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Subject: Harum Song : (M\F)
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= HARUM SONG
*******************
CHAPTER THREE
When he glanced at the window, Ahmed could see a small white
cloud in the pale blue sky. Was it an omen? He tried to
remember if the cloud had been there a moment ago. Maybe Allah
had put the cloud in the sky as an instruction to Ahmed to have
the stupid wretch in front of him whipped. The shopkeeper was
now grovelling on the carpet, his tears flowing at Ahmed's feet,
lying tears at the feet of Ahmed Al-Hafsid, the Grand Vizier of
His Excellency the Sultan Abd Al-Hassan, by grace of Allah the
only man in the kingdom who might give Ahmed an order of any
kind. Aside from the Sultan, Ahmed took orders only from God,
and as the Shahada declared, there was no God but Allah and
Mohammed was his prophet.
There were ten thousand buildings in Fez and three hundred
mosques, but no structure had the magnificence of the Sultan's
palace, a place of marble, colored mosaics, finely molded stucco,
ceilings of painted wood, and hanging from the ceilings enormous
copper chandeliers. In the hundred rooms, rich materials covered
the mattresses and thick Berber carpets covered the floors.
Within the palace grounds there were enclosed courtyards, walks
with paving stones of painted faience, beds of flowers and fruit
trees, all the beauty and splendor complemented by the vast
riches of the Sultan's domain. At least once each day, Ahmed
reminded himself of his blessings, the kind fate that Allah had
bestowed upon him by making him the Grand Vizier to the Sultan.
Did it not mean that Allah looked on Ahmed with a certain
fondness, with a high regard for Ahmed's abilities?
Now Ahmed gazed at the wretched shopkeeper, the man weeping
at his feet.
"That's enough," Ahmed said.
The shopkeeper looked up and whined. "I beg you for
justice, Exalted One."
Ahmed signaled to the guard, then looked at the shopkeeper
again. "You shall have the Sultan's justice."
"Thank you, Exalted One."
"Get out," Ahmed said. He told the guard to take the man
out and bring in the next petitioner. Leaning back against the
pillows, Ahmed felt an intense boredom. He wondered which of his
wives he should have later on, which woman to relieve his boredom
before the evening meeting with the Sultan.
A woman petitioner entered the room, and as soon as Ahmed
laid eyes on her he sent the guard away. She was heavily veiled
from head to foot, nothing showing except her dark eyes. The
robe she wore was of the finest quality, soft and loose, flowing
around her ankles. Her slender hands and dark mysterious eyes
intrigued Ahmed, exciting him, instantly making him forget his
boredom.
He gestured to the woman, and she gracefully sat down on the
carpet in front of him. Fingering the green amulet that he
always wore around his neck, Ahmed gazed at her.
"And your trouble? What sort of trouble is it?"
"It's my daughter, Your Excellency."
"Tell me."
He wondered what the woman looked like under the veils,
wondered if the face and form matched the beauty of the eyes and
hands. How could one ever know? He listened to her sultry voice
as she explained her daughter had been taken by one of the
Sultan's officers, picked off the street and taken away on his
horse.
"How old is she?" Ahmed said.
"Seventeen, Your Excellency."
"Such a tender age."
"Can you help me?"
The woman pleaded with him. She wanted her daughter
returned. Yes, it was a great honor to have her daughter chosen
by one of the Sultan's officers, but the girl was already
betrothed and her family would pay the officer a tidy sum to
settle his inconvenience.
Ahmed amused himself with the woman, teasing her, delighting
in his power over these ordinary people. She was obviously the
wife of a rich merchant. He taunted the woman by suggesting that
maybe her daughter was better off where she was. After all,
wasn't a janissary's wife happier than a merchant's wife?
The woman continued pleading, insisting that her daughter be
returned to her. "Before it's too late, Your Excellency. Before
her betrothal is destroyed."
Ahmed turned his eyes away, pretending a disinterest in the
woman's problem. He fingered the amulet at his throat, listening
to her as she pleaded with him, once again attracted by the
sultry sound of her voice.
