed out purples, pinks, oranges, reds, and yellows. Afsoon's eyes opened groggily and she felt the soft feather mattress enveloping her. For a moment she struggled frantically, disoriented and unable to tell where she was or why. Her thrashing only awoke a hundred pains in her body and soon enough the memories of the past few weeks came flooding back. As they did so, tears prickled her bottle green eyes. 

Last night had been terrible. Afsoon had despaired of her life in the end but at last Risay had tired of playing with her and the guards had escorted her forcibly back to the entrance of the harem. Malay was waiting there for her and helped her to the small cell that would be Afsoon's home. Another girl had brought a basin of warm water and rags. The two of them cleaned her and dressed her wounds carefully as she sobbed piteously. Through the night Malay stayed by her bed, caring for her and soothing her back into sleep when the pain or terror awoke her with a scream. 

Now it appeared Malay had finally gone to take her own rest and Afsoon was alone. A breakfast tray stood beside the bed and Afsoon turned to it gratefully. Drizzling the yogurt and honey over the figs, quince, pomegranate and dates, she ate languidly while mulling over the events that had brought her to this point. Her adopted father, Lord Byran, was dead. Her mother, Hera, had fled with Afsoon to Azerbaidistan, the land of her true father, Azlan. Hera was now a prisoner of Sultan's wife, Mada, and Afsoon was sold as common chattel on the auction block to the vile General Risay. A flicker of hope kindled in her heart, though, as Afsoon thought of Azlan, her father. If only he knew of her and of what Mada had done, Afsoon would be freed and take her rightful place in Sultan's home and Mada would pay. Until she could find a way to let him know of her plight or otherwise escape, she must simply endure. 

Afsoon looked up as a shadow blocked out the bright sun streaming in her open doorway. The girl from the previous night stood just outside the threshold, peering in cautiously. Afsoon eyed her, pushing away the breakfast tray, and said quietly, "Please enter and sit with me." The raven-haired girl glided into the room as if atop a current of gentle air. Gracefully she perched beside Afsoon on the feather bed and looked at her measuringly with lipid brown eyes. 

"I was coming to wake you. It is well that you rose on your own. It is not good to fall into the oblivion of slumber for release from your sorrows," the girl murmured. 

"I shall remember that. But now that I am awake, please stay with me a while."

"You are frightened. Do not be. I am Delbar. Malay asked me to look after you while she sleeps. Day is just beginning and it will be evening before Master calls for a woman again. We have our days to ourselves here mostly. There are chores but you will not be asked to help with those yet, not until you are settled in better. The first day after... That is always the hardest on the new girls. I will try to make it easier for you." Delbar rose and carried the tray to the door, setting it just outside, and then returned. "Lay back. Let me tend your wounds."

Afsoon tentatively settled back and allowed Delbar to minister to her. The girl's hands were soft and gentle. After the wounds had been re-examined and dressed with fresh cloth, the gentle hands began to stroke and knead into sore muscles. Afsoon groaned a few times but Delbar shushed her tenderly and continued to work. Slowly Afsoon felt herself slipping into a state of deep lethargy. As Delbar massaged, she crooned a lullaby in a sweet, clear voice. "Heart-ravisher," Afsoon thought hazily, "That's what Delbar means. It's a fitting name." 

Just as she was on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness again, Delbar stopped her delicate caresses and Afsoon returned almost instantly to a state of clarity. "That will help to ease your aches for a time. If they get too much to bear I will work them away again. Now it is time to properly see your new home." 

The last words filled Afsoon with dread and anger. This would never be her home. This place was nothing more than a torture chamber and she would be freed from it. But she must bide her time, wait until Azlan had returned to ensure her safety and more importantly, Hera's safety. 

Delbar helped Afsoon to her feet and led her out into the harem. Afsoon's own chambers opened directly off the courtyard. Perhaps this might mean a greater chance of escape, she mused. Her heart fell as she spotted four of the huge guards with their black rose insignia hovering near the only gates out. Other than the guards, there were perhaps a dozen or more women in the courtyard this morning. One was drawing water from a well, others tending plots of lush garden. 

Benches were scattered here and there for lounging or resting in the sun but none were in use so early. Morning was a time of work in the desert, Hera had often told Afsoon. Better to be productive earlier in the day before the heat began to rise. Afternoon was spent doing as little as possible, retreating from the sun's over-bright rays. The interesting stories of her childhood had begun to take on great significance for Afsoon. This was to be her life now. Even when she got free of this terrible place, the ways of the desert people must still become her own. 

"There are chambers on two sides of the courtyard, all housing slaves like us," Delbar chirped. "The lowest or newest women are housed out here. If you find favor in Master Risay's eyes you will be moved to chambers inside." With that, the woman conducted Afsoon to the doors of the great hall through which Afsoon had passed the day before.

Again Afsoon took in the beauty of the hall, filled with exquisite art and treasures. This time, Delbar pointed out some of the more notable pieces. "This tapestry was woven by Malay herself. She would let no other handle the shuttle. And this was imported from Thasily. That statue came from a very famous sculptor in Bythanius." They stopped and Delbar pointed to a pair of halls running perpendicular to the great hall. "Those lead to most of the other women's chambers. Be good and you will be here soon. It is cooler in these walls."

They continued on a way with her guide pointing out more interesting works and telling the history of this or that object. Another set of perpendicular halls was reached. "Here are the last six slave chambers. The woman steered Afsoon to the right. "These are larger, more nicely furnished. This is mine at the end." She opened the ornately carved wooden door to allow her charge a peek inside. "I will invite you in later, but for now a glance will do as there is still much to see and I want to get to the baths before everybody else." 

Afsoon goggled at the alabaster bed frame and rich rosy granite bench. Hundreds of cushions were scattered around wrapped in the finest of cloths. A highly polished mirror hung above a small wooden table that looked to be cypress. Glass bottles of every description littered the vanity. The door was pulled closed again and Delbar turned her guest around to the open doors behind them. "The music room. Do you play? If we don't have your instrument, you have only to ask and Master Risay will get it for you. Some of the girls even perform for Master's guests." 

"I'll just bet they do," Afsoon thought disgustedly. Aloud she answered, "Harp, lute, and lyre. I used to accompany Mother when she sang..." She broke off, her voice cracking and the tears prickling her eyes again. Delbar pulled the girl close and murmured soothing words in her ear, comforting her with ease.

"It will be well, dear girl. I know things are hard for you. It takes some time to adjust but soon you won't mourn anymore. I take it you were daughter of a chieftain before you were taken? It is a better life here than most of you conquered girls ever lived before. Master Risay gives us so much, even if the price we must pay for it is sometimes great." 

It was a start to realize that this comforting woman still knew nothing of Afsoon or how she came to be here. She wasn't currying favor with the daughter of Azlan, only mothering a little lost sparrow. Somehow this disarmed Afsoon completely and she dissolved into sobs. Delbar led her gently into her rooms and pulled her down onto a floor cushion. Hugging her tight, she soothed Afsoon until all her tears were spent. 

Finally she began to quiet. "I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you," the woman stated. 

"Oh no, it was not you," Afsoon responded, suddenly concerned with protecting Delbar's feelings, "It is all -- a little much. Will you show me more?" The girl was reluctant to reveal too much.

The two women rose and Delbar guided her back into the smaller hall, moving toward the great hall again. Past the music room doors was another set of double doors. "The library," she gestured, "You may request any books you like." They moved across the great hall and down the connecting small hallway. There were again three doors on one side leading into bedchambers and two sets across the way. Delbar nodded to the first set, "The offices. Master Risay's mother runs the household and some of the girls do work for her keeping ledgers and such. And this," she said, indicating the other set of doors, "Is the Mistress's rooms. It is to her that most requests must go. I am sure you will meet her soon. She usually meets with the new girls their first day but Malay said Master gave special orders about you yesterday. So maybe today." 

Pointing to the bedchamber on the far end of the row, Delbar announced, "That is Malay's room. She is Master's favorite. She sleeps now for she stayed all night to look after you. That is rare. You must have impressed her. Or maybe it is just more of Master's special orders. I am favored because I am wise and kind and make the new girls feel welcome. I stay out of the internal affairs of the household, though. Sometimes it is wisest to be neutral so giving no side reason to hate you. That is how I survive here. There are many ways to grow in stature within a Master's household. You will find your own way in time." 

Leading her back to the great hall, they advanced farther into the mammoth building to a final set of cross hallways. Again leading right first, Delbar showed her charge the cold room, pantry, and workroom. The workroom was large and filled with women making all manner of things from butter and cheese to facial creams and perfumes. Also down this hall were the kitchens and dining hall where the girl was informed she would take evening meals if she were not requested to dine with the Master. A set of double doors at the end of this hall flanked by more guards was the entrance into the house proper through which Afsoon had passed the night before. 

Retreating back down the hall, she was shown the sewing room where still more women were busy working looms to make cloth while others embroidered tapestries and still more created garments in all fashions. A small nod indicated that farther down were servants' quarters and the quarters of those burly guards, eunuchs, who were tasked with guarding the harem. "Only Master and the eunuchs are allowed into the harem. No other men. This is our home and Master sees to it that we will never be violated here." 

"Sees to it that his property will never be violated," thought Afsoon with disgust and loathing. Finally they returned to the great hall and a short walk led to the baths. 

The large pool was steaming, as it had been the night before. Delbar explained that heat was conducted through pipes to keep it a nice temperature. A smaller pool in the far corner was kept filled with cool water, which was sometimes bracing during the heat of the day and also, Delbar said, would tighten and firm the skin after a warm bath. A series of small chambers that could house at most two or three people were rooms of various temperatures, which according to Delbar performed various functions on the skin and body. Afsoon was shown the dry heat room, the moist heat room, and the cold room. She was instructed to always wear sandals in these rooms because even the floors were heated and chilled. 

Finally Delbar urged her new ward to disrobe and slip into the bath. "It will help with your sore muscles," the mentor explained. With servants looking on, Afsoon again slipped into the fragrant pool. Her chaperone followed and in spite of her discomfort the girl accepted it this time with more grace. 

After the much less eventful bath, Delbar released her pupil to explore on her own and meet some of the chatty, giggling girls who were by now drifting away from their morning tasks and expressing curiosity about the latest inhabitant of their world. 



Kismet Ch. 03



Azlan Al-Barbakh, by the will of God and the strength of his own good right arm, Sultan of Azerbaidistan sat comfortably in his chair. Languorously, he let his left hand run slowly down the dusky back and over the plump bottom of his chosen woman for the night. In time she would enthusiastically entertain him with her body but, he thought regretfully, it would have to wait. First there were matters of state to be dealt with.

"So to recap your report, Mahmood, while I was out of the city, this woman Hera came to my queen asking for help. In complete violation of the laws of hospitality and of the words of the Prophet himself, Mada has the woman beaten and the daughter she bore sold as a slave. Worse yet, the sale is made to the lover Mada believes she keeps hidden from me, a man notorious for the way he ill-treats women. Additionally, your spies in the harim state that from the maiden's appearance there is no doubt that the girl is my daughter. And the auctioneer made no attempt to determine if this sale had my permission?"

The object of the royal query stood quietly and calmly in the sultan's presence. Mahmood Al-Bezier was most noticeable for his ability to go unnoticed; a trait of great value to the director of Azerbaidistan's much feared secret service. "Most likely, my lord, he had no idea who she was. Besides I suspect that he was more interested in the considerable price Afsoon would bring, given both her stunning beauty and her proven virginity. No doubt your queen stared him down in such a way that he thought it better not to ask. What is possibly of more concern is what she has done with Hera. I've begun enquiries but don't have any leads as yet."

The sultan steepled his fingers in front of his aquiline nose and narrowed his eyes into that scowl that too often meant slow, painful death to anyone who displeased him. "She gets entirely too far above herself, does my queen. Harem politics are by nature cutthroat. They always have been and always will be. It is the nature of women when cloistered at the beck and call of one man to compete viciously for his favor. However, this goes too far, Mahmood, much too far. 

"I remember Hera, well and fondly do I remember her. Many women come to the sultan's couch seeking favors or advancement. Hera sought nothing but my love and Mada's friendship. Abusing the hospitality of the palace is not only against my law but against every principle of morality. It is intolerable. It is good that you have spies within my walls, otherwise this crime might have well gone undetected."

Mahmood bowed respectfully. "Shall I have the guards bring Mada and her lover General Risay to you? They think that the bribes they pay those guards hide their secret tunnel and their trysts from your eyes. If I may offer my lord an opinion, you have been too lenient in this matter. Perhaps it is time to bring things to a close? We can heighten the terror by having their own guards arrest them, if it pleases you?"

"It would please me personally, Mahmood, very much. On the other hand, I have a soft spot in my heart for the alliance we formed with her late father and which continues under her brother, the new king. He guards our northern flank while we expand to the west. I can ill afford to fight a two front war, as you well know. No we must be more circumspect for the present and remember that 'personal' is not always the same as 'important'." 

Azlan's scowl relaxed and his face grew contemplative. "I wonder . . . You know, Mahmood, that the sultan's offspring exist solely to further his rule. The sons become his officers and his daughters the means of securing treaties and alliances through marriage . . . at least they have thus far. What might be possible if one young woman were to become a secret agent, wiggling secrets off the pillows of ambassadors and visiting rulers? Perhaps we should not act too hastily in this matter."

A slow, thin smile twitched up the corners of Mahmood's mouth. "Risay's slave women are said to undergo the most rigorous of training. Their skills when fully trained are spoken about breathlessly by those lucky enough to be invited into his harim. His training methods are far from gentle, however, so are you sure you wish to have Afsoon in his clutches? She seems to be, after all, your daughter." 

The sultan's steepled fingers began to tap a steady rhythm against each other and a cunning smile began to spread across his swarthy, aquiline features. "Yes, she is my daughter. Mahmood, I can often smell when a woman is fertile and I've suspected for all these years that Afsoon was mine. On her yearly visits, Hera would brag about her daughter, how head-strong and adventurous she was. She rode the wildest horses as well as any man and walked among the household mastiffs without fear when even their handlers never approached the ends of their chains. All her life, I was told, Afsoon's only law was her mother's will. If she did not fight to the death at the auction, it could only have been to protect her mother from further abuse.

"Risay brags that he breaks his women for riding the same way he breaks his horses, but I don't think Afsoon will break. At first she will resist and suffer for it. Eventually, she will become compliant to his desires and learn to accommodate them, but being my daughter it is unlikely that she will actually break. Instead, I rather suspect that she will bide her time and wait for an opportunity to present itself either for escape or revenge. Before that happens we must be ready. We must let her do nothing to jeopardize her safety so make sure that your spies within his household are fully alert. This young woman has great potential as a weapon of state, Mahmood. She must not be allowed to go to waste!"

"There is one small question, my lord," replied the director, "if she is still a slave, how will she be employed? Are you planning on freeing her?"

"In time, yes." Azlan's attention was beginning to wander back to the dark-skinned beauty beside him. "There is, after all, the question of that rather large inheritance from Hera's husband you uncovered. Fortunately, I can make sure to safeguard that before any more unpleasantness occurs. Eventually, she will be a wealthy woman but before then, Azerbaidistan will have need of the use of her body as well as her brain. Mahmood, don't you think you might have room in your harem for her, at least for awhile?" The sultan winked at his servant. "Risay's trained women are not to be missed, after all. Look at this one." Again his hand stroked the concubine's bottom. She wiggled appreciatively under it.

Mahmood bowed low and long. "My lord, I would consider it an honor as well as a pleasure. God grant I might even provide you with grandchildren."

Azlan waved his hand in dismissal. "If God grants it, see that you do, my subtlest of servants. And now you may leave us." As the spymaster bowed his way out, Azlan pulled gently on the slave girl's leash, bringing her to his knees before him. Grandchildren? The sultan snorted derisively. Offspring were useful but troublesome. Slave girls, on the other hand, were simply delightful. He hoped that Afsoon would take to her slave training well. He was already thinking of ways to employ her.

Mahmood Al-Bezier padded noiselessly down the corridor that led from the Sultan's private quarters to the well-concealed rooms that held the royal secret service. However casually his lord might phrase it, any request from Azlan's mouth was an inescapable command for Mahmood. So it had been from the day years ago when the young royal Captain had snatched him, an older sergeant, from the scimitars of the infidels. So it would continue until the spymaster finally filled the tomb reserved for him. The Sultan had graciously allowed the epitaph to be pre-inscribed on the lid "Mahmood Al-Bezier, loyal unto death."

Tapping an apparently blank spot on the palace wall, he slipped through the concealed opening. "Ahmed," Mahmood called to his trusted second-in-command who immediately rose from his writing desk, "the sultan will know the whereabouts of the woman Hera. We have already determined that she is nowhere within the palace walls so the queen must have secreted her in another location. Find her. Then, construct some sort of ruse whereby the queen thinks that she is dead and bring Hera away. His lordship commands it."

Ahmed bowed low. "It will be as the Sultan commands. If the woman is still alive, we will know it and take the necessary action. Does his lordship want her brought back here?"

"He did not say," came the answer, "but it would seem unwise to have her where the queen might accidentally discover her. No, have her taken to the winter palace and see to it that the College of Physicians and Bonesetters attends to her. I am not sure what his lordship plans for her but she must be healed and well as soon as possible."

The spymaster turned away and entered his private cubicle. There he sat down on the silken cushions before his own writing desk, lit the hookah next to him with a coal from the brazier and puffed the water-pipe into life. Now, he thought, the next problem will be to make sure that Afsoon is properly trained without getting herself harmed. Malay has a good heart for such things but Delbar is the older, more experienced agent and the more motherly. A much better choice.

Mahmood leaned back, smiled to himself and began to apply his considerable intellect to the unfolding puzzle. This was going to be interesting.



Kismet Ch. 04



Hearing the faint calls of migrating geese, Afsoon reined in her stallion and removed the hood from her hunting falcon. It clung to her leather glove, talons flexing in anticipation. When the vee formation was directly overhead, she loosened the birds jesses and sent it soaring in pursuit.

Moments later it plummeted down on the flock, taking one of it's members with a puff of feathers. Afsoon saw her bird drop to the ground with it's prey behind the bushes at the edge of the oasis. A gentle nudge with her heels sent her mount galloping to where the bird landed. The falcon waited patiently atop it's kill until she dismounted, then flew to her outstretched gloved hand. 

Returning the falcon to it's perch on her saddle, she drew her knife and expertly removed the birds heart, giving it to her hunting companion as a reward. Hearing hoof beats, she looked around to see Azlan and the rest of the hunting party riding toward her calling her name, "Afsoon. Afsoon…"

Afsoon arose from her cot, blinking the sleep from her eyes, savoring the bittersweet memories of her dream. A long and bitter month had passed and she was still in General Risay's harem, a sexual plaything to be used as her master saw fit. With a sigh she gathered up her soaps and lotions and walked down the sun lit hall toward the baths.

Discarding her robe, she eased into the soothing perfumed waters, sighing in pleasure. Laving her body with a scented soap, she was pleased to see the bruises from her last encounter with General Risay had almost disappeared. Why did he ravish her so brutally? She was fawningly compliant and amorous, yet he was still coldly abusive. A flash of hatred swept through her.  If it costs me my life, I will make him pay for what he has done to my mother and I…

The piping voice of Ahmed the chief eunuch interrupted her vengeful reverie. He waddled through the entrance to the baths leading several women by a chain attached to their collars, their heads hung low in fear and shame at their nudity. Many were olive skinned or fair, but one stood out from the rest and Afsoon's eyes were drawn to her. She was tall with skin of bluish black, her carriage erect, her head held high as she looked about her with interest rather than fear. Afshoon noticed her wrists were shackled and the other women's were not. Snapping black eyes met hers as she stared and the woman flashed her a dazzling smile. Afshoon smiled in return, sensing the woman's strength and courage. She stood up in the shallow bath, water sheeting from her body as they gazed appraisingly at one another. Then the woman and her unhappy companions were led to the far end of the pool to be washed and prepared for their lives as members of Risay's harem.

Afsoon lay back in the waters, images of the ebony-skinned beauty flashing through her mind. In spite of her captivity, the woman seemed proud, almost defiant, yet her eyes spoke of a tenderness cleverly concealed. Completing her bath, Afshoon returned to her quarters to find a breakfast of goats milk, pomegranates, dates, flatbread and honey waiting for her. Although it made her flesh crawl, she repeatedly lavished false praise and affection on her brutal captor; doing this, and by satisfying his depraved urges, she had become one of his favorites. Savoring each bite, she then wrapped her multi-colored robe about her and slid into her sandals to begin another day of captivity.

***

Afsoon pulled the curtain aside and stepped from her room. Another day as a caged bird, compelled to sing sweetly for it's captor… lost in thought she turned and almost collided with the tall black woman she had seen in the baths. She was dressed in a colorful robe and her hair was close cropped against her head. The woman smiled at Afsoon and she smiled back.

Afsoon cleared her throat, "My name is Afsoon."

The woman smiled and nodded, but did not speak. Afsoon repeated herself in another Farsi dialect, then a third. She received a smile in return, nothing more. Then Afsoon remembered the universal trade language her father used when negotiating with silk merchants.

"Afsoon I am called. You?"

The woman's smile became a broad grin.

"Farisa of the Selam people. At last, one who speaks that I can understand. This place, where is it? Why am I here?"

"Azerbaidastan, it is called. The palace of one General Risay is where we are." She hesitated, unsure of the words to convey the purpose they all served.

"To pleasure and amuse the general. To do his bidding. His property, we all are."

Farisa scowled and her body stiffened. 

"This one called Risay, own us, he does? Lie with him, we must? If I must lie with him, his death will be swift."

Afsoon shook her head. "No Farisa. Guards he has in great number. Dead, you would be. With me you will come, and I will explain all."

Farisa shrugged and followed Afsoon into her room.

***

In the complex social microcosm of the harem, alliances were formed and dissolved, friendships were created and destroyed, secrets kept and revealed, thus no one could feel entirely safe baring their soul to another. Afsoon and Farisa were the exception. In the weeks that followed, a bond developed between them and they became friends.

.

Farisa's initiation as a sex slave, due to her stubborn resistance, was brutal. When she stumbled into Afsoon's room, ravaged and beaten, Afsoon tended to her, applying poultices of herbs and oils and binding her wounds. Farisa returned the kindness when Afsoon was herself cruelly used and their friendship deepened.

***

In the third week of Farisa's servitude, she and Afsoon watched from the shade of a veranda as a mounted troop of Risay's army rode forth to do battle with marauding groups of Bedouins.

Both the risen dust and quiet settled on the compound when the women decided to bathe. Strolling naked down the mosaic tiled corridor to the baths, they relaxed into the scented waters and washed each other, gently laving healing wounds.

Not for the first time since they met, both women felt the stirrings of desire at their companions touch. Hands lingered on sleek, wet bodies while laughing and playing in the perfumed waters. The gentle caressing continued as they dried each other.

Returning to Farisa's room, they nibbled on their mid-day meal, enjoying the relaxed of the harem. They reclined on sleeping mats, half dozing. Farisa's hand found Afsoon's and clasped it feeling a squeeze in return.

Afsoon began to cry softly, relishing the quiet and Farisa's companionship, but knowing such tranquility was fleeting in the harsh world they occupied. She began to cry harder as the fears and terrors held in for so long came boiling to the surface. 

Farisa gathered Afsoon in her arms and held her close, her head between Farisia's full breasts. They rocked together as Farisa crooned a lullaby her mother sang to her.

"The night is your blanket

My body your sleeping place

Sleep gently little one

You shall fear nothing

I will protect you from harm…"

Afsoon did not understand the words, but the tone was soothing and she snuggled closer, enjoying Farisa's warmth. Farisa lifted Afsoon's face from her breasts and kissed her softly on the lips. Afsoon sighed and returned the kiss, her arms around Farisa's waist. Soft kisses became more lingering, tongues tentatively explored mouths, hands caressing smooth skin.

Little moans escaped their throats as the ashes of desire began to glow in hearts so long denied any trace of affection. Farisa lay back 

with Afsoon on top of her. Their stiff nipples brushed together as Afsoon slid between Farisa's thighs.

Kissing and hugging, they rubbed their damp pussies against each other, increasing their movements as their passions rose. They were feeling things nearly forgotten in the brutal world of a sex slave; tenderness, desire and the beginnings of a genuinely satisfying orgasm. Farisa gripped Afsoon's buttocks, body shaking as their labial lips and clits ground together and a powerful orgasm consumed her. Afsoon moaned, hips jerking as her orgasm spread through her body in waves of bliss.

They continued to rub against one another until they each had a second orgasm. Supple bodies dripping with sweat, they relaxed and their breathing returned to normal.

"Your skin feels like silk" Afsoon said throatily, cupping Farisa's breast and teasing the nipple with her thumb.

Farisa slid a finger in her partners wet pussy and wiggled it around. "So does this," she replied with a chuckle.

They shared a goblet of pomegranate wine, lazily caressing each other. Afsoon kissed her way down Farisa's muscled stomach, licking the belly button then traveling lower. The aroma of Farisa's newly fucked pussy was making her mouth water. Reaching the glistening pink slit, she tongued deeply in the slick flesh tasting Farisa's warm nectar. Farisa moaned as Afsoon's tongue caressed the silky pink walls of her aching pussy.

Afsoon's tongue was driving Farisa wild with passion. She gathered handfuls of her lover's long dark hair, gently urging her to fill her mouth with wet pussy flesh. Farisa screamed as Afsoon sucked the pink labial lips in her mouth, greedily drinking the warm fluids flowing between them. Farisa's hips bucked as her pussy and clit were licked and nibbled, Afsoon purring with pleasure while she brought her lover to the brink of orgasm repeatedly until she sent her crashing over in a howl of esctacy. 

Farisa tasted herself on Afsoon's lips as they kissed and snuggled in the aftermath of Farisa's sweet release. Farisa's lips began their own journey on Afsoon's body, laving her stiff nipples and pebbled aureoles with her tongue as Afsoon sighed happily. She moved slowly down her lover's rounded belly, teasing the button then parting the golden thighs as she tasted Afsoon's plentiful juices.

She gripped Afsoon's buttocks, and delved deeply into the juicy folds with her long pink tongue, nipping gently at the engorged pussy lips. Afsoon writhed while her lover devoured her sopping pussy. She spread her legs wider to encourage Farisa to eat her; eat her and never stop.

Afsoon jerked and moaned as Farisa slid a wet finger into her lover's puckered asshole, pumping slowly as she nibbled the puffy clit and sucked it between her teeth. Afsoon's thighs tightened against Farisa's head as the licking and sucking increased sending waves of delight through her body.

Growling in passion, Farisa lashed Afsoon's clit with her tongue and added a second finger pumping in the tight asshole. Afsoon's back arched as her orgasm swept through her body, filling her lover's mouth with salty juices that she eagerly swallowed. Farisa coaxed two more orgasms from Afsoon, then crawled up and embraced her as she panted from her exertions.

Green eyes met shiny black as they smiled and kissed tenderly, cuddling together and falling asleep in each others arms. The past was behind them, the future unknowable, but for now they had each other and that was enough.

***

Delbar was passing Farisa's room when she heard the sounds of lovemaking. She paused for a moment listening to the cries of passion, peeked through the curtain and smiled. In her youth she had numerous female lovers in the harem, many of whom were sold or died while she somehow remained. 

Take comfort in one another my dears. Share the tenderness that only lovers can know. Find solace in one another. Be at peace.

She padded to her quarters and prepared a report on this latest development in Afsoon's life to Mahmood Al-Benzair. A soft whistle brought a trusted courier who left immediately for the sultans palace. Then she relaxed with a goblet of wine, anticipating the couriers return with her payment of three gold Talents. Soon she would have enough to purchase her freedom.

End.



Kismet Ch. 05



Author's Note: This is the fifth installment of the chain story Kismet that was started 03/28/08. Due to personal reason I took a break from writing and sadly the chain story, the talented writers - that had agreed to help tell Afsoon's story, and you the readers were forced to wait until I returned. My apologies to everyone, and I hope -- now that life seems more stable -- we authors can produce a tale that draws you in and leaves you breathless. I would ask that whether you're old to Kismet or you are a returning fan, slip back to Ch. 01-03, refresh yourself on Afsoon's plight. Thanks and enjoy ~ Red

A loud banging pounded deep inside the recesses of the woman's head. Her left eye was swollen shut, her lips battered, bruised and blooded. A graceful neck, that once displayed gems of the rarest quality, now only showcased discoloration of porcelain flesh. Hera slipped in and out of consciousness. She'd had received one last beating at the hands of Mada, her lover's wife, and former best friend; now she sat huddled in the corner of a cart. Men and women, all nude, were pressed into her like cattle going to slaughter. Was that to be her fate? Had Mada arranged not only for her daughter Afsoon to be sold to General Risay, but for her own life to be taken. She had known it was wrong to fall in love with Mada's husband, but it had happened. How could one control one's heart? It mattered not though, her heart now lay in pieces, torn bit by bit as her daughter was paraded, pawed, and later sold to the most notorious of all slave owners. Hera closed her eyes, praying that Afsoon would heed her warning and her and Azlan's offspring would live, one day escaping her plight and returning to England even if under a shadow of shame. 

It was nightfall by the time the wagon stopped, the stench of bodily fluids, sweat and blood mixed with the cool night air. Hera was jerked awake when the chains she wore were pulled and the iron cuffs bit into her tender flesh. She shook her head, trying to push her hair from her eyes, but failing miserably. Instead she was forced to stare at her surroundings through the one eye that had not swollen closed. She made out the landscape of where the wagon drivers had chosen to make camp. She noticed several canvas tents had been quickly erected, women and men dressed in common tunics hurried to ready meals, and baths for whomever requested them. She stumbled, felt someone grab her hair and jerk her to her feet. They pushed her off the wagon; she tumbled onto the sand, and then was kicked when she did not rise quick enough for the leader's liking. "An English whore, only good in the crotch, I suspect. But you were a cheap one, and even a cheap whore can be taught how to pick out the rarest of gems and the glimmer of copper." 

Hera's ears perked up. So she would become a miner. She would work deep in the bowels of the Earth, chiseling away at rock and dirt, extracting two of the most precious commodities offered by the dessert. Copper and Turquoise. That was her fate. Whose lands would she be working? Azlan's? Or were they moving further away from all she held dear. Hera could not imagine Mada allowing her to be alive, and within site of Azlan discovering her, but she also could not imagine her being so far as to not know where she was at all times either. Hera tried not to think of her daughter. Afsoon was a brave girl, strong, courageous and as brilliant as she was beautiful. Right now, Hera had to survive long enough to gain strength, and then she would find her way back to Azlan, Afsoon, and even Mada, whom she would extract her revenge on. 

A hard kick to her rump brought Hera to her knees. "Move you lazy cow," the man behind her shouted. Hera stood up, ignoring her wounds and moved toward the small cluster of women whom had been in the cart with her. She stood there, trembling as the dessert sun began to slip under the horizon, and the chill of the night slowly started to cover the land. Fires had been started, and men had made their way over to the women. Each one cast curious glances over Hera, some bartered for the right to claim her as their bed mate for the night, even exchanging coin. Eventually though, one man appeared seemingly out of no where. Her gaze held his but for a moment, and she knew he was not to be taken lightly. When he implied to all that he would take the Englishwoman to his tent, no one questioned him. He snapped his fingers, a smaller woman, not much older than Afsoon ushered to his side. He spoke low, Hera making out only a small fraction of the words. The girl was given a key, moved toward Hera and quickly released the shackles that had torn at her flesh. 

"Come with me. A quick bath and you will be presented to Captain Ulvi." 

Hera knew her plight, accepted it, just as she had instructed her daughter to. She'd been raped repeatedly by Mada's guards, her once friend had even watched -- her laughter had bounced off the walls, ingraining itself into Hera's mind. The broken and battered Englishwoman walked as best she could along side the slave girl. They made their way slowly to a small pool of water that had others bathing in it. The water was far from clean, but it would do well in removing most of the dirt that covered Hera's skin. She walked into it, followed by the woman, and with her help, she left the water feeling only slightly less filthy than when she'd entered. "Now we will go to Ulvi Nasib's quarters." 

She said nothing, again choosing to do what she had to in order to survive. Hera stepped into the quarters, the girl followed. Inside she took in the thick covers that rested on a woven mat. They looked to be soft, welcoming, luxurious to the touch, but most of all they looked menacing. She would have to lie on them, and take this stranger into her, willingly too -- for she knew she could not stand another beating. "Come over here, and there is more water, this is to finish cleaning you, then we will perfume your body, the stench of the others must not be smelled upon your flesh, or Ulvi will be much angered." 

As if she were nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard, Hera moved with the woman, allowed her to touch her with a cloth that felt as if it were rough enough to scrub the first layer of flesh off a woman's body. However, when the girl brought the cloth down on the cuts that had been made into Hera's flesh it was done in a loving gentle caress. In time, Hera was bathed, her bruises seemed to be more dominate now that they too shined from cleanliness. "Thank you," she whispered softly when presented with a cup full of wine. She drank deep, coughed from its sourness, but was encouraged to drink more. She wiggled her nose in disgust, but remained obedient. After all, she could not remember when she last drank or ate for that matter. The wine filled her belly, and when it grumbled loud, her cheeks grew pink from embarrassment. She covered her stomach, apologized for her manners, then laughed softly at the absurdity of her actions. 

"Eat," the girl told her, pointed to a bowl of fruit and then turned to leave. She paused looked back at Hera and frowned. "You are a unique find, one that Ulvi Nasib will enjoy this night, and many others if you please him. Do not try to harm him. He is loved by many here and your death would not come quick enough. Please him and he will reward you -- to do otherwise will only have you delivered into the hands of someone less gentle." Hera lifted a brow, but said nothing as she picked up a handful of dates and shoved them into her mouth -- manners after all were no longer her concern.

Ulvi Nasib 'Abbas found her asleep when he entered his tent. Looking about the room he saw that she had eaten most of the fruit that had been brought for him, the air smelled of the perfumes young Tulay had used, and he knew without a doubt that the slave girl had warned the Englishwoman to not disappoint him. Tulay would be shocked to learn that the woman had not only eaten most of the food, but had also made herself comfortable on his cot -- without him in it. Already he could hear the slave screeching at the woman, and calling her ungrateful, offering to punish the foreigner so that he would not have to dirty his hands. Tulay, loved her master, and for that he was grateful, she was a trusted girl, one he often found favor with. 

Tonight though he wanted to lie between the Englishwoman's thighs and his body had yearned for release the moment he had heard she was ready for him. Her figure, now covered by blankets had looked promising in the soft moonlight. He moved to light a few more lanterns, then turned to make his way to the woman's sleeping form. He leaned down, frowned at the bruised features. He had seen evidence of her beating, but it had been hard to make out the marks as the sunlight faded and the darkness came. Now with the lanterns burning, he was able to see that whomever had trained the woman in the art of bedding a man had done so with a heavy hand. Ulvi cursed softly, eased the blanket from the figure, and closed his eyes. Was there no part to her that had been spared? He would have to seek out the wagon master and discover who this woman was, and what role she had had in the village. 

As much as he wanted to bury himself between her womanly folds, he could not. He was not an animal. He was a firm leader, but he worshiped the bodies of women, he did not have need to subject them to torture to gain his pleasure. His new purchase rolled over, exposing her back to him. It too was marred, with what he assumed had been a cane, perhaps even several lashes of the master's whip had been laid across her back. The wounds were not old either. Tulay had take care in washing the female, but it was obvious she would need more care than a simple bath could give. He moved to stroke her hair, it was a tangled mess, but shined like the rubies his mother often wore when his father returned from the market. A heavy sighed left his parted lips. He would seek release from another, this little bird would need to wait. Gingerly he touched her arm, hoping to ease it back under the blanket. When his fingers brushed lazily across her wrist, a cry filled the canvas enclosure. He stepped back, and waited for her to awaken. When she did not, he inspected her wrist, cursed low -- she would need to be tended to much more quickly than he'd realized. 

Release would not be coming after all, he felt his aroused state diminish fully upon the realization that Tulay would be busy with the new purchase, and he really had no desire to bed with any other but the Englishwoman or his favored slave. Ulvi left the tent, and went in search for the Tulay, who would work to find the healers and set the woman's body to rights. 

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ 

Tulay watched Hera eat her meal. The wounds were healing, for that she was grateful, but she was ready to go home. This Englishwoman had caused their small caravan to remain behind while the others had continued on toward Captain Ulvi's home. Her home. It had been a week of bathing, feeding, and lavishing the woman with healing herbs, and creams, but now her patience was wearing thin. Ulvi had only lain with her once and though the joining had been pleasant, she knew he was distracted by the woman who had spent the first three nights of her stay with them in a fevered state. Now the woman called Hera seemed quite capable of moving on her own, taking care of her own needs, and lying with Master Ulvi. Tulay wasn't jealous or angry with the newest addition to Ulvi's keep, she was just anxious to be back where her possessions were within easy reach of her friends and family. 

The young slave girl turned when she heard voices outside the tent's opening. Her ears picked up the speech concerning traveling and readying the camp. Joy brought a smile to her lips. "Finally," she said, giving her attentions back to Hera, "do you hear that, we leave within the hour. Hurry up and finish your meal." Tulay jumped to her feet, rushed around the tent, gathering up what she could and worked to secure all that her Master found precious. 

Hera watched the woman do the unspoken chores of preparation. Her insides churned. She recalled little of the first few days of her arrival to the camp. She barely remembered the bath, nor did she recall ever being used by Ulvi Nasib 'Abbas. It was only when she was able to remain conscious long enough to carry on an intelligent conversation did she learn that Ulvi had never laid with her, and that Tulay as well as a few others had worked to keep her alive. She found herself both angered with the knowledge, but grateful too. There had been times she'd dreamed of her past, dreamed of those that had tormented her, and dreamed of her daughter -- during those times she had longed to die. Every so often though a soothing voice would beckon her back and she would embrace the promising warmth that blanketed her. The kindness in the voice was really the only think keeping her tethered to this world. 

"Hurry up, girl," Tulay's voice was full of anxiety, "we are to go home -- finally. You have only had a small taste of our Master's riches. He is by no means more wealthy than some, but he is wealthy enough that you will never want for anything."

Hera rose to her feet, noted that most of her joints and muscles did not ache like they had before. "I thought I was to be taken to the mines. I am sure that was what was told to me when I arrived." 

Tulay frowned. "Perhaps, had you not been purchased by Captain Ulvi Nasib 'Abbas -- he would not put you in the mines. No woman under his protection ever goes to the mines." The woman shuttered. "It is a death sentence." 

"Then I am grateful to have fallen into his clutches," Hera muttered. 

"Come help me, there is not much left for us to do. I am tired of waiting on you, and it is time you made use of yourself, since you have not yet made yourself useful to my Master's cock." 

Hera blushed at Tulay's reprimand. She hurried to do what was asked of her, packing up the dishes she'd used with her meal, after she'd washed them. When the two women left the canvas tent, there were two men waiting to tear it down. Hera looked around amazed at how quickly everyone worked to leave little evidence of their stay. When she asked why, Tulay explained that it was not wise to leave signs of great wealth behind, for fear bandits would follow their tracks and lift them of their wares. Hera blanched. She'd never accounted for bandits in the countless plans of escape. Perhaps there really was no way out of Captain Ulvi's clutches without confiding in him who she was, and how powerful an ally Sultan Azlan could be. 



Kismet Ch. 06



Afsoon awakened in the embrace of her ebony friend and lover Farisa and gazed into her brown eyes filled with adoration.

"Good morning my jewel," Farisa purred and they kissed. Afsoon's eyes were wet as she replied "Good morning, dear one."

When they were together they could almost forget they were harem sex slaves, subject to the whims of the cruel General Risay who used them as he would his hunting falcon or his rifle; as it suited him.

The women had schemed together and finally succeeded in becoming his favorites, submitting humbly to his sometime cruel and bizarre desires in exchange for privileges and luxuries not afforded the other members of his harem. There was resentment among the other women to be sure, but Afsoon and Farisa guarded each other's backs and were more than capable of defending themselves if necessary.

They breakfasted on honey, figs, pomegranates and sweet flatbreads, sipping goblets of goat's milk mixed with wine; then arose and walked hand in hand naked to the baths where they washed each other with loving strokes, then splashed and played as children would in the perfumed waters.

And as they frolicked, smoldering eyes dark with resentment watched from the shadows.

***

Delbar, Mistress of the Harem, tugged open the goatskin pouch her messenger had brought, her hands trembling. There they were, three silver Denarii, along with a rolled piece of parchment tied with a purple ribbon.

Once she had hidden the coins away with the others, she untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment. She instantly recognized the flowing script of none other than the Sultan's most trusted courtier, Mahmood Al-Bezier. 

'Delbar', it read, 'The Esteemed One, Azlan Al-Barbakh is desirous of the woman Afsoon to be in his personal service. Make the necessary arrangements for her escape. You will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts.'

It was signed by an impression of Al-Bezier's crescent and star ring in a blob of wax.

Delbar held the paper over a lamp flame until it caught and was reduced to ashes. A handsome reward for her efforts! She could buy her freedom at last! She lay back on the blankets and began making plans.

It would be extremely dangerous to secure Afsoon's freedom and Delbar knew Afsoon would never leave Farisa behind, so the escape would be even more difficult and must be planned to the last detail.

She would have to proceed slowly and carefully for Risay's spies were everywhere. She even suspected some women in the harem. 

She was correct.

***

Alliances and friendships in the harem were as shifting as the desert sands, but the most unusual and long lasting of them stood conversing as they watched Afsoon and Farisa in the baths.

Oadira was tall and willowy, with breasts like ripe pears, slim hips and rounded buttocks. Her glossy black hair hung down below her slim waist and her snapping black eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire. She went nude, as did all the harem's women, and her olive skin shone with the sheen of perfumed oils.

Her companion was Ahmed, the Chief Eunuch of the harem, his immense dusky body garbed in a sleeveless vest that failed utterly to span his massive stomach, baggy pantaloons and a sash about his waist that held a gleaming, ivory handled scimitar.

His spherical skull was hairless; his baby face perched on rolls of fat extending downward into thick arms and legs whose bulk belied their speed in a conflict.

"Look at them, the favored ones," Oadira muttered, "Playing as if they had not a care in the world. When I was the General's favorite, I took my place in the harem much more seriously."

Ahmed nodded, jowls wobbling. He'd heard her tale many times since they became allies and had learned to ignore it. They both shared a common bond in that they were effective spies for Risay, always alert for any murmur of discontent or rebellion among the harem's dwellers.

"I am told they are lovers," Ahmed replied, his piping voice incongruous emerging from his bulk. "I wonder if they perform their lovemaking before the General."

"Whatever they do," Oadira continued, "They show no fear of you and I as do the others and will bear watching. The black woman is especially rebellious. I hear she killed two of the General's men before she was finally subdued."

***

Their play in the baths had caused the women to shiver with desire, so they fell on their sleeping blankets and began making love immediately upon entering their tent.

Afsoon rolled Farisa on her back and settled between her ebony thighs; hands gripping the firm buttocks. Farisa gasped and moaned as Afsoon's tongue explored her already juicy pussy, loving the musky fluid that flowed into her mouth. The women knew each other's bodies as their own and knew what would bring the other to a back arching orgasm.

Afsoon slid one, then two fingers deep into Farisa's gripping cunt, then thrust and withdrew them hard and fast as she sucked on her lover's engorged clit and lashed it with her tongue.

Farisa felt the warmth rising from deep within her as her orgasm rose to its height. She gripped Afsoon's head, ground her pussy into her face and came with a long wail of release, drenching her lover in warm, sticky juices. Afsoon crawled up Farisa's muscled body and they clung together as her orgasm ebbed and she licked her own juices from her lovers face.

Then she rolled on top of Afsoon purring "Now it's your turn."

Afsoon shivered in excitement as Farisa's tongue laved her stiff nipples, circled her rounded stomach and found it's way between her legs and to the moist treasure between them.

Farisa's tongue worked busily in Afsoon's gooey pussy, swallowing the flow of warm nectar from her lover's depths. Afsoon's hips rose to meet her lover's devouring mouth as she panted and moaned in raging desire; hands clutching handfuls of the blanket.

Farisa purred deep in her throat as she feasted on her pink treasure and Afsoon began emitting little shrieks as her orgasm slowly burned its way along every nerve in her body.

Farisa inserted two fingers of one hand into Afsoon's pussy, two from her other hand into her lover's puckered asshole and began jabbing them in and out as Afsoon thrashed on the blanket, stiffened and then howled in orgasmic joy.

Farisa coaxed a second orgasm from her, and then they embraced, kissing and murmuring words of love until they fell into an exhausted asleep.

***

Delbar had obtained two heavy, hooded robes and two bronze Pesh-kabz daggers from a passing trader in exchange for one of her precious denarii. She hid them away along with a small percussion cap pistol she had stolen from a drunken guardsman as he clumsily pawed her in a dark corner. Bit by bit, things were coming together.

***

Afsoon and Farisa kissed 'Good morning' then arose and prepared to go to the baths to wash away the sweat and cum from their bodies. Afsoon felt as if she had been in this hellhole forever, but knew from the moon's phases she had only been there a little more than two months.

She thought of her mother often, wondering what indignities and abuses were being inflicted on her. Farisa saw the tears on her cheeks and embraced her.

"Why do you cry, my jewel?"

"Oh Farisa, my love, without you here I would have gone mad. My poor mother was sold into slavery as was I and I know not what she has endured or if she is even alive."

Farisa kissed Afsoon's tear stained cheeks, hugged her and said "If your strength comes from her, then she will survive. One day we will escape from this place and we will find her."