Now he looked at her and shrugged. "Maybe you ought to
wait. The officer might decide he doesn't want your daughter
after all."
The woman's unhappiness was evident in her eyes. "May I
offer you a gift, Your Excellency?"
Ahmed showed his surprise. "A gift? What sort of gift?"
"Myself, Your Excellency. I offer you myself."
He said nothing. Now he definitely wanted her. What an
intriguing woman she was! He stared at her, expecting her to
finally uncover her face. But instead she parted the front of
her robe, and after some fumbling she brought out a full breast,
smooth-skinned, the dark nipple tumescent. Ahmed stared at it,
the heat rising in his loins.
He made a gesture with his hand, commanding her to turn
around. Immediately, she understood what he wanted, and with
considerable grace she turned on the carpet, knelt with her head
down as she deftly drew up her robe. After that, using both
hands she slipped her loose trousers down to expose her buttocks.
Ahmed gazed with excitement at her backside, at the deep
groove between the two globes, at the dark-lipped hairless sex
pouting below it. A long silent moment passed as he feasted his
eyes.
"Turn around," he said.
She turned on the carpet to face him again, only her eyes
visible. Sitting up now, she opened the front of her robe to
reveal both breasts to his gaze. Without removing her face-veil,
she wet the fingers of both hands with her mouth and then used
her fingers to tease her nipples into full erection.
With a sigh, Ahmed opened the front of his robe and exposed
his penis. He held it in his hand and waved it at her. "Hurry,"
he said. "Your mouth first."
Her breasts bouncing, she crawled forward on the carpet to
get his member in her mouth. Now for the first time she removed
the face-veil, and Ahmed was pleased at how beautiful she was.
She was certainly a woman of the better sort, clear-skinned and
with fine features. He leaned back on his elbows, watching her,
his eyes on the full lips as they slid over his knob and down the
length of his organ. His pleasure intense, he gave thanks to God
for having provided him with such a delicious diversion.
"How are you called?" he said.
She stopped sucking him. "Jauhara, Your Excellency."
"Turn around again."
She did it without hesitation, once again kneeling with her
head down and her naked buttocks in the air. This time Ahmed did
more than merely look at her; he shifted forward, put his hands
on her bottom, and then quickly penetrated the hairless sex from
behind. He was too excited to make the pleasure last, and after
a few strokes of his member in and out of her wet opening, the
sperm gushed out of his penis and it was finished.
With a grunt he pushed her away. She lost her balance and
she suddenly collapsed on the carpet weeping.
Ahmed was annoyed. "Leave me."
The woman sobbed. "Will you do something about my daughter,
Your Excellency?"
"Yes, yes. Go away now."
He wiped his penis with his robe as she left him. Next time
he would have her with more leisure. A few moments later a
servant hurried in with a message.
"Yes?" Ahmed said.
"The English girl, Your Excellency."
"What about her?"
The servant announced the caravan bearing the English girl
had arrived from Tangier.
* * *
The Sultan's palace was in a large compound, and at the
north end of the compound, attached to the palace by a walled
gallery, was the group of buildings that constituted the quarters
of the Sultan's harem. Amber was alone in a room, seated on the
carpet with her back against the wall. She had just been
unloaded from the caravan, and she was dusty and tired after the
long trek from Tangier. She wore the clothes of a Moroccan
woman, but the veil that had covered her face was now gone.
England seemed such a dim memory now, a far away place, and
already she was forgetting about her life in London, the hustle
and bustle of the city. She was in a different world here. She
was frightened by it, but at the same time she found herself
fascinated by her surroundings, fascinated by everything she saw
and heard.
Suddenly a guard came in, one of the fierce looking men with
dark faces and curved swords at their belts. This one jabbered
at her in Arabic, and when he realized she understood nothing of
what he was telling her, he took her hand, pulled her up to her
feet and led her out of the room.
They were in a splendid courtyard, a large rectangular space
bordered with beds of white and red flowers that ran along the
walkways under the arched roof of the galleries. The guard led
her across the courtyard to another building, another room, empty
except for the carpet and a few pillows.