Afsoon kissed her, then left her embrace, searching for the razor clamshells they used for grooming. She slit the tip of her index finger as Farisa slit her own and they mingled their blood.

"We are of the same blood, you and I," Farisa intoned.

"Blood sisters in love and battle," Afsoon replied.

Then they strolled to the baths, holding hands.

***

"A pistol has been stolen from a member of the General's hand-picked guards and a search is underway," Ahmed piped to Oadira as they lounged in the shade. He seemed to hear everything and was a notorious gossip.

"The guardsman was befuddled with drink and remembers not who or how it was stolen," he continued. "For both offenses he received twenty five lashes and is barely alive."

"One wonders if the ebony and ivory lovers are somehow involved," Oadira replied. "They act perfectly innocent, yet they meet my eyes with unseemly arrogance, smile and bid me good day."

"This occurred outside the harem," Ahmed said. "We cannot attribute every event to their doings. You allow your jealousies to cloud your judgment, Oadira."

She glowered and was silent.

***

The lyrical chants of the muezzin calling the faithful to evening prayer wafted over the fortress as Afsoon and Farisa snuggled together under a blanket, keeping warm in the cool desert evening.

Afsoon sighed and said "You are my life partner, Farisa, therefore I shall tell you something I have never told anyone before. My father is the Sultan of Azerbaidashan, Aslan Al-Barbakh.

"Your father is a sultan?" Farisa said. "Am I the lover of royalty?"

"The sultan in fact sired me," Afsoon replied, "But to my knowledge never recognized me as his daughter. His cruel first wife first turned against, then betrayed my mother and had us sold into slavery. I know not where my poor mother is or if she is even alive, but know this; that evil woman will pay dearly for what she has done to us. I swear by the beard of the Prophet I will tear the living heart from her body with my bare hands."

"I will be at your side as you exact your revenge," Farisa answered, drawing her lover closer. "We are bonded you and I, in life, in battle and in death."

The light of the crescent moon shone through a space in the tent flap illuminating the women entwined in sleep, breathing softly, and safe in the other's arms.

End.



Kismet Ch. 07



Tension ran high in the palace. Even within the safe confines of the harim there was a feeling something was amiss. The sultan was on campaign again and as usual Mohamar, the Grand Vizier, maintained peace and order in Azerbaidistan. But unlike other times the wiry, silent 'clerks' who normally stayed in the background were everywhere, their eyes taking in everything—and everyone!

Al-Bezier hunts! The rumors passed in whispers, low whispers for no one dared give voice from fear that those glinting dark eyes might be turned in the their direction. Not one person in a thousand within the palace knew the man by face, but all knew his name and shivered when it was spoken. The sultan's secret service prowled the city like lean, unspeaking cats and the Black Squadrons coursed the countryside casting to and fro like hounds on a scent.

In his own compound General Risay paced around the courtyard, snapping at the servants who attempted to meet his demands. It was all going wrong. He had loyal troops, the sultan's queen as his mistress and one of his daughters as a sex toy. By all rights he should be able to launch a coup on the palace and take the throne himself. But as Mada had pointedly reminded him, so long as the Al-Bezier lived any attempt to overthrow the king would result in the General being torn apart by wild horses in the city square. The Director, as he was called, was a fiend and known to have spies in every aristocratic and mercantile home in the kingdom. Why, there were probably some in Risay's own harem!

The General stopped pacing. In his own harem—the thought was alarming. And if true, who might it be? He ran down in his mind the list of those who served him. Women and slaves, he dismissed as unworthy of notice but among the servants there were some who might be in a position to do him harm. And chief among them was that oily, scheming head eunuch, Ahmed. The man never seemed servile enough to suit the General and far too intelligent for his own good. What better choice could Mahmood Al-Bezier have to infiltrate the Risay palace? The idea was worrisome. Ahmed knew of the General's clandestine trysts and the tunnel that led to the queen's quarters in the palace. If word ever reached the sultan, Risay would find himself castrated and chained to the oar of a Turkish galley. Ahmed would bear watching.

*****

In the palace proper, Mahmood gratefully accepted the tea his second-in-command offered him and sank back into the cushion behind his writing desk.

"Did you have an enjoyable game with the Grand Vizier, Director?"

"I did, Ahmed. The man's end game is improving greatly. Why, it took me twenty-seven moves to bring him to check-mate. That may be a new record," Mahmood drank and sighed happily, "What news have you?"

"Delbar reports that the daggers you sent are in her safe-keeping and that she has stolen a pistol from an inattentive guard."

"Was the guard suitably rewarded?"

"Yes, Director. He said it helped mollify the shame he felt at having his pocket picked so clumsily."

Mahmood nodded and sipped his tea. According to Delbar's regular reports, Afsoon's training was progressing nicely and thus the General would be allowed to keep his head a bit longer. The girl had acquired a lover of her own within the harim and while that would complicate her "escape" Mahmood was sure the sultan would want them both free from Risay's clutches.

"And of the girl's mother?"

Ahmed refilled both cups, "There is a rumor . . . ."

Mahmood sat up attentively.

*****

Manes and tails flew in the air; burnooses snapped and hooves beat a rhythm as the troop cantered over the plateau. First Troop, Second Squadron of the Sultan's Own Dragoons, the Black Squadrons, ate up the distance toward the far horizon. Bandits and private militias charged out to intercept the small band of horsemen and then fled in full gallop at the sight of the pennant that snapped over their heads. The captain might have smiled had so grim a man ever smiled. The Black Squadrons! In combat they guarded the sultan himself and none would be left alive err any infidel crossed swords with his majesty. Other troops patrolled the kingdom dealing summary justice to rebels, bandits and invaders. The only thing worse than their reputation was their reality and it was with dread that the watchmen on the walls of Captain Ulvi Naseed 'Abbas' fortress viewed their approach.

Reaching the gates, the captain and an older man swung down from their saddles and listened with grim satisfaction as bolts were thrown open and the great bar lifted to give them swift entrance. Guards and servants bowed and scraped as they gestured the riders into Captain Ulvi's reception room where they found the master of the house waiting with tea and hot towels. 

Once seated and the customary hospitalities and acceptances finished the troop leader looked Ulvi in the eye. "You recently purchased an Englishwoman," he snapped.

"Yes, that is true . . . ."

"For a pittance."

"Yes, she had been badly beaten and was very weak. Many would have considered her not worth a groat."

"But you did. And got healers for her."

"As I say, she had been badly beaten. No woman should be treated so. We have done what we could but her arm is broken. I have sent for a bonesetter . . . ."

The squadron leader gestured brusquely at the greybeard seated next to him. "He has arrived." He reached down to his belt and took out a pouch that weighed heavily in his hand, "Here is the purchase price of the woman, an accounting for your expenses to this time and enough to pay for her care until she is well enough to travel. Additionally, his majesty the sultan extends his gratitude and a reward for your charity towards one of his own."

Ulvi eyes widened in alarm. "One of the sultan's own? But—but I acted in good faith!"

The response was a curt nod. "You acted in good faith and in charity within the law. There is no quicker way to the sultan's favor." He handed the pouch to the master of the house and then unbuckled the bandoleer that held the scimitar across his back. Laying it aside, he undid the belt at his waist and laid the new American revolver on top of the scabbard. There might have been just a flicker at the corners of his mouth and the entire room exhaled and relaxed.

Ulvi gestured to a servant. "Convey the good doctor to the lady. Sir," he turned to the squadron leader, "I will have a courier with my fastest horse on call to advise the sultan the instant his lady is well. Do you wish us to send her to him or to await your return?"

"That remains to be seen. The Englishwoman is well beloved by the sultan but she is not of his household. At present she is a widow. As such she is by law under his majesty's protection, but as a woman free to marry and with no brothers to speak for her, her future actions are her own. The sultan's only concern is that she be healed and protected. There are powerful personages who wish her great harm."

Ulvi's back straightened and his eyes flashed fire. "They will have to ford a river of blood! A thousand years to his majesty and tell him the Englishwoman is safe within my walls and will be, so long as one of my household yet lives."

"Your reputation precedes you, Captain. The sultan is confident in your charity and in your family's good name. When word of her recovery reaches the palace you will be advised of what is next required. For now, know that the Black Squadrons are less than a day's ride away. Should at anytime you require reinforcement, you have but to fire a skyrocket. The sultan will not have the hospitality of those he favors interrupted."

"Will you and your men join us for the evening meal?"

"Gratefully, Captain, and then we must go."

*****

Mahmood read the troop commander's report with satisfaction. Ulvi 'Abbas was well known in Azerbaidistan as a man of chivalrous courage and compassion. Hera was well placed in his household. In time the two might be attracted to each other and if they decided to marry the royal wedding present would be generous. The sultan himself, if matters of state permitted, would attend the wedding and, the Director chuckled at the ironic thought, the look on the queen's face would be worth a bag of gold to see.

The clock on the wall rang the hour for the evening meal. Mahmood neatened his desk and left for his family quarters, deep in thought. The problem of the sultan's old lover seemed, for the present at least, to be solved. She would heal in a safe location far from the machinations of the queen and her minions. In the unlikely event that word reached them of Hera's whereabouts any attempt to act on the information would require avoiding 'Abbas' very specific ideas about the duties of a host, of a man of honor and of one who enjoyed the sultan's personal approval. Add the nearby supporting firepower and valiance of a unit of the Household Dragoons and the odds were now strongly shifted in Hera's favor.

The question of Afsoon remained. Her training, it appeared, had progressed to the point that anything else she needed to learn would be best taught by a different master. Mahmood recollected the sultan's jovial comment about placing Afsoon in the Director's harim for a while. Naturally Mahmood had agreed. After all, it was the sultan suggesting the arrangement but internally, he shuddered. As if he really needed another strong-willed woman to deal with! How it had happened was beyond him but somehow the second most powerful man in Azerbaidistan had acquired three wives with intellects and personalities fully a match for his own. It was a matter of secret shame that Zaafira, his senior wife, was the only person in the kingdom who could regularly defeat him on the chessboard. Fortunately, she always suggested a rematch on the daybed and happily lost it but still . . . 

Nadira, his second wife, insisted on personally tasting every dish set before the director even though the cook had been vetted by the sultan's staff and had served them for decades. She fussed over his eating habits like a mother hen and grumbled when she thought the Director's appetite was lacking. It came as a surprise that she was also cousin to his youngest wife, Hadiya, and her lover, as well. Happily the two of them were always eager for their husband to join their games but playing with two women at once after an intense day in the palace was tiring. Mahmood shook his head in resignation as he entered his suite and then brightened up to greet his several children, approve the progress of their lessons, pat them fondly on the head and settle down on the dining cushions before a warm bastilla.

Once dinner was finished and coffee steaming in his cup, Mahmood looked up to see three mischievous faces fixed in his direction. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Husband," Zaafira as the senior initiated the conversation, "the kingdom is abuzz with rumor. It is whispered in the halls and Kasbahs that you are hunting someone, very intently hunting someone."

Al-Bezier waved the question aside. "This is the palace. It attracts spies and assassins like a dead horse attracts flies. I am always hunting someone."

Hadiya sniffed disdainfully. "You are being deliberately opaque, our master. Never before have the 'clerks' moved about so openly and so menacingly. Something is up, our husband, and as the Prophet took good counsel from his first wife Khadija, you might do well to let us know what is afoot. There is ever the possibility we might be of some help."

They always did this! Whenever his ladies felt a need to meddle in affairs of state they raised the example of Muhammed and Khadija and, with good reason, expected him to take them into his confidence. He sighed internally and told them the story as he understood it to the present time.

When he had finished bringing his wives up to date, Mahmood leaned back waiting for their reaction. They burst into delighted applause.

"Oh thou jewel in the sultan's crown!" Nadira exclaimed, "Were ever any women lucky to be wed to so brilliant a man? Now the woman Hera is safe with the dashing Captain Ulvi and her daughter is about to be sprung from the wretched Risay's claws. You have served our master well, our husband."

Zaafira wrinkled her nose. "Do not think we failed to notice your attempt to downplay the sultan's suggestion for the girl's placement. If the opportunity arises, be very sure we will have a comfortable place for her here, and for her lover, of course. Who knows? The two of them may have learned things we could all enjoy."

Murmurs of approval passed around the women as Mahmood groaned silently. Now he would be forced to redouble his efforts on Afsoon's behalf. The peace of his home was at stake.



Kismet Ch. 08



Author's Note: For new and old readers, I hope you enjoy the newest edition to the chain and I wish to extend a big thank you to the writers for their contributions in the previous chapters and the future ones. Enjoy and remember votes and comments are welcomed ~ Red.

*

Gentle moans could be heard coming from Tulay's throat as Ulvi Nasib pleasured her. Hera sat obediently on the floor just a few feet away from the couple. Her back was to them, but the sounds they made were easy to comprehend. Hera's skin grew warm and pink. She covered her face, humiliation rolled over her as she heard Tulay's voice call out for her Master's seed. A long drawn out grunt of pleasure rolled through Ulvi. The upstanding Englishwoman, now slave to another knew the young man had come and had shot his milk into the woman's sex. Hera shifted slightly, the bells on her ankles jingled, singling her movements. She blushed, fully aware that she had drawn attention to herself. Her fear was confirmed when Ulvi called out to her. 

Hera rose, took a deep breath and turned. She closed the distance between the bed and her mat with just a few strides. "Yes, Master?" she said as she waited for his instructions. She heard him speak softly to Tulay; seconds later the woman stepped through the veil of cloths and brushed past Hera. Hera closed her eyes; the woman had changed almost overnight once they had reached Master 'Abbas' home and now Hera knew her to be nothing more than another enemy. 

"Hera!" 

The Englishwoman spun around, pulled open the cloth and stepped between them. They closed behind her. "Yes, Master?" 

"Are you ready to come to my bed?" Ulvi asked. 

Hera's gaze ran over his softened cock. It glistened from his release and Tulay's juices. She lifted her chin, turned her face away and crossed her arms over her bare breasts. 

"I see," Ulvi said. He was not surprised by her response and had it been any other woman but the one that stood before him, he would most likely punish her with indifference. She would be ignored for weeks, if not months. The other women in the harem would treat her as a child. Force her to dine alone, to take her baths last; the waters would be warm but far from clean. Yet, Ulvi did none of these things to Hera. 

"Prepare my bath," he said. Ulvi watched the beautiful creature turn away. "Stop," he said suddenly. An idea formed in his head, one he had not thought of before. "You will bathe with me this night," he told her. 

Hera turned slowly and faced the man she called "Master". "You want me to bathe with you?" 

"Yes. Is that so difficult a request. It is the least you can do, and the most you've ever been asked recently," Ulvi said. He rose from his bed, slipped into a robe and walked past Hera. 

She followed him; the bells jingled a soft melody with no rhyme or reason. "But why?" 

He took a deep breath and turned. "Why not? I have done much for you, and you have repaid me how - - once you healed, you were quick to try and escape, though no one, not even I had touched you. And if anyone in this house has a right to touch you it is I!" he shouted. 

Hera stepped back. "I thanked you for all you did, but you know I am not yours. It does not matter to me if you purchased me. It does not matter to me that you brought a healer in and set my wrist to rights. What matters is that you know my story! You know the truth and how I came to be here, and yet you do not return me to the man I love!" Hera shouted back. 

Immediately the doors of Ulvi Nasib's chambers were swung open and two guards hurriedly crossed the threshold. They stopped when they saw their Master was not in any danger. Both openly admired the redhead. Ulvi allowed their ogling for a brief moment before he singled them to leave. 

"I have told you the truth. I was asked to keep you safe. That you were under his protection; which makes you a valuable asset. But love? No my dear woman -- he does not love you. You are mine, and the only reason I do not force myself upon you is because I do not wish to pull a dagger from back." He eyed her with a look of desire. "Though if I were to bind you, then I would not have to concern myself -- would I?" 

"You disgust me. Azlan would never just let you keep me. I heard of the gifts, the bag of coins, the gun. Those were payments to buy me back. You have stolen from ..." 

Hera never finished her sentence. Ulvi had his hand around her throat before she realized he'd moved. He held her tight. Her hands came up and she gripped his wrist. Fear shot through her as she tried to remain calm. 

Ulvi stared at her for a long time before he spoke. "I have never stole from our Divine Leader. Your accusations give me just cause to kill you. I have been a kind Master to you. I owe you no explanation for the gifts that were given to me -- gifts woman -- not payment. They were my reward for saving you, tending you, healing you and you were left here in my care. They were not here to take you back. You may hold a place in his heart, but you do not hold his heart!" Ulvi released his grip while pushing her away. 

Hera stumbled back, with her hands to her throat. He had not held her tight enough to harm her, nor for her to truly be concerned for her life, but she knew from his words and the passion behind them that he spoke the truth. 

"Go to your rooms, return Tulay to me. I have no use for you. You are a thorn in my side and I would send you back to your Sultan, but foolishly I desire you and I have no wish to return such a prize to any man, even our Great Leader." 

He watched her leave and as angry as he was for wanting her he was more angry with himself for not forcing her to bend to his will. "Ah mother, you have raised a gentle giant," he muttered as he headed toward his bathing room, where he knew Tulay would soon follow. She would be tired, so he would allow her to bed with him that night. In the morning she would again see to his needs, but he knew it would be the freckled redhead that he saw wrapping her lips around his cock. 

Back in her room Hera stumbled to her bed and covered her face in the deep folds of her blankets. She wept for all that had transpired since her first step off the ship and into Mada's clutches. Afsoon, her daughter was gone. Hera's body had been used and abused by several of Mada's most loyal men, men loyal to her for as long as she had coins to give. That knowledge was the only consolation Hera had -- her "friend" would one day pay for her crimes; someone -- someday would betray her. 

Ulvi's words came back to her as she rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. She knew she had pushed him too far with the false accusation she had so carelessly tossed at him. Azlan had cared for her, but not like she had him. She was another woman, easy to take to bed, and easy to please. He found favor with her, but most likely it was due to her rarity among his people. Hera had been, over the past several weeks, reevaluating her past and knew that she had seen more in her relationship with the Sultan than he had. She had also found herself alone and frightened, so much so that she had hastily tried to run away. 

Hera shook her ankles and the bells jingled. She laughed softly at herself. They had allowed her to escape. A knife had been carelessly left within her reach; a pile of freshly clean linen fit for a stable lad had been sitting in plain sight of her daily tours of the gardens. Hera hadn't questioned the "luck" that had rained down on her, not until she was brought back to the harem and dropped unceremoniously on the floor. The women circled her, laughing and chuckling amongst themselves. Tulay had been the most cruel. She had locked the small bell bracelets around both her ankles while the women held her down. The following morning she was taken to Ulvi and forced to admit that she had tried to flee. He had been angry and she had been forced to crawl on her hands and knees for a week. The truth of her being "set up" was never revealed. Hera knew that to confess such trickery would make her even more despised than she already was. 

Even after being humbled by Ulvi's punishment Hera still fought against her new station in life. She was, after all a former Lord's wife. She had come to Azlan for protection against the humiliation of the crown and instead had been knocked down to something even the lowest servants would refuse to acknowledge. How could she allow herself to become a slave? She was a woman of high breeding. Tonight though, Ulvi had finally broken through the veil she'd placed over her eyes. Hera flipped back to her stomach, promising that tomorrow her Master and his women would see her in a new light. 

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ 

The following morning Ulvi sat, his legs crossed and his thoughts focused on his prayers. The sound of another waiting just inside his chambers brought him out of his meditations and back to the present. "Yes, mother?" 

Merit stepped into the room, while Ulvi rose up to greet her. They embraced; he kissed her cheeks dutifully. "What brings you to my chambers?" he asked. 

"This morning the Englishwoman came to me." 

Ulvi lifted his brows. "She requested an audience with you? Why?" 

"It seems she wishes to be groomed." 

Doubt crossed over Ulvi's face. "No, she is seeking another way to escape," he sighed, "perhaps I should just let her go back to him. He is a great leader and..." 

"No, son. You must not. Your father and I have been visiting you for several weeks and we have been hoping for a change in the woman," Merit motioned for him to take a seat next to her on a long bench, resting under his window. "Look there," she said, "she works with the women, where yesterday she held herself above them." 

Ulvi saw the change, but still did not concede to his mother's theory. 

"Ulvi, imagine if this desire is real. She came to me, asked for my aid in learning the ways to co-exist within the harem. I instructed her that first she had to lower her airs of superiority. To show the other women that she is not above them, no matter her breeding. Ulvi, no matter what I tell her though, you must realize the potential of taking this woman into your bed, and quite possibly as your wife?" 

The young man laughed. His mother frowned. "You dare to make light of my words?" 

"Mother, surely you jest. You of all people and father too, ask me to believe that you would want me to wed the Englishwoman. She is not of our faith? Or our people?" 

"True," she agreed, "she is not of our faith, but buy your purchase she is now 'our people'. But look beyond that. She is under the Sultan's protection which is already a very valuable weapon for you; the world is changing my son. Foreign dignitaries are coming to our lands and bartering with our leaders. You would bring the first Englishwoman to the table that could fully understand the workings of their government and ours." 

"An ambassador for our people?" Ulvi asked, his thoughts taking more heed to his mother's word. 

"And to you," Merit countered. She rose and smoothed the robes of her morning dress. "You will tie two nations together by taking her as your wife. Think beyond the bedroom my son, many in your position do not." 

Mother and son departed ways. Knowing that her son desired the ruby-haired one had made it easy to lay the foundations for his musings. Merit had no doubt that Ulvi would soon see the wisdom in her words. 

Ulvi remained at the window long after his mother took her leave. He found himself watching Hera with a different look in his eye. His desire for her was still strong, but it had simmered after her indifference to his presence, and last night she had stirred him to lose control. Something he prided himself against. 

Hera felt the eyes of several of the women on her back. She knew they were leery of her new demeanor. If she were to admit it to herself, she too was surprised. Hera had slept soundly for the first time since her ordeal had begun. She still wanted to desperately reach her daughter's side, and to free her, but she also knew that to do that she would have to find favor in Ulvi's eyes. 

The unexpected visit to his mother had come to her immediately upon opening her eyes. She had made a life for herself in England by not only using her beauty, but by playing up what she knew best and that was being a hostess and engaging conversationalist. Her late husband Lord Bryon had seen the potential in taking her as a wife, and claiming another man's child as her own, so why could she not convince another man she was a valuable asset to his life. 

Hera did not imagine herself as the love of his life, but she did not fail to see the gifts he gave to his women. Tulay, a young woman, the youngest of his lovers wore gems of the finest quality, as well as clothing that she knew to be silk. With gifts such as these she could hoard them and eventually buy her freedom, if not seek Ulvi's aid in purchasing her daughter for himself. The idea of "whoring" her daughter made her skin crawl, but the idea of never being a part of her life easily rode over her disgust. She had also witnessed the difference in Ulvi's treatment and Risay's. Ulvi's bed had to be the more desirable. 

The thought of her Master and his bed warmed her cheeks. Hera closed her eyes and faced the gentle breeze. She took a deep breath and imagined herself against him. She had been forced to bathe him after his matings with the other women. Washing another woman's cum from her Master's sex had been degrading. The first time he had urged her to take his cum-covered cock into her mouth and "wash" him; she had made such a face he had turned away in disgust. From that point on she was brought to his rooms, forced to sit on a mat and wait till he was finished with his woman. He never asked her to suckle him clean again, but she still had to wash his body and his shaft with the bathing water and the scented soaps. 

Looking back Hera knew she had given him the impression that she found him undesirable and she welcomed the lack of his attentions. Now everything was different, she needed his desire and his passion, or she would never fund passage for her and her daughter. 

"What are you about?" 

Hera turned toward the voice. "Good day Tulay. I am doing nothing at this moment. Do you have need of me?" 

Tulay frowned. "I have seen you helping this morning and I have heard you visited our Master's mother. What are you about?" 

"I am 'about' nothing," Hera said. 

"I knew when Master purchased you, you would be trouble. I was right too. He healed you and took care of you. Fed you and made sure you were seen clothed in the finery reserved for his women. Yet, when he felt you were healed and ready to be brought to him, you show him disgust at his aura. You embarrassed him and he lacks desire for you now. Yet... I see you are now agreeable and willing to 'change'. Why? Why now Englishwoman do you seek the life you have judged as vile and immoral?" 

It was easy to hear the disgust in Tulay's words. Hera understood where the young woman was coming from. She took a deep breath and softened her expression. "Tulay, you are right. I have treated your Master and his women, including you with contempt and I have allowed my pride to reign over my mind. I am from a different world and this," she lifted her hand and swept it across the harem courtyard, "is seen as shameful. But I am no longer in England. I am no longer an Englishwoman. I am just another woman bought to please her Master. I resign myself to my fate." 

Tulay eyed her with suspicion. "When Master bought you, I had hoped to make you something he would be proud of, to groom you and show him that I was worthy to be his wife. He grows older with every passing hour and he needs to begin his line. Having you bend to his will, would show him that I would be capable of running his household." 

Hera smiled. "We have had a rocky road -- you and I. You are wise beyond your years. I see that now. I would be honored to learn from you and to praise your name when Master sees the improvements in my mannerisms. What Tulay do I need to do first?" 

Tulay thought a moment. "You must conform to our way of life. Master, like many men prefer all his women to be bare." 

"I had noticed," Hera blushed. The women bathed with each other, so she knew all of the harem girls were free of pubic hair, as well as underarm hair. "I will submit to Seker, the chief eunuch and..." 

"No!" Tulay shouted, "I will tend you. You are my special project. I will teach you all and you will please Master beyond all women. He will hunger for you to warm his bed." 

Hera looked stunned. "But Tulay, what of you? You wish to be his wife. Surely you do not want him to favor me so greatly?" 

The young girl laughed. "Silly Englishwoman, you will have his cock and maybe even his heart. But I -- I will have all of this," she reached out with both arms and spun in a circle, "I will be his wife. Not just his wife, but his first wife! The first wife holds great power! His cock can make its home in me whenever he desires it now, why should it be different when I am his wife? It is just a cock, to carry his name -- that is the favor I seek." 

"I am forever amazed at how much knowledge you possess for one so young. I place myself in your hands," Hera said. "Perhaps we will become friends?" 

Tulay took Hera's hand in hers. "I do not seek a friend Hera. I seek a husband. Remember if I am made his wife, you will be punished by my hand if you displease either of us." 

"I understand Tulay, but believe me when I say -- I will do all I can to make sure the Master seeks your hand in marriage and I look forward to finding a way to make myself more pleasurable to him and allowing you to reap the rewards." 

"Then we will both find happiness with our stations in life," Tulay said. 

The two women left the courtyard and retired to the bath houses. Once there Hera was asked to disrobe by her new tutor. She did so, only hesitating slightly. Tulay motioned for her to lie down on the towel she'd placed on the baked-clay bricks. Hera did so. She stared at the ceiling while Tulay lifted her right arm. A thick milky cream was applied to her underarm. The glimmer of a knife appeared in the young woman's hand. 

Tulay rested one hand on the underside of Hera's bicep. She scrapped the knife down, lifting hair and cream with the sharp blade. Hera remained motionless, hoping the young girl knew how to handle the blade. She knew her fear was unfounded when the same slow and gentle touch of steel was lain across her right arm.. Tulay rinsed away the cream and washed the knife as she instructed Hera to roll to her side. 

"My side?" 

"Your hair must be removed. I will start with the small strands that lie between the crevice of your thigh and sex, working inward. You must lift your leg as high as you can so that I can get every stubborn curl. After this you will roll slightly over, so I may spread the cheeks of your ass, even thin hairs can be found growing along the seem between your pussy and your tight channel," Tulay said with a voice that held no embarrassment.

"I know where hair can be found Tulay, I just -- well I didn't think it would matter --- there," Hera admitted.

"Master likes his cock in all our holes Englishwoman. Are you saying you English do not do such a thing. That your Master's do not take your ass and spill their seeds into them?" 

Tulay's question made Hera blush. "They do, but my love did not. I have never had a man's," she blushed more crimson, "sex inside my -- ass." 

The young woman smiled. "You are more pure than I thought! I have found in you a rare gem indeed. Giving Master your virgin ass will definitely make me more favorable. I will prepare you, but not today. It will take time. Hurry, let us finish and then I will leave you to bathe, but you must do so with my oils. They are the finest!" 




Kismet Ch. 09



Farisa awakened as the morning sun shone past the partially open door. She gently slipped out of Afsoon's embrace and padded to the entrance expecting their breakfast had been delivered. What she found was something wrapped in a blanket lying beside two lances of the type carried by General Risay's Palace Guard.

She quickly hid the items behind a drapery and shook Afsoon gently saying "Afsoon, wake up, a mysterious bundle has been placed at our door."

"Mmmhh ... good morning my love ... what's this about a bundle?"

"I found it when I went looking for our breakfast and hid it away. There were two guardsman lances as well. Something must be happening within the General's compound and we're involved."

"This is all very odd. Let us wait until our breakfast has been served, then we will examine this bundle."

***

Delbar feigned sleep as a slave girl busied herself tiding the woman's quarters and preparing her clothing for the day. In actuality, she had been awake before sunrise gathering the items for Afsoon and Farisa's escape and placing them inside the entrance to their quarters. The note she had written to them spelled out what they needed to do that evening; it was now a matter of waiting until dark and hoping they would not be discovered.

***

Having finished breakfast and opened the mysterious bundle, Farisa examined the contents while Afsoon read the enclosed note.

"Ha! This is indeed a well-balanced blade," Farisa said, taking a few short swings with one of the two scimitars in the bundle. "It shall drink deep of the blood of anyone who opposes us. And these lances; they are not unlike those my father and I used to hunt the lion."

"We are to wait until after the evening prayers are sung," Afsoon read aloud, "Then don these robes, gather our weapons and make our way through the compound to behind the grain bins near the main gate where we will be met by someone who will help us escape."

"These daggers are well crafted, perfect for throwing," Farisa continued, "And these sandals are of the finest cured leather, soft as a mothers touch. I cannot wait for the evening to come."

"Someone has gone to a considerable amount of trouble to insure our escape," Afsoon replied, "Even our robes fit perfectly and the hoods will conceal our faces. I wonder if my father the Sultan is behind this."

"Whoever is behind this may the gods smile upon them," Farisa said, then paused and looked at Afsoon. "We may not survive this attempt to escape and if we are opposed we will have to fight. Are you prepared to do battle, my love?"

Afsoon swallowed hard and her jaw tightened. "I am no stranger to the battle arts. I was always intrigued by my father's guardsmen when they were practicing with their weapons and one day when Mother was engaged elsewhere I asked them to show me how to fight with scimitar and lance. 

At first they laughed and said battle was man's work, but I persevered until they agreed to train me in a clandestine manner. They must have been taken with my looks and my boldness because if what they were doing was ever discovered, they would have been whipped and disgraced, possibly executed."

"True warriors have a rebellious streak in them," Farisa chuckled. 

"I slipped away whenever I could and practiced with them all they taught me. I knew Mother would be furious had she known what I was up to, which added spice to the entire undertaking."

"I sensed your own spirit of rebellion when we first met," Farisa replied. "We are kindred souls you and I. It is yet another reason why I love you."

They embraced and kissed, and then Afsoon continued "Other than cuts, bumps and bruises taken and given with practice weapons, I have never really drawn blood or killed anyone. I can only hope I have the strength and resolve to engage in a real battle to the death."

Farisa hugged her, "You possess the inner strength, dear Afsoon. Know that we are fighting for our dignity, our freedom and our very lives. That alone should give you courage."

"I am protecting you as well, my love," Afsoon replied. "I shall fight like a tiger in that case. Let us practice with our weapons until it is time to go to the baths."

***

"I tell you. Ahmed, something is going on with those two," Oadira grumbled. "Look at them, playing in the water so happily. No one is ever that happy unless they're up to something."

Ahmed sighed; he'd heard it all before. "Look Oadira," he piped, clasped hands resting on his immense stomach, "Not everyone is as unhappy as you are. You are no longer the General's favorite so reconcile yourself to it. In life there is always someone smarter, faster and prettier to displace you. Fortunately," he chuckled, "I do not have that problem," he patted the laboriously sharpened scimitar at his side, "My friend here will deal with any such eventuality."

"Chide me if you will," she replied disgustedly, "But we would do well to keep a watch on them. I'm convinced they mean trouble."

***

The mournful cries of the muezzin calling the evening prayers had barely died away when Afsoon and Farisa, garbed and armed, left their quarters. Evading the occasional sentry, they crept cautiously through the dimly moonlit compound. Lights flickered here and there, voices were raised in delight and anger and the night birds were calling as the women arrived at the place of meeting. There was no one there.

"Could this be a trap," Farisa muttered. "I will not be taken alive."

"Nor shall I," Afsoon replied, "Let us wait awhile and see who appears."

With that, they heard the 'Chuff, Chuff' of hooves on the sand. A stable boy appeared leading two saddled Arabian horses, handed them the reins and ran away into the night.

"These are from the General's own stable," Afsoon said. "They bear the ear notches of his personal mounts. How did ...?"

"Enough chatter," Farisa replied, "let us put many dunes between us and this cursed place."

"How will we pass through the gates ...?" Afsoon began.

"I knew you two were up to something," said a voice from the shadows. "Stealing the General's horses is a crime punishable by beheading."

Oadira stepped into the pale moonlight carrying a scimitar. "I will be well rewarded by the General for capturing you two," she continued, grinning evilly, "I will once again be the General's chosen one after you are food for the vultures."

"Begone foolish woman," Farisa snarled. "We will not be stopped by the likes of you. Besides, we are two to your one."

"Allow me to even the odds," Oadira laughed, "Ahmed, to me."

Abruptly, the massive bulk of the eunuch appeared beside her, his immense scimitar clutched in one pudgy hand. "I have no desire to hurt you," he piped, "Lay down your weapons. The General in his benevolence may let you off with thirty lashes."

"If you want these weapons, come and get them," Afsoon purred. "Death would be preferable to living as a sex slave to that madman."

"My blade thirsts for blood," Farisa added. "Come closer and allow it to drink deep of yours."

A curse on her lips, Oadira sprang towards Farisa, aiming a vicious cut at the woman's legs which was speedily parried and she leapt back from an equally vicious counter slash. 

"I do not wish to hurt you," whined the giant, advancing on Afsoon. "Surrender and I will spare your life."

"I will not yield, Ahmed," she replied. "I shall die first."

"Then die!" he screeched, the deadly blade whistling at her head. She ducked and swung her blade at the eunuch's pillar-like leg, opening a deep cut in his thigh. Enraged, the giant charged, sweeping the scimitar before him weaving a web of death.

Afsoon parried blow after blow, each impact making her wince with pain, but still slashing at her opponent whenever there was an opening.

Bleeding from several wounds, the eunuch pressed home the attack, knocking Afsoon sprawling and grazing her head, arm and shoulder. She scrambled to her feet and continued the duel, her scimitar becoming heavier with each blow she deflected from the punishing blade. She caught her foot in a depression in the sand and fell backwards, losing her grip on her weapon. She gritted her teeth as the giant stood over her, his blade gleaming in the moonlight, and prepared to die.

"You were one of the prettiest ones," he chirped, "The General will reward me handsomely for this." He lifted the blade high above his head when ...

KRAK!

A red flower blossomed in Ahmed's mouth followed by a spurt of blood and shattered teeth. The giant tottered and fell forward onto the sand, his immense body barely missing Afsoon where she lay.

"Afsoon, my child, are you alright?" said Delbar coming forward, a smoking pistol in her hand.

"Delbar," Afsoon cried, "What are you doing here?"

"Aiding your escape of course," the woman smiled, helping Afsoon to her feet. "We must hurry. This racket must have alerted the sentries."

"But how ..." Afsoon began, then saw Farisa standing over Oadira's body, a rivulet of scarlet flowing down her arm. "My love," she exclaimed, rushing to her side, "You are wounded."

"I have had worse," Farisa replied. "This daughter of a hyena fought well, but in the end ..." Afsoon looked down and shuddered; Oadira's head was nearly severed from her body.

Delbar quickly bound Farisa and Afsoon's wounds and the women mounted their horses.

"May the gods find favor with you, Delbar," Farisa said. "We owe you our lives."

"Yes," Afsoon continued, "How will we ever repay you?"

"Others will see to that," Delbar said with a grin, "Now be off before the guards arrive."

"But the gates ..." Afsoon said.

"It is taken care of, now be swift."

She waited until the women had disappeared into the shadows, placed the pistol in a pool of blood from Oadira's corpse and scurried away as the first sentries arrived on the run.

Riding at full gallop, the women found the massive wood and iron gates to the compound opened wide enough for a horse and rider to pass through; the gatekeepers guard house was dark. They sped out across the desert expecting an alarm to be raised, but no sounds were heard.

"There are water skins and sacks of food hung on these saddles," Afsoon said as they slowed to a canter after miles of fast riding. "Delbar thought of everything."

"Indeed she did," Farisa replied. "Where shall we go, my love?"

"I am not sure," was the reply. "We need to find a place for the horses to rest and get our bearings."

"Give the horses their head," Farisa suggested. "They will smell an oasis much easier than we can."

"Good idea," Afsoon said, letting the reins hang loose in her hand. "It will be daylight soon and we should be out of sight before then. When Risay discovers we are missing he will send his soldiers to search for us."

"Let them come," Farisa muttered, "They shall not find us easy prey."

***

"Two riders, Mustapha," said the pudgy man with the salt and pepper beard as he lowered the battered spyglass. "They wear unadorned robes the color of sand, but their horses are of excellent quality; the result of some careful breeding no doubt."

"They will bring an excellent price at the bazaar, Dakhil," Mustapha replied. "What else do you see?"

"They are provisioned for travel, their saddles are well crafted and ... by the beard of the Prophet, they are women!"

"Women, here, what foolishness is this? You must be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken. One is light skinned, the other a Nubian, they ride unveiled and carry weapons."

"We shall see about this. Tell the others to mount and we shall meet these strangers."

***

"Riders approaching," Afsoon said, reining in her mount.

"They do not appear to be the General's troops," Farisa replied. 

"I would guess bandits, probably after our horses."

"And us. Shall we attack?"

"Let us wait until they come closer."

"I count seven. Our lances will deal with two; we'll take the rest in turn."

"Three are circling behind us."

"Then we shall attack those facing us first. Are you prepared to fight?"

"I am. I have a plan. When I shout 'Now', we'll cast off our robes."

"It is good; this slows my sword arm anyhow."

"Wait until they get a little closer, then when drop our robes, we'll throw our lances and charge them."

"I want that fat one on the brown horse."

"The one wearing the blue turban seems to be the leader, I'll try for him."

"Ugh, they are a filthy lot."

"Closer ... closer ... Now!"

***

"Why do they not flee, Mustapha? Because they realize we have them surrounded?"

"Paralyzed with fear no doubt, now we have the women to sell to the bargain."

"I wish to sample the Nubian wench before we ... URK!"

Pierced through the chest by Farisa's lance, Dakhil tumbled from his saddle and fell heavily to the sand. His horse reared in fright scattering the remaining riders.

Afsoon had aimed at Mustpha, but in the sudden confusion her lance found the rider to his left. It slashed through his upper thigh and into his mount. Maddened with pain, the horse bucked and began to run, throwing the man from the saddle. Pinned like an insect to a board, he swung beneath the galloping horse and was pounded into bloody rags by the flashing hooves.

Stunned by the suddenness of the attack and the sight of two nude women charging them with scimitars held high, the remaining bandits scattered in panic, but then Afsoon and Farisa were among them, blades flashing.

Two men toppled from their saddles spurting blood, limbs all but severed by the razor sharp blades. The others attempted to rally and fight, but their hearts were not in it.

"They are not women; they are evil Djinni," Mustapha screamed, "Make haste before they send us all to a flaming hell."

The women watched as the remaining bandits and the riderless horses galloped away and were lost to sight among the dunes.

They drew together, kissed and shared a sweaty embrace.

"You fought well, my darling," Afsoon said.

"As did you, my love," Farisa replied. "Let us see if this carrion has anything of value and be on our way."

Afsoon dismounted and began to tremble, then vomited explosively.

Farisa rushed to her side "Are you hurt?"

Afsoon coughed and spat then replied "I am not hurt. I have taken men's lives, Farisa. I have committed murder. This is horrible, horrible" and she began to cry.

Farisa held her as she sobbed saying "It is always a shock when you take a life, especially the first time. When I was young, I killed a trader with the knife I carried. He had tried to rape me and I cried for days. When I told my father what I had done, what he told me was wise. He said no one desires to take a life, but when you are threatened it is your life or theirs. You must protect yourself no matter what the cost and let no one tell you differently."

Afsoon hugged Farisa and sighed "You are right my love. Those bandits would have used us for sex until they grew tired of us, then either killed us or sold us as slaves. We were right in defending ourselves. It was the killing I did so readily ... it was as if I was someone else."

"The battle lust resides deep within us all," Farisa replied, brushing the tears from Afsoon's cheeks, "We are always shaken when it awakens in times of danger, but it is there so we have strength to fight for our lives if we are threatened."

Afsoon closed her eyes and nodded in assent. When she had drunk some water and recovered her composure, they began searching the bodies.

"A purse filled with Drachma on the fat one," Farisa announced. "We will need clothing when we reach a settlement. We will dress as fine ladies."

"Nothing of use on that one," Afsoon replied, wincing at the sight of the corpse's gory wound. "Now let us see this other ... Aha! Look at this, Farisa."

"Oh that is beautiful. Is it gold?"

"Indeed it is and it will look beautiful about your neck."

"Then place it there, my sweet."

Afsoon fastened the fine chain of the pendant around Farisa's ebony neck and nuzzled her. 

"It seems an age since we made love, my flower."

"I ache for your touch. Let us hope we find a place to rest soon."

"This is an odd engraving on this pendant; dragons rampant on a crest of sword and shield."

"They must have stolen it from a person of some influence, possibly a Sultan."

"It is yours by right of combat. Let us be off before the sun sets."

***

As night fell, the horses found an oasis. The women bathed happily in a pool of water, ate heartily of the Dates, Figs and Pomegranates that grew there, then spread their robes upon the warm sand and lay back, content.

Before long, their desire for one another asserted itself. They lay together, hugging and kissing, relishing their freedom and their love for one another.

Farisa slid her hand between Afsoon's silken thighs, purring "I wish to pleasure you, my darling."

"As I do you," Afsoon replied. "Turn and lay across me, we shall pleasure each other."

Farisa straddled Afsoon's head, lowered her wet pussy to her lover's velvet tongue, bent forward and began licking Afsoon's moist slit. They enjoyed each other as the cool night crept in behind the last rays of the disappearing sun; they needed no light for their lovemaking as they knew the others body as their own. 

Slowly, languorously, they licked, nibbled and sucked each other, reaching the brink of orgasm several times, then retreating, wanting to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. Finally Afsoon could take no more and began finger fucking Farisa and sucking on her throbbing clit. Farisa did the same to Afsoon and soon they climaxed powerfully and together, their cries of ecstasy smothered in their lovers pink flesh. They drank greedily of the others cum until their mouths overflowed and lay together exhausted.

Then they cuddled and slept, the night breezes cooling their sweaty bodies.

***

When the morning sun rose, the women bathed again, breakfasted on the fruits of the oasis, filled their water sacks, picked fruit to carry with them and set off toward the rising sun. As they traveled on, they saw no one all day, plodding onward towards they knew not what. They only knew they were together and they were free.

The sun was below it's zenith when the crackle of gunfire caused them to rein in. Advancing cautiously toward the crest of a dune, they saw eight men crouching in a pit of sand, virtually encircled by a much larger group of men as they exchanged fire with pistols and rifles. 

"Those men surrounded appear to be guardsmen of some sort," Farisa said. "Once they are out of ammunition they are doomed."

"Their black turbans and waistcoats are very familiar ..." Afsoon began. "I remember now, those are my father's personal army, The Black Legion. They protect the kingdom against attack and are widely feared."

"Those men attacking them are not showing fear," Farisa replied, "They appear to outnumber them four to one."

"What do you think we should do?" Afsoon asked her companion.

"Even the odds, I suppose. If those are your father's warriors, we should help them if we can. Are you prepared for this, my love?"

Afsoon took a deep breath, sat up straighter in the saddle and nodded. "Yes. I am. Let us remove our robes and tie them to our packs. Going to battle in our skins worked before and the robes only hinder us in a fight."

"My thoughts, exactly," Farisa replied. "If we attack from that dune over there, we will be behind most of them and have the advantage of surprise."

Removing their robes, they trotted to the base of the dune, made their way to the crest, waited until another volley was exchanged and rode down upon the aggressors, shouting battle cries. Shots whistled past them and then they were among the riflemen, blades slashing, severing flesh from bone and limbs from bodies, howling in a frenzy of battle lust. 





Kismet Ch. 09



All their hatred and frustration at their treatment by General Risay was unleashed on the panicked men as they attempted to defend themselves from the murderous she-demons in their midst. Those who fought back died where they stood either crushed beneath flailing hooves or sliced by flashing scimitars. Unnerved, the survivors broke and ran shrieking in fear and pain.

Panting from their exertions and bleeding from several minor wounds, the women reined in their mounts among a litter of corpses and weapons and waited for a man wearing a black turban to approach them.

"Are ... are you of this world?" the man said, hesitantly. "Am I in the presence of Djinni sent to collect our souls?"

Afsoon and Farisa broke into laughter, relieving the tension.

"We are mortals as you are," Afsoon said, smiling. "My companion and I saw you were outnumbered and decided to help. You are of the Black Legion, are you not?"