The guard left Amber alone again, but before she had time to
sit down, two women entered. The spoke to Amber in Arabic and
they seemed impatient with her, but again she understood nothing
of the language, nothing of what they wanted. They finally made
her leave the room with them, pushed her along the corridor to
another room, a larger one, and there Amber was delighted to see
a bath, a large pool for bathing.
The women made Amber disrobe and enter the bathing pool.
Then they leaned over the edge of the pool and they helped her
wash. She found herself embarrassed as they touched her, the
memories of Mrs. Brophy's caresses in London rising in her mind
and making her pulse race.
The Moroccan women talked to each other in Arabic as their
hands moved over Amber's body. It was more than washing now.
They amused themselves toying with her breasts, squeezing her
buttocks, tickling and fingering her sex. They made her stand in
the pool, all of her body exposed above her knees, and they
smiled at her as they ran their hands over her wet skin. One of
the women slid a hand between Amber's legs to touch her sex
again, but this time the touching was more intimate, the fingers
probing between the lips to find Amber's clitoris and rub it. At
first the rubbing was slow and delicate, but then as Amber began
trembling with excitement the rubbing became more forceful.
Amber spent immediately, her body shaking from head to toe, the
women giggling as they watched her.
After that they made her get out of the pool and they dried
her body with white linen. They dressed her in new clothes and
they put carved bracelets on her arms and legs, the bracelets as
pretty as those they wore themselves. They chattered in Arabic
again, and this time Amber was certain they were talking about
her, discussing her appearance. One of the women touched Amber's
auburn hair and rolled her eyes with envy.
The guard returned. When he looked at Amber, he seemed
disinterested in her. But he took her hand and he led her away
again, back across the courtyard to the main part of the palace.
This time they walked through many corridors, until finally they
came to a doorway on either side of which stood a tall guard with
a long sword. The guard who held Amber's hand pushed her inside
the room and stepped in after her.
This room was larger than the others, and the man who sat on
the pillows near the window looked important, a man of influence.
He had a thin face, a hooked nose, dark penetrating eyes that
made Amber quiver as they gazed at her. Around his neck he wore
a large green amulet.
The man with the amulet spoke to the guard, and the guard
immediately moved to Amber and began stripping her clothes away.
She was too frightened to resist. She remained passive as the
guard pulled all her clothes away until she was naked,
barefooted, wearing only the bracelets on her arms and legs.
The man with the amulet looked at her, his dark eyes roving
over her body, and then he beckoned her forward until she stood
directly in front of him. He slipped a hand between her ankles,
ran the hand up along the insides of her legs, up between her
thighs until he found her sex. Amber gasped as she felt his long
fingers penetrate her sex and anus at the same time. He laughed
as she groaned, calling out something in Arabic to the guard, his
fingers probing even deeper inside the two passages. He began
moving the fingers in and out, and now she felt his thumb
scraping her clitoris, rubbing it as the other fingers continued
sliding in and out of her body.
Then suddenly he removed his fingers and he pushed her away,
waved his hand in dismissal as he spoke to the guard again.
The guard threw Amber's clothes at her, and as she held the
clothes he led her out of the room and into the corridor. There
the other two guards grinned at her nakedness, watching her as
she dressed herself.
After that the guard who had brought her took her hand and
led her away again.
* * *
In the harem once more, Amber was now surrounded by a host
of women. She was in a large open room furnished with cushions
and benches, a number of low tables, two fountains attached to
one of the walls. The women of the room were all similarly
dressed, most of them with dark hair and dark eyes. They seemed
curious about Amber, staring at her, gesturing to each other,
chattering in Arabic. They served her food, and she was happy
about that because she was hungry. Some of the women came close
enough to fondle her, running their hands over her hair and
shoulders before feeling the firmness of her breasts. They
smiled at her, made smacking noises with their lips and laughed.
Then more women came into the large room, and now Amber was
astounded at how many women there were in the Sultan's harem.
She felt anxious, uncertain about what would happen to her next.
Some of these women seemed to look at her with disdain and they
made her afraid. She could see the dislike in their eyes, their
dislike of someone different, dislike of the foreigner.
Then one of the women came forward, an older woman who
seemed a bit different from the others. She smiled at Amber and
Amber was suddenly shocked as the woman spoke to her in English:
"They all envy you, darling."
"You're British!" Amber cried.
The woman laughed. "Yes, darling. My name is Blanche and
I'm British, all right. Was, anyway. I suppose I'm something
else now."
She was about forty, dressed as the others were in loose
white trousers, a linen blouse and an embroidered jacket over it.
But her face was different; she had an English face and the
bluest eyes.
Amber was delighted, keenly excited by the presence of
someone from England, someone who could speak her own language.
Blanche sat down beside Amber and the two women talked. Amber
soon learned that Blanche had been in the harem twenty years,
long enough to speak fluent Arabic and long enough to know all
the secrets of the harem and the Sultan's palace and the Sultan
himself.
"They envy you because of the custom," Blanche said.
"What custom?"
And Blanche explained that it was the custom for a new
concubine to share the Sultan's bed immediately, possibly that
very evening. "They all want it," Blanche said. "There hasn't
been a new girl here in some time, and the old king seems rather
bored with us these days. They all want to sleep with him,
because if it's one of them that's chosen they get money and
jewels for it, maybe even a slave or two. In your case it's only
a customary call and you'll have nothing for it except a few
coins. Unless you make an impression, that is." Blanche seemed
to be studying Amber carefully. "You might make an impression, I
think."
Amber listened carefully as Blanche told her the Sultan was
a kindly old man and not to be feared. The two men to be feared
were the Grand Vizier Ahmed Al-Hafsid and the Chief Eunuch
Yousef. "Those are the mean ones," Blanche said. "Don't you
dare make either of them cross or you'll be sorry for it."
When Amber asked how Blanche had come to enter the harem,
Blanche revealed that she'd been kidnapped, forcibly taken off a
ship by pirates twenty years before and sold as a slave to the
Sultan.
Amber felt a great despair. "Haven't you tried to escape?"
Blanche smiled quietly. "I did at the beginning. I haven't
thought of it for years and years."
Before Amber could speak again, a sudden hush fell over the
room as a huge man in a white turban stepped through one of the
doorways.
Blanche whispered: "That's Yousef, darling. Be careful with
him."
He looked dangerous indeed, a huge black man with a short
whip in one hand. Some of the women cringed as he approached
them. Others moved close to him, clinging to him, obviously
offering themselves. Yousef pushed them all aside as his eyes
scanned the crowded room. When he finally spied Amber, he
muttered and immediately walked toward her.
Immobilized, afraid, Amber sat on the low bench as he looked
at her. He seemed amused by her as he reached a hand out to
fondle her hair. Still holding the whip in one hand, he used the
other hand to open his loincloth, unwrap it and drop it to his
ankles.
Amber was shocked to see his testicles were gone. The penis
was enormous, but below it was only a shriveled knot of scar
tissue.
Blanche whispered: "You'd better suck him, darling. He
wants to spend in your mouth. Whenever he shows himself like
this, that's what he wants. You either do it or you get
whipped."
Fearful of the huge man, Amber immediately crouched at
Yousef's feet and took his long organ in her hands. Without
looking at it, she slipped her lips over the tip and she began
sucking it. Yousef grunted as he felt his penis engulfed by the
warmth of her mouth. He muttered in Arabic, holding her head
with one huge hand as he slowly rocked his loins back and forth.
Understanding what he wanted, Amber held herself still as he
thrust himself in and out of her stretched lips. The organ was
turgid now, a stiff truncheon sliding back and forth on her
tongue, the knob striking the back of her throat each time he
pushed forward.
A crowd of women had gathered, all of them watching Amber
and Yousef. Before long Yousef's movements quickened and a
guttural sound came from his throat as he reached his crisis.
Amber expected a copious discharge, but instead there was
nothing, not a drop of sperm from the giant eunuch's organ. When
he finished with her, he pushed her away and she lay on the floor
with her face covered as the others laughed...
--
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