"You are correct. I am Tesserarius Eques Hamid al-Assad of his magnificence the Sultan's Black Legion. We were on patrol searching for bandits who waylaid a caravan not two leagues from here when we ourselves were ambushed. You two saved our lives."

"I am called Farisa and this is my companion Afsoon. We are seeking a settlement where we may refresh ourselves and rest. Can you lead us to one?"

"Most certainly, it is the least we can do after what you have done for us." 

As they conversed, three of Hamid's legionnaires rode up, staring in awe at two nude women armed with scimitars and riding pure blooded Arabian horses talking with their commander. They shifted nervously in their saddles and began muttering among themselves, convinced their rescuers were of the supernatural.

"You must excuse my men," Hamid said apologetically. "They are of low birth and quite superstitious. They think you are from the netherworld."

"I doubt if creatures of the underworld bleed," Afsoon said with a grin. "Would you happen to have bandages and poultices with you? We should tend to our wounds before we travel any further."

"Of course," he replied. "Ah ... do you wear clothing? The men seem to be upset by that as well."

"I suppose we must wear those stifling robes again," Farisa said in mock irritation. "I do so enjoy the sun and wind on my skin. It reminds me of home."

"I also prefer the freedom of no garments," Afsoon added, "But if it disturbs your men we shall wear our robes."

After treating and binding their wounds, Afsoon and Farisa shrugged into their robes and were preparing to mount their horses, when a legionnaire rode up from the direction of the battle, dropped a bloody reed basket at Hamid's feet and saluted.

"We found the bandit leader, sir. He was dead. I have brought you proof."

Hamid crouched and upended the basket. A severed head rolled out staring at him with sightless eyes, a look of shock on it's bearded face. A severed hand and forearm had fallen next to the head; blood seeping from both forming a crust on the hot sand.

Hamid lifted the severed limb by a finger, noting the tattoo of a black rose on the wrist.

"Good work, Baasim. Place them in a pouch. The Sultan will be very interested in these things.

At the sight of the grisly trophies, Afsoon turned pale, then shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Farisa said, putting her arm around her lover's waist.

"Yes," Afsoon sad shakily. "I don't think I shall ever become fully accustomed to such sights."

They mounted their horses as the remaining legionnaires rode in and assembled in formation, Hamid in the lead. Then they set off, the women flanked by two outriders.

"He intends to bring those body parts to the Sultan," Farisa said in a low voice. "Should you tell Hamid he is your father?"

"I think it best we retain our anonymity for the moment," Afsoon replied. "There are many intrigues in the palace and the general's spies are everywhere. My mother once told me Risay covets the throne, but fears the Black Legion that is fiercely loyal to my father. Once we reach the town we will determine what we should do next."

Behind them, the vultures that had been circling the battlefield began swooping down to gorge themselves upon the pile of corpses.

End.



Kismet Ch. 10



Click!  The white rook dropped into position.

"Checkmate in three.  And husband, that opening gambit was pathetic!"

Mahmood Al-Bezier, Director of the Royal Secret Service, cringed under his senior wife's scorn.  It was annoying enough that she regularly beat him at chess (and was the only person in the kingdom who could) but to have done so almost contemptuously this evening was the crowning ignominy to an exhausting day.

"And don't think we didn't notice that you simply toyed with dinner tonight, our husband," Nadira, the second wife was starting up on her favorite complaint, "What you ate this meal would not keep the smallest bird alive!"

Mahmood sagged.  "I'm tired.  With the sultan away on campaign, having to arrange his daughter's escape and to cover up the 'accidental' death of the Prussian First Secretary on top of my usual duties—this day has left me drained.  I'm not the young warrior I once was, after all."

Zaafira, his senior wife, sniffed.  "Not to mention that you hardly slept.  You kept me awake half the night with your tossing and turning."

That Mahmood Al-Bezier actually slept with his wives in turn instead of simply summoning them when he wanted them would have come as a great surprise to those who knew him only as the most feared man in Azerbaidistan.  If you had suggested such a thing to any of his subordinates or that he was a fond and indulgent father you would have been dismissed out of hand as a complete idiot.  The Al-Bezier?  Loving and kindly?  And who put hashish in your hookah, this day?  But Mahmood had not always been rich and powerful and still kept to many of the habits of his youth.

"It is the curse of genius," Hediya, the youngest wife nodded knowingly and crossed her arms over her very pregnant belly. "Our husband spends too much time worrying about the welfare of the realm and not enough time enjoying life."

"Up, our husband!"  Zaafira had the command voice of a regimental sergeant major, "It's off to the hamam for a good bath and I shall send word to Ibrahim that he is to give you his very best massage.  Go!"

"And I," Nadira muttered under her breath with a leer, "will make very sure that he sleeps well."

"Shall I help?  You know how much for fun it is when there are three of us in your bed."

"Not this night, Hediya our little pomegranate.  He is tired enough as is.  Trying to play with two at once will be quite beyond him, I fear.  Once the sultan is back our husband can relax.  Then you and I will entertain him together."

"And each other, of course."

"Of course!"  

*****

His bath over and feeling much more relaxed and at ease, Mahmood entered the darkened chamber of his second wife's quarters.  There was a single lamp lit near the bed and it threw flickering shadows in the slight draft.  The light cast a warm glow over Nadira's naked body, lying on one side facing him.

"Ah, husband, are you feeling better?"

"I am, pearl among women, but I think that tonight sleep is in order."

"I know, Mahmood, and that's what I'm going to ensure.  Come, lie next to me.  You need not move; I will take care of you."

As he complied, Nadira rose to her knees and sat back on her heels.  As the man disrobed and lie on the couch next to her knees the woman took a flask of scented oil and poured a drop or two into her palm.  Rubbing her hands together, she warmed it and then began to stroke his soft member, paying particular attention to the underside of the helmet.  Despite his exhaustion, the Director quickly responded to his wife's ministrations growing long and firm.  Nadira smiled to herself.  She would bring him to climax, clean him up and then curl up around him.  Tonight he would sleep soundly.  Tomorrow, let the enemies of Azerbaidistan beware!

*****

The following morning a much rested and revitalized Director received the morning briefing from his second-in-command.

"Director, the Sultan reports that he has completed liberating the Georgians from the Russian Empire.  With the cities of Poti and Batumi now firmly in our control his dream of free access to the rest of the world by sea has been realized.  The Sultan also reports that the High Mullah's declaration of religious freedom to the Orthodox Christians and Jews as Peoples of the Book was very well received and that the people seem pleased to be free of the Russian yoke.  

On the subject of Hera, reports indicate that she is settling well into 'Abbas' household.  No threats seem to be aimed at them.  It would seem the queen has no idea of the woman's whereabouts.

Afsoon has successfully escaped with her lover.  They encountered a patrol of the Black Squadron that was surrounded, and the women attacked the bandits with abandon.  If there was any doubt that she is the Sultan's daughter, her natural sense of tactics and combative valiance should lie that to rest.  The unit commander sent you a package he believes you will find—intriguing.

And a final note, our agent in the British Embassy in Persia reports that he has received information that the Crown has acquired something called a Babbage Engine and is also pursuing development of an 'air ship'.  This seems hard to believe, but . . . ."

"It is not!  Tell our agent that I will have a full report of everything he has heard, read, or seen of what the British are doing.  Though the Christians are People of the Book and safe within the Prophet's realm, that doesn't mean we should give them free reign to conquer the world.  If they are embarking on voyages through the air, we will not be far behind, إن شاء الله!"

****

After lunch the Director and the Grand Vizier sat with grim visages contemplating a large jar of alcohol.  Inside the jar floated a severed head and hand, a hand with a black rose tattooed on its wrist.

"Esteemed Director, Risay was so bold as to allow a unit of his brigands the freedom to attack a patrol of the Black Squadrons?  The man grows more reckless by the day.  How much longer do you intend to let this impudence continue?" 

"My Lord Vizier, these things take time.  Despite the man's machinations he poses no real threat to the crown.  So long as Malay is still within the harim, we will continue to get news of his foolish daydreams.  Eventually the queen will decide that her lover is a liability.  Then she will denounce him as a traitor to the sultan and beg her husband's forgiveness.  She will portray herself as a weak woman seduced and ravished by a black-hearted villain.  The sultan will forgive her (because he wants to keep the alliance with her brother, the Kazak King) and condemn the General to an appropriately slow and painful death.  No, we need not worry about General Risay.  What we must ever concern ourselves with is that which we have yet to identify."

"You spoke of the woman Malay in the harim.  What of the other?"

"Delbar?  She purchased her freedom from the General.  Actually, she left a bag of gold and a note in his sleeping quarters and escaped into the night."

"Director, the price of her freedom was all the gold you paid her.  What is she to do now?"

"My dear Vizier, one does not throw away a spoon simply because the soup course is finished.  She remains on the palace payroll.  I do not have any assignment for her as yet but I certainly intend to have her close at hand should her particular talents be required."

The Grand Vizier sighed.  He had, once or twice, seen the woman Delbar in the background when official duties took him to Risay's palace.  She reminded him of his late wife.  Unusual among high-ranking men in Azerbaidistan, Mohamar had only taken one wife and when she died he grieved for months.  

The Director saw the man's facial expression and mentally shook his head.  Pleasure slaves or concubines would never fill the hole in his friend's heart.  Discard Delbar?  No, he still had one more very important assignment for her, one that would likely last the rest of her life.

*****

Mada's eyes blazed and her face was white with fury.  Almost incoherent with rage she finally spit out, "Risay, you fool!  You let the Al-Bezier establish a spy in your household?  How could you be so careless?  That devil is likely playing you like a fish on a hook."

The general's eyes narrowed.  If any other woman had dared speak to him so insolently he would have had her beaten to within an inch of her life but this was the queen of the realm.  If he struck her the sultan would know and the retribution would be ghastly.  He dared not even make her disappear for if she was not on  the sultan's bed when he returned, and he was due to return very soon, the Al-Bezier would scour the city with his 'clerks' and somehow would find out that the last man to see her was himself.

"Relax, Greatest of Jewels, the man is dead, shot when Hera's daughter escaped.  He cannot expose us now."

"Oh?  And if the eunuch Ahmed were not the agent?  Who in your household escaped with them?  Tell me that there was no one else involved!"

Cold hit Risay's stomach like a winter storm.  Who else in your household escaped with them?  There was that note on his bed table and the bag of gold.  Delbar!  A woman?  How could that be?  But now that the facts were laid out there could be no doubt.  How many years had she silently gone about her business, an ever-present silent figure in the background perfectly positioned to know everything said or written?  His face paled.

"Flee!  My husband will do no than beat me as he will not risk having my brother invade from the north.  But you?  Risay, he will have you torn apart by lions or cut apart joint by joint over days or weeks.  Fill the seams of your garments with your finest jewels and escape to Istanbul.  The Ottoman Emperor will gladly take you in and give you a command.  Perhaps you and the Sultan will meet on the field of battle.  Should you defeat him, I will be waiting for you.  But if you lose, at least it will be a cleaner death than what you can expect here.  I will return to the palace and have our tunnel sealed up to delay your pursuit but that will only be good for days at best.  Quickly, go!"

Her robes swirled as she turned on her heel and rushed out through the curtains that concealed the tunnel running under the streets from Risay's mansion to the Royal Palace.  Beneath the ground she ran as if djinn were after her and as she ran she wondered if djinn might not be preferred to the Director's clerks.

*****

The next day, in another wing of the palace, Mahmood casually advanced a pawn and sat back.  Zaafira swooped her rook down onto it and then froze.  She pulled the rook back into its original position, looked over the board for a few silent moments and then knocked over her king.

"Mahmood, my love, you are a devil!  How did that discovered attack escape me?  Well played, our husband, very well played.  You are obviously your old self again."

The other two wives applauded politely and then looked up as a servant entered the room, bowed deeply and handed a slip of paper to the Director.  The man raised an eyebrow.  Interruptions were rare once he returned to his family quarters because he emphatically insisted they be.  No one but the Grand Vizier, the Sultan himself or (on very rare occasions) his second-in-command would dare.  Something very important was afoot.

Mahmood unfolded the note.  As he read, his face darkened into a fierce scowl and then into a cunning smile.  "So, events move more swiftly than I estimated.  Thank-you, Ali, you did well to bring this at once.  My loves, I must return to my official duties but fear not.  I will return to your embraces tomorrow evening."

When he arrived at the concealed headquarters of the Secret Service, Ahmed was waiting for him.  Beckoning silently he led the Director down several flights of stairs and into a seldom used storage room.  There a decorative wooden screen was pushed over to reveal a large patch of fresh plaster.

The Director smirked.  "So, her majesty has tired of her plaything!  When did you learn of this, Ahmed?"

Ahmed bowed.  "As soon as she gave the order to seal up the passage, one of her guards took the opportunity to tell the clerk Pervaiz who came to me personally with the news.  So swiftly did her workmen lay brick and plaster that the job was complete by the time I got here.  Evidently her majesty is seriously perturbed.  She has withdrawn back into the women's quarters and locked herself in her rooms."

"Has she now?"  Mahmood chuckled.  "Well, we will leave the Sultan to deal with his miscreant doe.  The question is what about Risay?  Is he fuming in his mansion or . . . ?"

"I sent a patrol of clerks to find out, Director.  They should be back any moment."

"Very good, Ahmed.  You did well.  We will go back and await their report.  If there is no resistance, we must presume he has fled.  Where would he go . . . ?"

*****

Risay, lately a general in the Azerbaidistan army and now a fugitive for his life alternately cursed his luck and congratulated himself on his foresight.  His stable was renowned as the finest in the land and now he could put it to good use.  By sunset tomorrow he would be over the border into the Ottoman Empire, safe from pursuit.  There he would take the fortune in jewels from the hems of his garments, secure suitable living quarters, and then begin the process of returning.  The Caliph would be only too glad to assist him.  The Sultan Azlan was a thorn in Istanbul's side and now that he had fully conquered Georgia, Topkapi Palace would be a hornet's nest of unrest and intrigue.  Risay grinned humorlessly in the dark as he rode.  This was less a retreat than a strategic withdrawal.  The game was far from over. 



Kismet Ch. 11



Kismet is a wonderful chain story and I hope you find this chapter rewarding. If you're new to the chain, it's not too late to catch up, so slide back to Ch. 1 and get started! Enjoy! ~ Red

*

Merit frowned at her son as he confessed what she already knew - he had not yet called the Englishwoman to his bed. "Why do you hesitate?" she asked. 

She had left her son's home hoping that he would take her words to heart. Bedding the Englishwoman would not guarantee he would make her his first wife, but it would still bring him a great ally when dealing with foreigners. When she returned two months later and had words with Tulay, she was disgusted by the slow actions of her son. 

During the evening meal she had watched Hera and had seen the difference in the Englishwoman's behavior. Gone were the haughty airs and the superior attitude. She behaved like a subservient and had taken the time to not only learn and embrace their customs, but to do so with respect. 

"My hesitation is because I have thought on your words," Ulvi said. "To take the Englishwoman as my wife means many things. Yes, she would be a calming presence to the women that the English bring with them. She will be able to relate to their wives and daughters, but if I take her it means I take only her."

Merit's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why do you think this? She would have no qualms about sharing you. I have seen her interact with the other women in the house; they welcome her now, even your most favored one, calls her friend, or at least behaves as if she trusts her." 

"I see this too mother, but the Englishwomen have more say in the politics of man than we are led to believe. Do you really see their houses so different than our own? I am not a fool; I know the women plot behind the veils of their chambers." He laughed softly. "I may not know all their secrets, but I am not so young as to think I alone keep my estates running." 

His mother said nothing. She knew he spoke the truth. 

"Mother," Ulvi continued, "if I am to blend our two worlds then I must also embrace some of their customs. Do you see the wisdom in my words?" 

She frowned; he smiled. 

"If I were to take several wives, the Englishwomen that see my wife will frown upon her and that would not bode well for future dealings," he told her. "Let us finish the game, and then send me Tulay," Ulvi softly commanded. 

Merit took a deep breath and sighed. "As you wish." 

The conversation was steered away from Hera, though the woman was not far from either person's thoughts. After Merit kissed her son goodnight, she went in search of Tulay. 

The young woman, favored by Ulvi, was sitting cross-legged with Hera. Merit watched as the two women laughed and teased each other. She cleared her throat, making her presence known. Both women rose and bowed in respect for their Master's mother. Merit eyed them both. 

Tulay was eager and willing to serve her son; she would bare him many heirs, if he would make her one of his wives. Hera, was older in years and would likely only be able to bare him one, maybe two more children before her age was a hindrance. Taking one wife would cripple Ulvi's house, but the woven threads of power would support that weak frame. 

If he took Hera as his wife, he would forever be tied to the Sultan's house, for the Sultan had made a special point of protecting the Englishwoman. Tulay's family, was insignificant, it was only her womb that had value. Taking one wife did not mean Ulvi could not lie with his other women and fill their bellies with his seed. 

Merit smiled warmly at Tulay. "You are to prepare your protégé for your Master. She is to have a fresh shave and a deep cleansing of all orifices." 

Tulay smiled wide and fought to stifle the joy in her heart. She turned to Hera, whom held an expression of shock and disbelief on her face. 

"She is to wear the gold chains, nothing else. Lead her to his chambers, covered in a thick veil. Only she is to enter. You are to remain, out in the hall and rest at the foot of the door; he is not to be disturbed," Merit softly commanded. "Do you understand?" 

Tulay nodded her head; her eyes were bright and full of excitement. Merit's eyes however held Hera's. Hera bowed, acknowledging that she too understood the weight of Merit's words. Tonight all that Tulay had worked for would come to fruition. She would lie with her Master and become in all ways, his lover. 

Merit left knowing that her son, when he gazed upon the beautiful redhead, would hungrily take what Tulay had prepared for him. Tulay would be jealous of Hera's position advancing so quickly. She was young though and understood the workings of their people and the politics within the veils. She would accept Hera as her Mistress, or she would be replaced. Merit liked the young girl, but she loved her son and knew the future with the foreigners was to be nurtured carefully. 

As soon as the Master's mother was no longer in view of the women, Tulay turned and wrapped her arms tight around Hera. She kissed her friend on the lips and pulled away; her excitement was intoxicating. Hera blushed, laughed, and slipped free of the young woman's embrace.

Tulay opened her arms and spun around in a circle. "It is happening Hera! He has seen you! He will know from your touch that you seek to please him and he will know that I have taught you." 

Hera laughed softly. "Yes, he will. He will reward you greatly. I will tell him how hard you have worked, and he will know you are worthy of overseeing all his women." 

"You do not sound pleased," Tulay said, noticing the laughter from Hera's lips had died, and her words had taken on a sense of sorrow. 

"I am pleased for you. I am scared for me," Hera admitted. 

Tulay's forehead became furrowed in confusion as she stared at the older woman. "But why? You have lain beneath a man before and I have told you our Master will not hurt you. Why do you fret? Have I failed in my teaching of you his likes and dislikes? Have I not told you how to suck his cock, to ride him, and have I not spent weeks preparing your tight virgin bud to accept him into its tight channel." 

Hera blushed at the reminder of the lessons with the varying plugs that she had been forced to wear. Tulay had promised that with each rod, increasing in size, the muscles of her anal cavity would stretch. When their Master called for her and claimed the last untouched orifice she would be able to accept his full length and girth. 

"You have done all that and more," Hera whispered. "I just hope he finds me pleasing and I hope I leave him praising your fine work."

Tulay shook her head. "You must see that he does! Hurry, let us prepare you. The blades are sharp and the baths will still be warm." 

The women hurried together, their fingers clutched in a mixture of trepidation and excitement. 

Hera allowed Tulay to pamper her. After she was thoroughly cleansed, shaved and her body rubbed with honey-oil, Tulay brushed her long red hair. Pearls were woven into the strands before she left Hera alone and went in search of the gold chain, Merit had spoke of. 

As Hera waited, she tried to think about Ulvi and how over the past few months she had grown to desire him. She saw the pleasure on the harem women's faces when they reappeared after spending a night in his bed. Their words of his prowess had made her body tingle with jealousy and curiosity. 

For several weeks she had caught him gazing at her and when their eyes met she had held his longer than she should have, yet he did not discipline her for her disrespect. Not once though had he ever conceded to her. Hera was always the one to lower her gaze and feel her skin grow pink from her boldness. 

"I have returned and Merit had the chain already for me when I arrived at Seker's chambers," Tulay said as she walked toward Hera. In her hands was a small chest; she lay it on the table and opened it. 

"And did our Chief Eunuch have much to say when you arrived?" Hera asked. 

Tulay laughed. "Only that it was about time." 

Hera chuckled softly. She stood in the center of her chambers while Tulay closed the distance between them. In her hand was a pile of thin gold that looked like a puddle of sunlight. Tulay lifted one end, held it between her fingers and allowed the chain to spill out of her palm. It dangled in the air; the end however became lost in a pool of gold on the floor. 

The chain was not only one continuous rope of precious metal, but had longer chains attached to it. Each end had either a small hook or a small clamp. The hooked ends would catch a loop that could tighten or loosen the wearer's restriction. The inner jaws of the clamps were covered in velvet, so as not to mar the flesh of whoever was chosen to wear it. 

Hera felt the warm caress of Tulay's hand as she reached up and began to work the chain around her neck. The end was hooked close to her throat, but not enough that Hera felt any restriction to her windpipe. The rest of the chain was left to hang between her breasts. 

Tulay lifted two of the extended lengths to Hera's breasts and clamped each nipple with the gold toothed jaws. Hera whimpered softly, felt the weight of the gold and shuddered at the sensation pulling at her areoles. She licked her lips, as she watched Tulay slide down to her knees and take another long link of gold that hung from the main chain. 

This piece was wrapped around Hera's hips. It was secured over the apex of her sex. More chains varying from six inches to ten inches in length hung from the one on her hips, and when she swayed, they moved with her. 

Hera's instructor stepped back and stared in appreciation at the Englishwoman's transformation. She reached back into the box, and produced four narrow bracelets. These too were gold; each had the emblem of the house of 'Abbas engraved on them. Tulay quickly opened the bracelets and snapped them in place, one on each wrist, and one on each ankle. 

Hera bit down on her lower lip as Tulay retrieved a long thick bolt of material; she draped it expertly over Hera's naked body so that only her eyes, hands, and feet could be easily seen. 

"Are you ready?" Tulay asked. 

The Englishwoman shook her head and took a deep breath. "I will do you proud," she whispered. 

Tulay tilted her head in silent acknowledgement. "Let us go," she whispered, and together the two women left Hera's chambers. 

One of the guards to Ulvi's chambers lifted a brow when he saw Tulay approaching with the Englishwoman. Though Hera was clothed and her visage hidden from their prying eyes, she was the tallest of all the harem women. The man lowered his eyes, and knocked softly on their Master's chamber door. 

A gently spoken "enter" was heard and Tulay motioned for Hera to do so. She nervously glanced at her teacher before stepping over the threshold. The door swiftly but quietly, closed behind her.

The lighting in the room was mostly illuminated by the setting sun and a small handful of lanterns. Hera stood there, looking at her Master's back. She waited quietly for him to turn, acknowledge her and command her to please him. Though she had lain with a man before, and had given birth to Afsoon, she still felt the rolling pitch of an untried virgin fluttering in her belly. 

She pressed her palm to her abdomen, a poor attempt to calm herself. After a quick prayer, she began to remove the vast amount of yardage that kept her covered. When she was done, the material lay at her feet. 

Ulvi heard Tulay enter and disrobe. He looked down at his stiff rod. He had been thinking of the young girl and her experienced hands and mouth. His cock had grown hard, and his need demanding, but whenever he found himself thinking of the Englishwoman, his pulse raced and his chest tightened. Damn his mother, for making him think of Hera beyond the needs of his bed. 

He wanted the redhead, yet he knew he was not ready to offer for her. His mother's words weighed heavily on him. When he turned to instruct Tulay, he almost cursed his mother again for her meddling. He knew that Merit had sent the woman to him.

Hera stood patiently as he took in her adorned figure. She'd obviously been led to believe that he had called for her. The scent of the most extravagant of all his oils wafted gently to him. His breath became lodged in his throat as she waited for him to speak. 

The gold chains she wore, as well as the slave woman's bracelets, only added to what he had already known to be exquisite. He angled his head slightly to the left, as he approached his feminine adversary. His mother, he would deal with later, the redhead before him was expecting something from him -- something he wasn't ready to give. 

"Hera, you do me a great honor in presenting yourself to me, but my mother has called you, not I," Ulvi admitted, deciding it was better to just be honest with the Englishwoman. She was, after all, formally educated and most likely to read a falsehood before it was finished spilling from a liar's lips. 

He instantly saw the shock on her face, followed by the warm blush that showed her horror at the circumstances she was now in. 

She cleared her throat. "My apologies, Master. Mistress Merit came to Tulay and I. She told us I was to be prepared for you. I will take my leave of you," she told him, turned and stepped up to the door. 

The gold caught the light and once more Ulvi's eyes were drawn to her delectable form. His cock jerked and poised itself as if it could claim her without Ulvi's compliance. 

"I have not given you leave," he softly whispered. 

Hera stopped and waited. She kept her back to him, but felt him closing the distance between them. Her chest rose and fell in fear. One of his fingers skated up her spine. Her lower lip trembled as sparks shot out from each vertebra and danced along her veins. 

"You have changed much, haven't you?" he asked. His hand moved to her hair; he ran his fingers through it. "You seem to have accepted your place here, yet I know from your heritage you find it difficult, don't you? The idea of sharing me with others -- or simply being with me at all - which alone disgusts you more?" 

She turned to stare at him. Their eyes met; she saw the question in his gaze. 

"Not at all," she told him.

"Not at all -- to what? The idea of sharing, or your disgust for me?" he asked. 

"To both," she answered. "I will not be little you Master. You have never disgusted me, not truly. It was this place; this life you offered that I felt was beneath me." 

"And now -now you see yourself on the same level as those you once deemed unworthy?" 

Hera softly laughed. "No, I am beneath them, Master. The women in your harem honor me, simply by allowing me to breathe. I have not been kind to them. Tulay, has guided me and shown me how much of this life there is to embrace. She is a worthy young woman, one that has you and your house in your best interests. She would do anything, and has done all she can to make sure that you have ladies that are docile when needed. She even helped me in preparing myself for you and you should know that she lives only to serve you and..." 

He lifted his hand to stop her praises. 

She blushed, lowered her head and waited for him to speak. 

"Tulay is a very good woman, and if she does all these things then I have not rewarded her properly. I will see to that in the morning. Are you truly here because you wish to be, or because my mother took it upon herself to place you here?" 

He saw her hesitate and knew the answer. Ulvi closed his eyes and walked away. "You are dismissed, send me Tulay and..." 

"No." 

Ulvi turned. 

"Master, I may have been brought here under false pretenses, but I do not wish to leave. Tulay has worked hard and to disappoint her would...," she lowered her gaze, "...to be with you would be an honor, and not for Tulay, but for me." 

He eyed her cautiously. 

"I have wanted to lay with you for several weeks and when your Mother called for me, I was scared and afraid, not because I feared your bed, but because I feared you would find me lacking," she admitted. 

Ulvi walked over, cupped her chin and lifted her gaze to his. "I purchased you because you lack nothing." The pad of his thumb rubbed over her lips. They parted easily and he slipped his thick digit inside. 

She licked the tip, and sucked on the warm flesh. 

"I have wanted you from the first moment, and laid down several coins to bring you into my bed; you collapse from exhaustion and then spurn me. Now you stand here say I am want you want? My way of life, you now embrace?" 

He drew his thumb out and ran the back of his hand over her cheek. His fingers caressed her flesh and followed the curve of her neck. 

"Yes," she answered, seconds before his mouth settled on hers. 

Ulvi tilted her head back so he could dive deeper into the recesses of her mouth. Her tongue tangled with his, as if a dam had been released and he was the source of freedom. He brought one hand around her waist and pulled her closer; the other remained at the back of her head where he could keep her tethered to his lips. 

The kiss seemed to last an eternity. Their tongues twisted and swiped at each other. He bit on her lower lip, and then dove in for another hungry taste. She beckoned him with whimpers of encouragement, while her hands moved to release the tie of his robe. 

He allowed her to free the sash and part the silk material. Her fingers wrapped around his cock, while their mouths began to explore one another's necks and shoulders. 

Hera forgot everything that Tulay taught her and told her. She reacted on instinct and personal need. As she tasted the pulse of his throat, she stroked the hard tool of his sex. He groaned in appreciation, and pushed her back against the chamber wall. 

She felt the bite of the gold as it became pressed between her ass and the dried clay, but the friction only added to her growing desire. She shoved back, welcoming the battle of strength. 

Ulvi reached down and lifted her up. He would apologize later for making her first time with him so rough. The need to possess her and to feel her wrapped around his cock was too much. 

Hera did not question, or hesitate. She wrapped her legs around his hips, felt the softness of his robe under her calves and thighs, and locked herself tighter around him. 

"Take me into you," he told her. 

She reached between them and drew his cock down her slit. The moisture pooled over his dickhead and slid down his shaft. She purred in delight as she felt the rod separate her labia. When the spongy head reached the opening to her pussy, Ulvi took over. 

A solid upward thrust, copulated with him dropping her down onto his stiffened shaft, forced a cry of pleasure to rise up from Hera's chest. She called his name. He held her for a moment, relishing the feel of her tight entrance. He knew she was not a virgin and would not need to be handled with care -- not this first time. 

Ulvi acted like a man who had been on the verge of starvation and Hera was his only source of nourishment. He lifted her up and forced her back down, over and over he used her. The wall became her bed, and his cock the tool that kept her from falling to the floor. 

She grabbed him tight with her legs and arms. The teeth of the golden clamps, on her nipples, bit into her flesh. Her mouth found his and again their tongues dueled. When her body began to grow tighter around him, clamping his member as deep as it could, Ulvi knew she would explode on his manhood. He pumped faster, wanting to feel her release before he offered his. 

When the hot splash of liquid silk cascaded over his cock, Ulvi's seed shot from his balls and up his shaft like a geyser of milky cream. Their juices mingled together; he pumped another volley of fluid into her womb and held her as the final shuddering of her own climax rolled through her. 




Kismet Ch. 12



Sayyid al-Rahaman looked up from his Qur'an as two women walked into his shop. One was pale skinned, the other a Nubian. They were unveiled and wore Shervani's robes not burquas. They walked with heads held high and a confident gait, quite unlike the women of the village.

"You are Sayyid the Garment Maker?" The Nubian said haughtily.

"I am he. What do you wish this fine morning?"

"We wish to examine your wares," the pale woman replied. "We are in need of clothing. Our traveling companions are distressed by our preference for nudity."

"Look Afsoon," Farisa said, holding up a red silk vest, "This would go well with your complexion."

"And this one with yours," she replied, lifting a similar garment brocaded in gold and silver threads.

They lay the items on the counter and roamed around the shop, picking a pair of pantaloons here, a leather belt there, laughing and chattering happily. Finally settling on two pair of low cut boots each, they put them on top of the pile of clothing and the Nubian said, "How much for the lot?"

"Would your husband's not be displeased if you did not ask them if you may purchase these ..." Sayyid began, when Afsoon interrupted him.

"We have no husbands. We are free women and pay our own way." She reached inside her robe and dropped a heavy purse before the startled merchant. "Now, as my companion said, how much for the lot."

Hearing the clink of coin, Sayyid's manner changed abruptly from undisguised disapproval at their demeanor to an obsequious "A thousand pardons, madam. I shall determine the cost immediately."

"Shall we try some of these on?" Farisa said, patting the pile of clothing.

"Let's," Afsoon replied. "We shall change over here, Sayyid."

"As you wish ..." He began and gasped in horror. The women had shed their robes and were naked except for wide belts at their waists that held wickedly shining scimitars. Laying the weapons on the floor they began trying on outfits, laughing and talking among themselves.

Sayyid frowned, this was most unseemly and against the Prophet's teachings that women should display themselves in such a wanton manner, but they had coins with which to pay and their voluptuous figures were a joy to behold. He began tallying the costs, humming happily.

***

Suitably dressed, the women joined Hamad al-Assad at the stables where he and his men were preparing to continue their patrol. He greeted them warmly "Such finery, ladies, most regal indeed. Where are you bound from here?"

"That is what we wish to discuss with you," Afsoon said. "When your patrol is over you are returning to the Sultan's palace are you not?"

"Yes, we are a six day ride from there. Why?"

"We wish to accompany you," Farisa said. "We are capable of defending ourselves as you know and we will not interfere with your regular duties."

"I am not sure it is allowed," Hamad replied, "The Black Legion rides alone." He thought for a moment, and then said "However we are in your debt for helping us defeat those bandits. I suppose it will be permissible under the circumstances."

Afsoon and Farisa smiled and began saddling their horses.

***

"Look," the Legionnaire known as Da'wud shouted, "Vultures circling, such a great number means many dead things. Should we investigate, Captain?"

"It would be wise," was the reply. "Bandits may have waylaid another caravan." They galloped off in the direction of the spiraling black birds and topping a dune a strange sight greeted their eyes.

A peculiar looking contrivance stood in the lee of the dunes, a thin veil of smoke rising from it. Several corpses were lying around the thing and, as the Legionnaires and the women rode closer, vultures indignantly flapped away from their feast. The corpses had been stripped and mutilated; all were male, fair skinned with brown or red hair. Various packs, water skins, clothing and other items were scattered about on the sand which still bore the imprint of many horse's hooves.

"They must have been riding in that metal carriage," Afsoon said. "They dismounted for some reason and were surprised by bandits. I imagine they had no time to defend themselves."

"If they did have weapons, the bandits took them," Hamad added. "Haasim, Ehan, Basharr, Ghalib, bury these men; the rest of you keep watch, I intend to examine this carriage in which they were riding." Afsoon and Farisa, equally curious, dismounted and went with him.

The machine squatted upon eight wide wheels rimmed with a heavily grooved black substance six inches thick. It's metal body was rectangular with sharp corners; various apertures studded it's surface with a set of doors in the rear and partially shuttered windows in the front.

A round tower sat atop the car; protruding from it was what appeared to be a weapon consisting of several rifle barrels arranged in a circle bound with iron bands; an open hatch on the top allowed access within. It was all very intriguing.

Hamad vaulted nimbly onto one wheel, then reached the top of the gun turret and disappeared inside. Farisa had opened the unlocked doors in the rear of the vehicle and called "Afsoon, here is the things beating heart."

The women saw a compact steam engine idling with a soft 'Tuftuftuftuf' surrounded by piping, cooling vanes and two large tanks containing volatile mixtures of coal gas and alcohol under pressure producing superheated steam that drove the motors pistons; the cooled vapors then being returned to the mixing chamber for reuse.

Afsoon reached out tentatively to touch the motor, only to withdraw her hand quickly as a pressure valve released excess steam with a loud hiss. "It does not like being touched," Farisa said with a chuckle when a raucous 'Pockpockpockpockpock' split the air and they both jumped away from the steam car.

"It is a quick firing gun powered by steam," Hamad cried excitedly, emerging from the turret. "The barrels fire and rotate loading and ejecting rifle cartridges from a drum mounted on top. This minaret turns easily so the gun may be brought to bear in any direction." He climbed down then jumped to the sand saying "We must bring this carriage to the Sultan."

"How shall we do that, Captain?" said a trooper named Taj. "Our horses cannot pull that sort of load, even if it is on wheels."

"It can move itself," Afsoon replied. "If the men who rode in it can do it, then I shall."

"This is no job for a woman ..." Hamad began, and then stopped when the women glared at him, "Very well, see what you can do, Afsoon."

She walked around the vehicle until she found an entry hatch, opened it and crawled inside. It was hot and stuffy and the reek of heated metal and fuel assailed her nostrils. Farisa appeared at the hatch saying "Pfaugh! What smells so foul? The stench of a dead camel is that of a desert lily compared to this."

"It is the smell of machinery," Afsoon replied. "When I was a girl, I witnessed the passage of a road locomotive built by a man named Trevithick down Highgate Street in London. It was noisier than this conveyance, but there was a similar odor. It frightened the horses. I am going to see how this thing is controlled."

She crouched down and made her way to the front, Farisa following, unnerved by the stuffy interior and the odors, but staying with Afsoon; where one went, so went the other. 

Light shone dimly between the windscreen louvers and viewing slits as the women seated themselves in thickly padded chairs, each facing an array of knobs, levers, and cranks and, on the floor, wide, flat pedals. Afsoon gingerly advanced a floor mounted lever to her left and the engine noise became louder, pulling back on it made the engine quiet again. Farisa tried the lever on her right with the same effect.

Afsoon then moved a lever protruding from a rectangular iron box on the floor and the steam car hissed, lurched and rolled forward. She pulled the lever back and the car halted. Hamid had regained his perch in the gun turret and shouted "It can move on it's own. Can you control it Afsoon?"

"Farisa and I will try," was the response. After many jerky starts with the engine hissing in annoyance, the women were able to advance the car smoothly, determining the floor pedals controlled the direction of travel by turning the forward sets of wheels to the left or right. A compass mounted on the control panel showed them true north and Hamid decided traveling to the east would take them to the sultan's palace.

The car rumbled and lurched, gaining speed over over the uneven terrain, it's massive wheels grinding in the sand. Hamid's troopers followed along behind, muttering among themselves. Hamid waved from the turret giving shouts of encouragement and their apprehension was soon replaced by curiosity as to what the monster was capable of in a battle.

They would soon find out.

***

Sent ahead to scout for possible ambushes, Trooper Basharr came over a dune at the gallop, reined in by the steam car and shouted "Captain! A large band of riders in Shervani's robes and carrying rifles are headed this way. Their robes bear no colors or markings so I cannot identify the tribe."

"Alert the others to prepare for combat," Hamid shouted back. "This may be the band that killed the former owners of this steam car returning to claim their spoils. If they bear no clan markings, they may very well be more of that pig Risay's rabble out for plunder; either way we will fight," he patted the Gatling Gun, "And this may even the odds."

***

When the first wave of the mysterious riders surged over a dune they saw the steam car sitting immobile, seemingly abandoned. They rode carefully toward it, then raised their rifles and fired; the volley of lead ricocheting from the steel plating. When there was no return fire, a rider wheeled, galloped back over the dune and in a few moments the rest of the raiding party joined them.

"Let them get closer," Hamid said to the women. "I will try to kill as many as I can with the gun, then the men will begin shooting from their hiding places. This rabble may turn and run or if they decide to fight, we'll charge them in the car and force them to scatter so the men can pick them off."

With a triumphant roar, the bandits charged toward the steam car and into a hail of leaden death as Hamid opened fire. Their shouts turned to screams as men, horses and camels jerked and fell pierced by the lethal projectiles. The first ranks were speedily decimated by bursts from the Gatling Gun as Hamid's troopers began firing; picking off individual riders sowing further confusion in the attackers. Attempting to rally those remaining, their leaders shouted and cursed at them to charge the enemy when the steam car lunged forward, wheels churning, motor hissing like a gigantic snake.

Some of the riders and their mounts were instantly crushed under the massive wheels, while the others fired wildly at the monster in their midst, the bullets rattling on the steel plate as hail on a metal roof. Hamid continued firing the gun until he was struck in the shoulder and fell into the car.

Farisa jumped from her seat to help him while Afsoon continued their assault, grimly driving over whoever stood in her way, the hail of bullets a constant din in her ears. "I think my arm is broken," Hamid groaned, "See if you can fire the gun Farisa or we shall be overwhelmed."

Quick as a striking cobra, she was at the gun, found the trigger and sent a burst of slugs at a group of men firing at the car sending them sprawling. Then the gun's firing mechanism clicked uselessly; out of ammunition.  

Farisa yanked the empty drum from atop the gun as she saw a man jump from his horse onto the steam car, scimitar in hand. She threw the empty drum at him striking him in the face. He lost his balance and fell screaming under the wheels.

Afsoon swerved again and again, the car lurching from side to side, breaking up the clusters of men still firing at them, crushing those slow to react and putting the others to flight. Hamid's men kept up a withering fire from their concealment as the dwindling ranks of the raiders began to lose their nerve and retreat.

Farisa pulled another drum of cartridges from it's fastenings on the turrets side, fitted it to the gun and began firing again, killing the remaining bandits still fighting, and then sent a burst after the fleeing survivors. The battle was over.

Farisa and two legionnaires lifted Hamid from the turret to examine his wound as Afsoon arose stiffly from the driver's seat. Begrimed with soot and grease, her hands blistered from the control levers, she climbed down from the steam car and surveyed the carnage she and the others had wrought. It still made her sick at heart to see the ripped and bleeding corpses of the men and their mounts, but she was strangely calm unlike the last time when she thought she would faint.

An arm fell across her shoulders and Farisa was beside her, sweat gleaming on her ebony skin, her face solemn. "So much death, my love," Afsoon said sadly, "Why is there always so much death?"

"It is the way of things, my flower," Farisa replied. "In this world there are goats and there are lions. Some remain goats and hope they will not be eaten, others become lions; some to protect the goats and others to prey upon them. We were once goats in that evil man's harem, now the fates have made us lions."

Afsoon hugged her and they kissed, thankful for their lives and that they were together and in love.

***

Two days of traveling brought them to a village of some size situated at an oasis. Afsoon and Farisa plunged happily into the bathing pool, swam about then washed each other with perfumed soaps purchased at the village market. They changed into clean garments from their bulging packs and strolled about the town amid the bustle of its inhabitants.

Hamid met them in the town square, his arm in a sling. Fortunately, the slug had only grazed his right humerus so it was a clean wound and would heal with no trouble. The three had coffee and pastries at a street side café, and then returned to their camp where the steam car was being guarded by the Legionnaires.

While Hamid talked with his men, Afsoon drew Farisa aside and said "What would you say to our giving our handsome commander a special thank you for all he has done for us?"

Farisa's eyes twinkled and she grinned "We are truly blood sisters as I have been thinking the same thing. We could pleasure each other as well."

"It would be exciting to bed a man because we chose to instead of being forced," Afsoon replied. "We shall approach him at night fall and take him down by the bathing pool. No one will be there at that hour and we can enjoy ourselves."

"I am already anticipating it," Farisa said, licking her lips.

***

Hamid was intrigued when Afsoon and Farisa asked him to accompany them to the bathing pool. They spread rugs on the sand, shed their robes standing naked before him, and then began removing his clothing. They eased him back on the blankets and began to kiss and caress him, sucking on his engorging cock until he was half crazed with lust.

Afsoon lowered herself slowly onto his rigid manhood, sighing as he filled her tight cunt. Farisa knelt over his face, lowering her juicy pussy to his wiggling tongue, moaning happily. They leaned toward each other and began rubbing their partner's clit.  

Hamid was sure he had died and was in paradise as the women drove him to heights of passion he had never before experienced until he finally exploded ropes of sticky cum deep in Afsoon's gripping pussy as she wailed in exquisite release. Farisa came on his face with a scream of joy, flooding his mouth with her warm, feminine juices that he swallowed eagerly.

They rested, then Hamid took Farisa from behind while she devoured Afsoon's gooey cunt. His cock thrust to the hilt into her tight pussy as she trembled with pleasure, greedily licking Afsoon's soaked labia as she writhed and moaned, gripping her lover's hair and smashing her crotch against her busy mouth. After they had cum and rested again, they reversed positions and Afsoon ate Farisa out while Hamid fucked her.

Too tired to participate any longer, Hamid watched as the women pleasured each other in a languorous 69, squealing as they ejaculated in the others mouth. They washed the sweat and cum from their bodies in the cool water, and then returned to the camp for some much needed sleep. They had many miles to travel in the morning.

***

High in the clouds, the HRMAS 'Indefatigable' was tracking the progress of Afsoon and the others as they made their way across the desert. Their interest being the steam car and where was it going.

Air Commodore Heywood Barnes-Wallis paced angrily around the dirigibles control room, puffing angrily on a Meerschaum pipe. "I warned that damfool Braxton he shouldn't test that contraption of his so close to the Sultan's territory, but would he listen to me? No! 'Just let us down here, we'll be fine', he said. Bollocks! That's a contingent of Al-Barbakh's Black Watch Squadron escorting that War Car. They must have overpowered Braxton and his men somehow. We'll never even find their bodies under that confounded sand to give them a decent Christian burial."

"Why don't we bomb them?" said Flight Lieutenant MacNulty from his station at the navigation table.

"I thought of that, but then the engineering boffins at HQ would be screaming bloody murder because I smashed their toy. That's the only model you know and only Braxton knew all of its in's and out's. Since he's probably dead, they'll need it to disassemble it so they can determine how to build more." He picked up a speaking tube and said "How much fuel remaining, Jepson?"

Flight Engineer Jepson scanned the gauges on the bulkhead that separated the steam engines from the crew in the aft gondola and replied "Enough for three more days of flight, sir. Four if we go to half power, then feather the propellers and glide periodically, but it's going to be shaving it pretty thin, especially if we run into heavy weather."

"Very well, carry on," Barnes-Wallis said, placing the speaking tube on a hook, "We'll shadow the car for as long as we can and in the meantime we'll send for a relief craft. We must keep track of it until it reaches its destination. Let HQ decide what to do then."

***

Afsoon, Farisa, Hamid and the legionnaires rolled unconcernedly on through the desert toward the Sultans palace, unaware they were being watched through powerful spyglasses from on high.

End. 



Kismet Ch. 13



In a barn outside the capitol, the Sultan Azlan watched intently as the head of the Guild of Weaponeers crawled over the War Car. The man alternately chuckled and hissed between his teeth as he sketched parts, turning assemblies this way and that for several hours. Finally he descended from the vehicle and bowed deeply.

"Majesty, this is a remarkable device and I deeply regret to advise you that there is no one in all of Azerbaidistan who could possible repair and maintain, let alone build such a thing. Obviously, as the Black Squadrons demonstrated, it can be operated but once something breaks down, and as with all machinery something will, it would be useless. However, I do have good news. If we disconnect it from the steam pipe that powers it, the rapid fire gun on top will be easy to make!"

The sultan smiled, his brows knit in calculation. "Then, Master Habib, we could mount them on light artillery carriages and draw them with horses?"

"Indeed, my Liege. It would greatly increase the firepower of our forces. Give the Guild a week to properly design the carriages and caissons and our cavalry and dragoons should be able to sweep any enemy from the field of battle like beetles from the barn floor."

Azlan's grin broadened, showing white teeth against his sun-darkened face. "Then do so at once! My Vizier will stall the British ambassador long enough for you to copy and replace the gun before we hand the car back to them. And so we will kill two birds with one arrow. Our military will be stronger and our relationship with the English will be warmer. Having so mighty a sea power as an ally will be very helpful, now that we have the Georgian port cities, at least until we can develop a coastal fleet of our own. And since border clashes with the Ottoman slime are inevitable, it will be well to have so fearsome a weapon deployed at the earliest opportunity. Well done, Master Habib, very well done, indeed."

Outside the barn in the shade of a large tent, Afsoon and Fasira reclined on pillows and sipped tea. Their vests and pantaloons had been exchanged for caftans more suited to women of the court but their scimitars still hung from bandoleers over their shoulders. The weapons, though, did not give them great confidence. Four dragoons from the Black Squadrons sat at the corners of the pavilion. Though they chatted cordially with the women, Afsoon noticed that the men bristled with revolvers as well as their swords and kept carefully out of range of attack, should the women be so foolish as to try one. Obviously they were on guard but whether they were guarding the woman from outsiders or outsiders from the women was impossible to tell.

When the sun reached its apogee, a change of guard appeared and with them servants bearing sashlik and fresh fruit. Afsoon and Farisa shrugged. There was no point in going hungry and since it was unlikely that they would be allowed to go looking for something to eat, they accepted the meal and set to it.

They had just finished the halva when two men approached them from the barn. One could only be the sultan. No other man in Azerbaidistan walked as though he owned the land around him and wore the landscape like a cloak. The other seemed unworthy of notice. The guards rose to their feet with serpentine grace and bowed. With only a moment's hesitation, Afsoon and Farisa rose to one knee and bowed their heads. The man's projected personality required it.

Azlan stood before the two of them and placed a hand gently on each head. "Rise, daughters."

Farisa stammered, "D—daughters?"

"Indeed, young Nubian, one who campaigned so bravely with my own daughter can only be her sister." He took them by the hand and helped them to their feet and led them back to the barn. Silently he walked them around the War Car to where Captain Al-Hassad stood patiently at attention.

"Captain, tell me again the whole story of how you acquired this amazing device."

The captain repeated how the women had rescued his outnumbered patrol, how they all came across the War Car and its slaughtered crew and then how they led the charge from inside the War Car so that the brigands were scattered like straws before a storm. The sultan listened without a word until he completed his tale.

"Captain, the Dragoon's Deputy Commander lost his life in the final assault on Poti. I would promote your battalion commander to replace him but have been unable to decide who to take that position. I now know, Major Al-Hassad, who has the right combination of daring and initiative. Well done." He turned to the two young women, "And as for my daughters, my valiant, valiant daughters, how am I to respond to what you have accomplished?"

Afsoon and Fasira shared a glance, "We would join the Black Squadron, Father. Let us join with those who protect you and further your empire."

Azlan guffawed. "And no doubt you hope for positions on the Major's staff? Word has come to me of the attraction the three of you have for each other. However, I must refuse. Though the Black Squadrons are warriors above warriors they can, when necessary, be replaced. What you two may be capable of, cannot. Mahmood!"

The non-descript man standing behind the sultan stepped forward. Afsoon gave him a puzzled glance and then froze when as she looked him in the eye. Never in her life had so many layers of person looked out without revealing the innermost layer.

The sultan continued, "It is a father's duty to find suitable husbands for his daughters. It may take time to find such men so for the present I am sending you to the harim of Director Al-Bezier."

Director Al-Bezier? The head of the Secret Service all of Azerbaidistan wanted to know as little about as possible for fear of attracting its attention? "Father, no! We have just only escaped from the clutches of that swine of a general Risay. Surely you will not send us back into that life again?"

Afsoon tore her eyes away from Mahmood's and looked at her father's. He, too, seemed to be a man of layers. The outside was the sultan, ruler of all he could see but beneath that was a father, a proud one. But at the core was resolve.

"Daughter, know this. You are of royal blood. Others believe this means a life of power and privilege. It does not. We who rule are born for the kingdom, live for the kingdom and too often die for the kingdom. The kingdom is everything. What we want for ourselves is meaningless; there is only duty. I send you with Al-Bezier for two reasons. He is my subtlest and most cunning of servants and has much to teach you. Also, he is beyond my most trusted servant, beyond any brother and as such is the only man on the planet I would entrust you to. Go with him. Learn. The kingdom will eventually have need of your bodies and what they can do but more importantly it will need your brains. Go."

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"What of Mother? Where . . .??

Azlan's face broke into a benevolent smile. "Afsoon, your mother is safe, now. She has healed from her injuries and lives safely and comfortably in the household of a valiant and upright commander. No one can harm her there and I will send word to her that you, too, are now safe. Now go with the Director. His household expects you."

*****

In a discrete office in London, an imposing man sat behind an imposing desk reading and re-reading a telegraphed report while endlessly shaking his head. "Sherlock, who was it that said somethin' about genius being related to insanity?"

His younger brother took the pipe from his mouth, "Seneca, I believe. Something about there is no genius without a touch of madness?"

"Hmpf! Well, in Braxton's case it was more likely a large touch of stupidity! Imagine—droppin' the Empire's most advanced land war system on the ground of a foreign power where it could be snapped up like—like some beetle a hungry duck was after. What was he thinkin'?"

"Nothing, now, Mycroft. Air Commodore Barnes-Wallis believes that the Azerbaidistanis attacked and slaughtered the crew and drove off with the War Car. I have my doubts. The Sultan Azlan is a cagey one and I cannot see him deliberately offending the Empire over one vehicle he cannot use."

"Quite so. And just the rotten luck that Ambassador Fitzhugh is on holiday in the Western Ghats leavin' that muttonhead Cadwallader-Helms to try and get it back. Barnes-Wallis called for a relief ship since he was low on coal oil. That would be the Indisputable, I imagine, but she's just as limited. We must do better. Sherlock, I'll commandeer the Aquila and a squad of Ghurka for you. Take Watson and make the best possible time there. Her compression ignition engine gives her half again the speed and twice the range of the Indisputable. You may not need to do anythin' at all, but if you can't get the War Car back, at least set it afire. The last thing we need is for old Al-Barakh to sell it to the Caliph or worse, the Prussians."

"Suggestion? Leave the Ghurkas and send Roger Merely and Mia La Touche with us, instead. A squad of Ghurkas would do nothing but die bravely against an attack by the Black Squadrons. On the other hand, Merely has this strange talent for solving problems . . ."

"Hah! And Miss La Touche would distract anyone, if she were of the mind—and she so often is! Good thought, that. But, no. The woman is too important where she is. The Ultra-Babbage is just now startin' to produce results. She's the only one who can make it work smoothly right now and we need its ability to process all the intelligence wired in from the embassies. Sorry, old chap, but you're going to have to solve this one on your own. I've no doubt you will."

*****

Fasira lay on her bed that night with Afsoon snoring softly in her arms. The Nubian girl, though, was wide awake, the day's events still spinning in her brain. A Royal Princess—by decree! It should have been any little girl's dream come true but as with everything else that went on this day, appearances were deceiving. Whether you were born to the throne or adopted by it, life turned out not to be a long series of gala parties, handsome suitors and having every whim catered to. Princesses had jobs. It was a surprising turn of events. She was grateful that hers was not to marry some spavined geezer the sultan needed an alliance with. Afsoon's tale of her mother's misfortune with Queen Mada clearly showed that happy royal marriages were rare and that queens took their pleasures where they might—and it was seldom in the king's bedroom!

And this Director Al-Bezier—again appearances deceived. After the sultan dismissed them a carriage rolled up. No banners flew from staffs on the corners, nor was there any gold leaf or bright work. Though the inside was luxurious the face it displayed to the world was plain to the point of boredom. And the coachman and footman—whereas the Royal Dragoons displayed their martial prowess with a swagger, these men were silent and blandly garbed in robes of khaki tan. The Al-Bezier nodded to them curtly and once the three of them were aboard and the doors closed, the carriage went immediately to the rear gates of the Royal Palace.

Mahmood and the women disembarked and entered through gates that were guarded by the same sort of men as drove the carriage. Afsoon had swallowed hard and whispered to Fasira, "These are The Clerks. They are the Director's eyes and ears and, when necessary the hands that hold garrotes and daggers. Pretend you don't see them. With luck, they will have no reason to see you!" 

They padded down a long corridor and went through an unadorned doorway and when the door shut behind them, the world changed again. Six children, from toddler to medium sized rushed out and swarmed all over the Director. To the young women's amazement, the man swept them up in his arms and tossed the littlest high in the air, sending her shrieking with giggles. He herded the mob to an alcove and sat down to listen as they recounted all that they had learned or done during the day.

Two women in their thirties, one heavily pregnant, with their arms intimately wrapped around each other, sat down to watch the amazing scene while an older one took Afsoon and Fasira by the hand and led them deeper into the harim of Al-Bezier.

"Welcome. I am Zaafira, senior wife to the Al-Bezier. Come with me and I will show you your quarters and the way to the baths. When you are clean and comfortable once more, we will talk. I'm sure you have many, many questions."

Clean and reclothed in light linen, the two younger women did indeed have questions.

"Are we to wed the Al-Bezier?"

"Only if you choose. Our husband is only what he seems outside the harim. Here he is who he is, fond husband and loving father. Only a tiny handful of men know this, the sultan, of course, among them. That is why there are no men's rooms here. When our husband is outside the doors he is at work, whatever the hour, whatever the time. He does not entertain nor socialize over coffee and he never, ever smokes anything. It is the price of genius.

But within our walls he can take comfort and his ease. We ensure that. He sleeps with each of us in turn and should you choose to join in, he will surprise you with his vigor. If not, we will see that he is kept satisfied just as we do now. We have been told you take pleasure in each other and if you wish to stay together, so be it. If you wish to dally with Nadira and Hadiya, our husband and I will watch—for a while. The sight of so much lovely flesh disporting itself on the pillows and rugs will ignite him and I will then be too busy to pay attention to you. 

But marriage is not why you are here. It is the sultan's command that you learn all the ways of our husband's Clerks and many other skills besides. Though it pained you, part of what you need to know, Risay has already taught you. The rest you will develop here. Then, when the time is right, our husband will send you like a dagger to the most vulnerable parts of our enemies."

Fasira's white teeth gleamed against her dark skin. "We are to be assassins?"

"Only when necessary. Mostly you will spy. It is the sultan's belief that too little has been made of women's wiles in the service of the kingdom. You two are the first echelon. If you are as successful as we all believe, others will follow and in time you can retire to enjoy the large fortune Hera's husband left Afsoon—and the caresses of the handsome Al-Hassad should you so choose. The evening meal will be served in an hour. Rest until then."

Lying in the dark, memories still churning though her head, Fasira finally fell asleep.

*****

Deputy Head of Mission Cadwallader-Helms straightened his shoulders and clenched his jaw. The letter he was carrying to the Grand Vizier of Azerbaidistan had been very carefully written to be both tactful and unwavering. The War Car must be returned to British hands at once while maintaining good relations with the Sultanate. Ambassador Fitzhugh should have been the one to deliver it but with him out of the country it was up to his Deputy to carry out what could be a very unpleasant interview. He strode forward to where the kingdom's chief executive sat calmly smoking his hookah, ready to put on a very stern face to deal with the man. Instead, to his surprise, the Vizier put aside the mouthpiece and rose to his feet, worry and concern painted broadly across his face.

"Deputy Cadwallader-Helms, the sultan has directed me to express his deepest condolences for the loss of poor Professor Braxton and his men. He wants me to assure you that the brigands who perpetrated this foul deed will be swiftly brought to justice and publicly executed as decreed by Q'ranic law. It is a terrible embarrassment to Azerbaidistan that so heinous a crime should have taken place on our soil and I have been directed to do everything possible to assist you."

The Deputy goggled. At a loss for words, he could only mumble his thanks as the Vizier continued, "As it happens, the officer who discovered the tragedy is in the capitol right now. I will have him lead you with a squad of escorts to the site where they buried the unfortunate professor. It is a six day ride from here and by the time you return we will have your device shrouded, packed and ready for shipment by rail to our newly incorporated territory of Georgia. Her Majesty's fleet can then transport it and the remains home from Batumi."

In the dark behind a screen Afsoon, Fasira and Mahmood listened in silence to the interchange until Afsoon, unable to contain herself any longer whispered softly into the Director's ear, "Does the Vizier actually believe what he's saying?"

Mahmood gave a dry chuckle. "Perhaps, but what is more important, does the Englishman believe it? If so, Master Habib will have plenty of time to completely disassemble the Gatling gun, make a duplicate, try it out and then remount the original invisibly on the War Car while the Guild of Weaponeers manufacturers more of them. They may even come up with improvements."

Afsoon shook her head in amazement. Politics. When she was simply the pampered child of an expatriate English baron, living on the Indian frontier she thought that the rajahs lives consisted of parties and hunts. Now that she was a princess of the blood things had turned out to be more complicated. My half brother will become the next sultan and I, I am sure, am being groomed to be his Director. Will one of my sisters marry the King of the Kazakhs? And what of the Ottomans, how will they play out in this Great Game?

The following morning, well before first light, both Afsoon and Fasira were escorted to the roof of the palace. There they met Clerk Ben-Ali who produced three practice scimitars and handed them each one. 

"Major Al-Hasaad reports that you are skilled sword fighters. Show me." He raised his weapon and stood relaxed as both young women rushed in to attack. 

Ten exhausting minutes later, their pantaloons and tunics soaked with sweat, Afsoon and Fasira stood back panting for breath as Ben-Ali nodded judiciously.

"You do well. In perhaps six months time you would become expert, provided I could work you each morning. However, that is not what we are here for." He took back the practice swords and replaced them in their case. "As useful as a scimitar is on the plains and in the mountains, down the city streets and in the halls of the palace and the Kasbahs you will have more use for this." There was a flicker of gleaming metal and a long stiletto appeared in his hand. "One reason the Clerks all wear loose clothing is that it permits the concealment of so much. The Director has arranged for you to wear our garb while you train, at least until you are ready to train naked. The Weaponeers have yet to perfect a dagger sheath you can wear in your hair but I have no doubt that they will. Now, we will begin the way of the assassin."

*****

Six weeks later the head of British Secret Service paced back and forth in front of a large map of the eastern Black Sea. He shook his head and scowled as he spoke. 

"Muttonhead, I called him? Far too generous. Any sheep would have realized what was up. Yes, yes, gettin' Braxton's remains back was a good show and the Azerbaidistanis were good as their word. The War Car was sent back apparently untouched."

"I like that word, 'apparently', Mycroft. But they had twelve days to look it over and now we know result. It shows brilliance, really. Mounting Gatling guns on light caissons and deploying them with the flying columns of the Black Squadrons. A few more campaigns like the most recent and Ottoman Hyrcania will be part of Azerbaidistan. It's well that Braxton's secrets of that steam design died with him."

Mycroft snorted. "As if it mattered! Sherlock, that steam engine design was too delicate and finicky for combat. But now, with Bohun and Merely producin' their engine in quantity, the blasted Azerbaidistanis can just buy one and put it into a copy of the War Car. The next thing you know, Istanbul will be peerin' down from the top of their walls at a fleet of steel."




Kismet Ch. 13



"You say that as though you think it bad. Whitehall generally favors the Sultan over the Caliph so I cannot say that I grieve too deeply. Now of course if we and the Sultan had a falling out . . . ."

"True. He seems to be an enlightened sort, for an Eastern despot. Ruthless to the fingertips, of course, but treats his subjects well and doesn't squander the national treasure on fancyin' up his palace. I see he just bought three more locomotives from Birmingham. Perhaps this will turn out for the best."

As about the same time the Sultan Azlan again sat comfortably in his chair. Queen Mada stood to his left, her right hand resting possessively on his shoulder. The welts across her buttocks and thighs had all healed and it was good to once again be in her husband's favor though it was embarrassing to have her bottom fondled in the presence of another man.

"So, Mahmood, tell me about my experiment."

The Director's mouth twitched up at the corners. "As you suspected, Afsoon has thrown herself into her studies. She is already expert with a dagger and knows the more common poisons and their administration well. As far as her usefulness in intelligence, I will simply say that when the time comes for the Crown Prince to take the throne, she will already have replaced me and the Service will continue to run like the well-oiled machine it has become."

"And the young Nubian?"

"Fasira strives to do well, my Liege, but though she is intelligent and adaptable, she is handicapped in two areas. First, she only speaks Farsi and her own language. That restricts her to members of the court and diplomats from the upper Nile. Afsoon, on the other hand, speaks Farsi, English, French and classical Arabic. She will be able to milk the brains of any ambassador we turn her loose on.

Fasira also lacks the temperament for spying. She is fierce, direct and straightforward. She could be a good assassin or a good soldier but not a good spy."

The sultan nodded as he ran his left hand up and down the inside of his wife's thigh, "She would make a good soldier or possibly a good wife for a soldier and mother of soldiers, perhaps?"

Mahmood bowed slightly in agreement. "I have had similar thoughts. The mutual attraction between her and Major Al-Hassad is obvious, and he certainly deserves a significant reward after his campaign down along the Hyrcanian border. The Ottomans will think three times before they attempt any further incursions."

"I agree. I have directed him to write an instructional monograph on the use of rapid fire weapons in cavalry operations. The rest of our Dragoons will need to study it and he can rest from his literary labors in her arms. A suitable match. Have you anything further to report."

"I have. The traitor Risay has secured an estate on the Black Sea Coast to the north of Istanbul. He entertains members of the Turkish General Staff there."

"Indeed," Azlan glanced up at Queen Mada who swallowed and trembled slightly, "Send a team. And in deference to my queen's sensibilities, tell them to make it fast and clean."



Kismet Ch. 14



Afsoon moved with catlike grace along the corridor of the British Embassy in Azerbaidistan, her gum rubber sandals soundless on the thick wool carpeting. She found the door to the Code Room locked, but a few deft manipulations with her lock picking tools opened it. The room stank of ozone as it also contained the wireless transmitter used to communicate with the central office in London.

She carefully opened the drawers of the desks one by one looking for the code book, then searched the radio desk and console finally finding it under a sheaf of messages marked 'Most Urgent'. The sound of footsteps sent her leaping into the shadows, relying on her skin tight hood and suit of black silk to offer concealment.

The door swung open and a man in uniform entered holding a candle. He rummaged in a desk for a moment, found what he was looking for and departed, none the wiser that Afsoon could reach out and tweak his moustache if she chose.

Slipping the code book into a pouch on her belt, she made her way back down the hall to the second story window where she had entered, opened it carefully, climbed onto the sill and slid down a rope secured to the ornate masonry with a grappling hook.

Moving quickly, she threaded her way through the embassy's back garden towards the security gate she had jimmied open earlier. "Halt! Halt or I'll shoot," said a voice from the darkness. Afsoon stopped in her tracks, not moving a muscle as a young soldier, rifle pointing at her, stepped into view.

"You are trespassing on private property. You are under arrest. Do not move or I shall ..." A stunning blow brought him to his knees and another lay him out on the ground.

"I wondered where you were," Afsoon whispered to Farisa emerging from a hedge holding a short club. "I have the code book. Let us be gone." They ran through the gate, Afsoon jamming the lock to slow pursuit, disappearing down a succession of dark alleyways, finally entering an unmarked door.

Several men in hoods and brown robes sat in a half circle about a table illuminated by an elaborately finished glass chandelier. Afsoon and Farisa stood before them and waited.

"You have the code book?" one said.

Afsoon placed it on the table.

The men passed it among themselves, flipping the pages.

"It is good. You may go," said another. The women turned on their heels and went out the door, closing it behind them.

"An excellent training exercise," said one.

"Well executed with a minimum of fuss," said another.

"I deem them ready," said another.

"I shall inform the Sultan," said another. They arose from their chairs and disappeared through a hidden door, the room going dark behind them.

***

Ghazi Kamel bin Nawwaf Risay, General of the Armies, was relaxing in bed with his most favored houri when a messenger arrived bearing a small linen pouch. Upon opening it he discovered a gold ring set with a ruby of uncommon size and quality; worth a king's ransom, no doubt. His eyes glittered.

"Such a beautiful ring," exclaimed the woman.

Risay smiled. Only his former lover Mada knew of his fondness for rubies. She had not forgotten him. One day he would rule Azlan's kingdom and she would be his once again. He slid the ring on his finger, barely feeling a pinprick on his skin.

"Is it not beautiful, Nejia?" he began, then stiffened and began shaking violently, a bloody foam forming on his lips. She ran for help and when they returned Risay lay grotesquely contorted on the floor, face frozen in a rictus of exquisitely painful death.

***

A 'clerk' bowed before the Sultan saying "The traitor is dead, sire."

"Allah's will be done," was the reply.

***

Afsoon watched with pride as her lover Farisa dueled with two members of the Black Legion, her lithe body twisting away from their cuts and thrusts, striking them each in turn with her wooden practice scimitar until the instructor called a halt.

"That is enough for today. Well done, Farisa. I must admit I had my doubts when you were selected for training in the Legion, but as usual, the Sultan was correct in his judgment."

"I am honored by your compliment, Muizz," she replied. "I shall strive to do even better in the future."

He turned to address the other combatants when Farisa saw Afsoon watching and went to her. They embraced and kissed passionately, no longer fearing to express their love in public. 

"You were magnificent, my love," Afsoon said happily, not caring that the sweat from her lovers scantily clad ebony body was staining her blouse and pantaloons of fine silk. 

"When I fight, I imagine I am fighting in your defense, my treasure," Farisa replied. "How goes your training."

"Quite well, my German is improving, I learned the art of secret writing today and tomorrow I begin the arts of inflicting silent death."

"Do you think we will be chosen to go on a mission together once again?"

"I do not know. We were certainly successful the first time. Let us go bathe and be together. I have missed you."

***

Farisa quivered and moaned as Afsoon's tongue explored the silken depths of her wet pussy. So eager for each other, they had not even dried themselves from their bath before returning to their quarters to make love. Farisa's feminine juices were as ambrosia in Afsoon's mouth as she drank deep of her lover, Farisa's ebony thighs clasping her tightly as she licked and sucked the engorged clit until her lover's scream of joy echoed in the room and her mouth was filled with warm ejaculate. 

When Afsoon was finally released from her lover's grip, she crawled up her body, Farisa licking her still warm juices from her lips and face "You bring me such pleasure, my dear one," she purred, hugging her tightly, "Let me recover my senses and I shall return the favor."

"Take me from behind, then," Afsoon replied, kneeling with her ass in the air and her head cradled in her arms on the blanket. Farisa began lavishing slow, lingering licks on her lover's pussy and asshole, carefully increasing the pace until Afsoon was shuddering and whimpering with desire, begging to be fucked.

Farisa reached for their pouch of love toys, withdrawing two leather dildos, each in the shape of a man's penis, worming one slowly into Afsoon's gooey pussy, then with drawing it and easing it into her puckered asshole. The second dildo slid easily into her pussy and she moaned in delight at being completely filled. 

Farisa fucked her lover slowly, delighting in her moans and squeals, first alternating then uniting her strokes into her, occasionally kissing and licking her firm ass cheeks, further enhancing the sensations.

"Harder, harder my love," Afsoon cried, "I'm so close. Do me!"

Farisa complied, thrusting rapidly and deep into her lover's holes until Afsoon screamed from the intensity of her orgasm and collapsed onto the blanket. Farisa cuddled her in her arms until she recovered; then they kissed and hugged, finally falling asleep with bodies entwined.

***

Engines purring at cruising speed, the HRMAS 'Goblin' soared through the skies of Azerbaidistan. It's mission; to convey a new code book to their embassy in the capitol, such was the secrecy of the new codes. The Crown's pending mutual non-aggression pact with the Sultan was in the 'Most Secret' category and the new wireless codes would maintain that secrecy.

"The guard at the embassy distinctly remembers the person he had captured being a woman," mused Richard Hedley-Smythe of MI 5 to Air Captain Reginald ffolkes as they took high tea in the forward cabin of the 'Goblin'. 

"A woman, surely not," The Captain replied. "Capering about in the dark and clubbing soldiers senseless; possibly it was a lithe young man and in the excitement of the moment he erred in his identification."

"Hardly," Hedley-Smythe chuckled, "Her bust line gave her away. Besides, he regained consciousness briefly and swears he heard a woman's voice. It is most intriguing."

"Sent you to investigate, have they?"

"That and to make sure this code book," he patted his jacket pocket, "Is kept in a secure place this time. Deuced Foreign Office types are forever underestimating the capabilities of their host's countrymen."

"Right-o! Sneaky little buggers, they are. My cousin is stationed in Rawalpindi with the 18th Royal Fusiliers and they had a houseboy that everyone trusted. It turns out the little sneak was ..."

A whistle from the speaking tube interrupted the Captain's tale.

"ffolkes here."

"Nearing the Sultan's palace Captain, how shall we proceed?"

"Put engines one, two, seven and eight into whisper mode, feather props on the other four. We'll hover as close to the Embassy roof as possible and count on the lateness of the hour and our night camouflage to keep our arrival a secret. Have gun crews four and five placed on alert in case were challenged."

"Engines in whisper mode, gun crews alerted aye-aye."

"You'll have to use the cable ladder, old man. I hope that's not a problem."

"Not at all, it's better than sliding down a rope."

***

Mada, first wife of the Sultan, dismissed the serving girl with a wave of her hand and stood alone at the palace window lost in thought, the night breeze cool on her face. So much had happened of late. It was most unsettling. First Risay had fled to the enemy camp like a whipped dog, barely leaving her enough time to cover her tracks. Then that cursed Englishwoman Hera had found favor in the eyes of that young pup and was forever beyond her clutches.

She smiled; at least the daughter of that English bitch had been made a sex slave. She wondered who owned her now that Risay had fled. A gloved hand slapped over her mouth, muffling her scream of terror. Her arms pinioned behind her, she struggled to no avail and stood trembling.

"Hearken to my words, spawn of a hyena," a voice growled in her ear and she flinched as she felt the touch of cold steel on her throat. "Cry for help and you will choke on your own blood. Do you understand?"

Mada nodded, breathing in short gasps.

"Who ... who are you?" she croaked, "Why are you here, how did you ..."

"Silence! I have brought you a message. Is the name Afsoon familiar to you?"

"Why yes, she was the daughter of my husband's second wife ..."

"Do you know where she is at this moment?"

"I know not. She disappeared months ago and we have not heard ..."

"Liar! She languished in the harem of your husband's general and was cruelly abused."

Mada began to sweat in spite of the night breeze, the blade at her throat had nicked her skin and she felt a trickle of blood on her neck.

"I ... I did not know of this I swear I ..."

"Again you lie. Your tongue is that of the Sand Adder, forked and deadly. You knew all along of the woman's fate, yet you said nothing." The vice-like grip on her wrists tightened. "You condemned an innocent woman to a life of degradation and shame and for that you must pay."

"Please, please, don't kill me," Mada babbled, shivering in terror. "Yes I knew. I knew it all. I had to do it you see. The English bitch had taken the love of my husband from me and ..."

"Silence, you pathetic wretch, I am but a messenger. It is for another to exact vengeance. It is enough that you know that death is now at your very elbow. Every breath, every step, every word may be your last. Now I must go, but I shall leave you with a memento of our meeting and these words; Afsoon is free."

A gloved hand muffled Mada's shriek of pain as the razor sharp blade sliced through her right nostril and blood spurted onto the windowsill. The steely muscles that had held her upright released her and she crumpled to the floor, whimpering piteously.

***

"Farisa, my love, where have you been, I awakened and you were gone."

"I did not mean to worry you, my flower. I could not sleep and decided to take the air hoping it would make me drowsy."

"Come to bed then. I desire your warmth against me."

"With pleasure; you awaken my desires, dearest Afsoon."

"I am likewise aroused ... is this blood? Have you injured yourself?"

"It is nothing, a scratch, you smell of sandalwood, kiss me."

***

"Do try to keep this one in a safe place, old top," Hedley-Smythe said wryly, handing the code book to Vice-Consul Reginald Heathcroft who took it with a frown.

"An honest mistake I assure you. Surely not enough of a dust-up to send a spook of your caliber to this fetid backwater."

"As Director Mycroft's brother says, the game is afoot, Reggie. A non-aggression pact is imminent between this fetid backwater, as you put it, and the Crown. When that becomes official, the place will be crawling with spies, especially those deuced Prussians wondering what's up. I'm here to keep an eye on things."

"A non-aggression pact, eh, the rumor mill's been working overtime on that one. Now, let's get you to your room and I'll have a bath drawn. What's it like riding in an airship? It has to be better than that filthy train the chaps and I rode in when we came here."

***

"Lady Mada!" her Royal Attendant cried, "What has happened to your face? You're cut and bleeding. Fatima, summon a healer immediately."

"I arose in the night and fell while seeking the water jug," Mada replied. "I know now I should have summoned one of the serving women to get it for me."

"You need to be more careful," The attendant said. "You could have been seriously hurt."

"You have no idea how close I came," Mada replied with a sigh.

End.



Kismet Ch. 15



Author's Note: I wish to extend a huge thank-you to voluptuary_manque for his help in constructing this chapter. He allowed me to include some of his work in my story so I could tie up some political strings. Thank-you VM! Also thank you to estragon, copy editor. Enjoy! ~ Red

*

Excitement rolled through the women of the harem as word spread that several of them would be traveling with their Master and his mother. Hera was the most excited and all knew why. Her story, since coming into the harem of Ulvi, had spread, and the women all knew that she was once a favored lover of the Sultan, as well as mother to one of his daughters. Some women envied her, others did not.

Hera stood outside and stared at nothing in particular. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and for the most part she was ready to leave her Master's home. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the rare breeze that touched her face. Ulvi had gifted her beyond all hopes and dreams, and much sooner than she ever thought possible; she was going to be reunited with her daughter's husband, which meant one day she might see her daughter too.

Her Master had asked her for honesty; his request for her to speak truthfully to him had come after he told her of his desire to seek the counsel of their great leader. He spoke candidly about his fear of taking her to the Sultan's palace and losing her to him. When she felt the truth of his words wash over her, her heart skipped a beat. Ulvi cared more deeply for her than she ever hoped and her desire to be more than just another woman to warm his bed was growing heavy in her heart.

She had turned in his arms and told him most of what her heart demanded of her, leaving out her newfound love and adoration. Hera confessed that when she first bent to his will and the life expected of her, it was with the hopes she could gather enough gifts that could be used to buy her daughter's freedom. She realized, though, that no matter how sweet the gifts were, it would take more than those to free her child.

He agreed with her, but remained still as he listened to her confession.

Hera spoke of how she then thought to ask him to purchase Afsoon from Risay and Hera would convince her daughter to become a willing occupant of the harem, and teach her how to please Ulvi in all ways. 

He had asked her if she still wished all of this. She told him that her true desire was to know her daughter was safe. The rest, she now accepted, was out of her hands. He had made love to her that night, showering her with caresses that seemed fit for a virgin bride than a concubine and mother.

A week later he called her to him, and showed her a missive that had been delivered earlier in the day. The words written upon the parchment was a letter of acceptance for a visit from Ulvi to the Sultan himself. Her former lover's seal rested at the bottom, under the sealed signature of some important official. Hera could not make out the name; her tears blinded the script.

Her Master had taken her words to heart and was going to seek out and try to find her daughter. Hera at that moment felt her heart tremble and knew she was falling in love with the man who would forever be her keeper...or at least she hoped.

Now she was faced with the knowledge that the Sultan could very well force her to stay with him. Hera did not want to; she turned and looked at the women in the harem. Though not all liked her, most did, especially Tulay, her best-friend. This was her home now, and though he kept all the ladies content and satisfied, she truly felt she was someone Ulvi, felt differently about. He was treating her with more respect every time they joined as man and woman.

She watched Tulay leave a group of women and come toward her. They greeted one another with a hug and Tulay kissed her cheek.

"Are you scared?" the woman asked.

Hera shook her head.

Tulay brushed back her hair. "It is a good sign. It shows that Master truly thinks highly of you. It is a gift he gives -- this visit. But it is also a test, a test to see if you are truly over your lust for the great Sultan."

Hera smiled. "I know what it means, and I am over my lust. I just pray that the Sultan is. I truly wish to remain here, by our Master's side, as well as yours. I wish to bow before the First Wife and thank her for the gifts she's given me."

Tulay frowned.

"What is it?" Hera asked her friend. She took her hand in hers and pulled her away from the prying eyes and ears of the other women. They sat down a bench. Hera held her friend's hand and waited for Tulay to share her troubles with her.

"I do not believe Master is going to choose me as first wife," Tulay admitted.

Hera's brows were brought together, furrowing her forehead. "Why do you say this?" she asked. "Master knows you are the one that taught me all I needed to please him, and you helped keep the jealousy of the others at bay. Why would you now think it was all for naught?"

"You know Karit," Tulay said.

"Of course, she is one of the oldest of all of us, and good friend to Master's mother."

Tulay nodded. "She and the Master's mother are very close and she was told to come to me and prepare me for the realities of life," Tulay said in a whisper.

Hera noted her friend's eyes brimming with unshed tears. "But you do know them; you are wise beyond your years. What puzzling words for her to give you and make you fret."

"She told me that Merit asked her to make me see that my place is here, in this world, not in the world of man -- a world full of travel, politics, and the dealings of deceit that will happen if our Master ever is seen as more than another landowner and loyal servant to our esteemed leader," Tulay said. Her shoulders sagged and her head hung low.

"That is stupid -- Karit knows nothing. You would make a strong diplomat's wife. I should know! I have met many and believe me, you have more morals and more smarts than all of them combined!" Hera was angry and her words were loud. Some of the women turned to stare at them, but none were close enough to understand what was said, just that it was said with passion.

"Hera, it is all right -- I mean, it will be. It is hard to accept. I had such great hopes of being the first wife, now I must remind myself that second wife is just as lofty, and if I am not worthy enough to stand at his side in the dealings of politics, then I am more than worthy to guide his house when he and his first wife are away on business," Tulay said.

"But if you are not to be his first wife, who is? Karit? Because she is older and wiser? She knows nothing about politics outside of a harem. She would embarrass Master," Hera rolled her eyes, leaned back and crossed her legs at her ankles. "A fool he is, a fool. With the right guidance you could easily captivate a room full of stuffy English swine! Hell," she lowered her voice, "I will teach you. I will guide you in the way of the English and...."

"No, Hera," Tulay said, interrupting Hera's tirade. "I do not wish to leave this world. Our Master will not need anyone trained in the ways of the English, for he has already decided whom the woman will be."

Hera sat up and studied the young woman's face. "You know this?"

"Karit told me what Merit wishes and in truth it makes sense. After all, this woman is educated in both worlds, knows several languages, and understands the workings behind the false smiles and crooked handshakes."

Hera laughed. "There is no woman in this house that knows the dealings of the English except me." The last word faded as Hera felt Tulay's fingers grip her hand.

"It seems, my dear friend, and you are my friend, though I was willing to punish you if I had been made first wife... my training was too good," she whispered.

"But, but it is not the way we planned it," Hera told her. Tears fell as she realized how hurt Tulay must feel and how betrayed. "I'm sorry, Tulay. I'm so sorry."

Hera pulled her hand free and covered her face. Tulay pulled her close and brushed the back of her hair with a gentle touch. "Shh, my friend. I should be -- no I am proud of all you have done. You are a woman, a real woman who deserves to sit at Master's side. You will, as Karit and Merit say, bring him great honor and be a weapon in his hand. With your help you will introduce him to the ins and outs of those dignitaries that seem to be flocking to our region. He needs this...and you need it as well. You were never meant to be a harem woman."

The two women held each other for several minutes before Tulay pulled free of Hera's embrace. 

"Are you sure it was wise to tell me of your suspicions?" Hera asked.

"I believe it is why I was told. Karit knew I wanted to be named first wife and Merit did too. They each have a good heart. It was best to find out now. To find out later," Tulay licked her lips and took a deep breath, "would have hurt more and this," she squeezed Hera's hand, "friendship would not be salvageable."

"If what you say comes to pass, you will be given whatever your heart desires. I will bestow on you all I am able. Our Master will have need of only a third wife to care for the babes you give him. I...," Hera sighed, "...I can only give him one, maybe two more, before my womb grows cold."

Tulay laughed softly. "Do you want more babes before your 'womb grows cold'?"

Hera shrugged her shoulders. "I will love a child no matter if it is mine or another of my husband's wives -- if he makes me his wife. To have another, if it is meant to be it will happen. If not there will be other babies for me to cradle." Hera stood up and took her friend's hand. "Come Tulay, let us take our lunch in my chambers. This talk we can continue inside, away from the growing heat of the day."

The two women left and as the day progressed, those chosen to accompany their Master and his mother were soon eagerly taking their places inside the vehicles that would take them across the desert.

Traveling through the day was tedious, due to the heat, but also the pace. With such a large caravan of people, animals, vehicles, and carts loaded with supplies and gifts it was no wonder that when they made camp the first night, Ulvi was annoyed by the lack of distance they had placed between them and his lands.

It was that annoyance that caused the tension in his shoulders, back and legs, that and the fact that he, like all his men, had traveled on horseback, poised and ready for any sign of bandits. Tulay and Hera both worked the corded muscles of their Master's body. He lay on a cot, which had been brought into his tent, along with Tulay and Hera's mats. His back was to the women.

Tulay sat naked just above the curve of his ass, on the small of his back, facing his feet. Her fingers flexed and curled tight around the cheeks of his butt, squeezing the muscles and pushing them into his body, then rubbing them deep until it he moaned. 

She smiled and moved down farther, to stroke the rippling cords in his thighs. One leg at a time was given her full attention. Her breasts dangled over them; her nipples occasionally brushed the hairs of his legs, as she almost lay down his legs' length so she could begin working the tension from his calf muscles and then his feet.

Ulvi grunted and groaned his encouragement as his women set out to please him. He felt the smaller woman's hands on his legs, flexed his feet and cursed softly when she found a tender spot that was given special attention. His other favored one, Hera sat directly behind Tulay facing the back of his head. He closed his eyes, imagining the two naked women pressed back to back.

The images went undisturbed as he felt Hera's elbows dig into the flesh and meat of his back. The rolling motion of her ministrations made him sigh like a child having a dream of fanciful candies and sweet pies. He took a deep breath and felt her fingers knead his shoulders, spine and neck. He reached his arms outward, so she was able to lie over his back. She began to deliver teasing caresses to his upper arm.

She rolled his flesh back and forth, moving down to his forearms, and then his fingers. Her breasts pressed into his shoulder and neck. He wanted to turn and take the full orb into his mouth and suckle deep from the full tit. His cock jerked under him as he saw Tulay in his mind working his rod, while the redheaded Englishwoman fed him her nipples.

Hera noted the sounds of her Master and knew she and the younger, smaller girl were pleasing him. She also sensed the change in his desires almost as soon as she felt the shifting of his hips. The Englishwoman turned, and smiled at Tulay, who also sensed their Master's wants. Neither had failed to notice him moving under them as if he wanted to ease another tense muscle.

Hera climbed off her Master, as did Tulay. Ulvi rolled over, exposing his engorged cock. Ulvi did not have to speak or command his women, each knew his likes. Tulay had pleased him immensely since coming to him, and she had done well in instructing the Englishwoman.

The redhead waited until Tulay was in position. The small girl climbed onto their Master and placed his cock at her pussy entrance. Hera watched as she lowered herself onto his shaft and placed her hand on the back of his balls. Their Master groaned in appreciation. His hand moved to cup Hera's ass, she took the signal and climbed on to join her friend and mentor.

The Englishwoman with the thick red hair trailing down her back and brushing the cheeks of her ass, positioned her bald pussy over their Master's face. She sighed contently when his hands grabbed her hips and brought her sex down onto his tongue. 

Both women moved in exquisite harmony with each other. Tulay rotated her hips and ground her pussy into Ulvi's pelvis. His cock head pressed deep into her. She used her fingers to massage his testicles and tease the soft pad of flesh under the velvet sack. Her pussy lips were spread wide, her clit exposed and swollen. Hera smiled at her friend and saw the passion evident in the rise and fall of the girl's chest.

She also was growing in desire, as Ulvi's tongue traveled the length of her pussy and his finger toyed with the tight opening of her ass. She moaned and hissed while he lapped and fucked her channels. Her juices flowed thick and heavy and he worked to gather them up. Tulay noted her distress, and licked her lips while both women took in the breasts of the other.

"Master," Hera whispered, her voice was soft and mewing.

"Hmm?" he asked, his mouth tight against her sex.

"May we please each other, while pleasing you?" Hera asked, her voice was pleading, almost childlike. There was a brief pause in their Master's attentions, and though it was but a second, it seemed like an eternity to the aroused females.

"But of course, my English slut, please the whore you call sister," he then went back to devouring the pussy in front of him.

Both women grinned at the names he had used to describe each of them. Neither was offended, if anything they were more aroused and excited. Their fingers reached out to clasp the other by the back of the neck. The need and desire they felt were the same and when their lips touched and their tongues began to milk the other with sucking and twisting motions both women gave up more nectar for their Leader.

Ulvi heard the panting and moaning of his women. The sounds drove his lust into greater heights. He bucked upward and thrust his cock harder into the slave girl, while forcefully dragging his English slave up and down his face.

Hera felt her Master's fingers digging into her hips. The sensation rolled up through her back, along her belly, down into her abdomen and skated across her pussy. She drank her fill of Tulay, eventually abandoning the young girl's mouth and suckling from one of her breasts.

Tulay's head lolled back as the redhead pulled and teased the orbs of her chest. Her Master's cock was full and thick. The head slammed into her. She kept herself anchored to him so as not to be thrown off. Hera's fingers moved down to began teasing Tulay's clit while maintaining a firm hold on her right nipple. Tulay was on a different level than the others; her body was young and easily manipulated.

Though she was not new to pleasure, she was still considered easy to make come, because her juices flowed thick and eager down her channels. She was the first to shout her release. Her Master's name fell from her lips in a long squeal.

Hera smiled; pulled her hand away and licked the fluids clean, while their Master shot his milk into the young woman. She watched the seed bubble out and quickly shifted so she could drink from it. Her tongue swiped along the edge of little Tulay's sex and the base of Ulvi's cock.

Ulvi knew what his English slave was doing and encouraged it. He left her pussy and began to rim her ass, causing Hera to buck wildly. He pushed three fingers into her sex, and fucked her while sucking and tongue the tight entrance. When she came it was with a gush of fluids that coated his face. He pulled her back and rubbed himself against her, washing himself in her slick honey.

Hera gasped and purred as she showered her Master. She felt Tulay's hands back in her hair and the two women kissed, while Ulvi cleaned his redhead's pussy. The three eventually were forced to abandon their positions, but not before all had spent time kissing and stroking softly their sensitive regions. When it was time to retire, Ulvi watched the two women hold each other and share their mats.

He closed his eyes and knew that once he gained the Sultan's permission he would make Hera is first wife. A part of him considered what to do with Tulay. His mother's words still hovered in his mind, perhaps he could still be considered a worthy opponent with the foreigners if he had two wives. He could take Hera as first, and Tulay as second. Hera would accompany him on trips, while Tulay maintained his house.

He rolled over and stared at the peak of his tent. But he was too inexperienced to know the ins and outs of politics. He needed someone like Hera at his side; he needed the respect of the outsiders, and would having two or three wives still allow him that respect? He was young; he hated to admit it, but it was true. His mother had planted grand ideas into his head, and perhaps he was over-thinking the desires that were now building inside him.

Ulvi had always seen himself as a simple man; he was content with his small collection of women. He enjoyed mining for the precious gems, and yet, the idea of doing more with himself, of being known as someone besides another keeper of his Sultan's wealth, appealed to him. His eyes closed and his troubles plagued him in the darkness until sleep forced him to succumb to the dreams of two women cuddling, cooing and pleasuring each other.

The journey through the sands was for the most part uneventful. The ladies slept most of the day, and when they weren't sleeping, they were mending, drawing, or creating stories of great majestic beasts that their Master could slay with a magical weapon or lamp. Hera laughed right along with them, as well as took her turn at telling stories. Most she recalled from not only her childhood, but during the times she had shared them with Afsoon.

Whenever she grew melancholy, the other women would gather around her and urge her to continue the tale. It soon became obvious what stories were similar in her culture as well as theirs. The final night out in the dessert was spent in celebration. They had been greeted by the Sultan's men, and the entire group watched as a select few women danced for their Master and his guests.

A few soldiers were given the honor of choosing from Ulvi's collection of women, but none were given the honor of Hera. Tulay lay that night with Mahmood Al-Bezier, the Sultan's Head of Secret Service, the Black Squadron. She knew it was an honor and in the morning, she was sure she had pleased the man with her many talents, and made sure he left the tent again satisfied.