The Sheik and the Slave

by Italia, Nicola

  The abaya was a traditional dress worn by Muslim women to cover their clothing. It had long sleeves and was floor-length. Abayas were usually black, but other colors could be used. For the gathering, he wanted Katharine to wear something bright and lively.

  “Yes,” Bashasha said, and she nodded.

  “I would like her attired in a silver fabric and have her hair unbound. I do not like her hair bound up. It is not to my liking.”

  Bashasha swallowed nervously. She watched the way the sheik spoke of Katharine and it frightened her. He had never lain with her – she knew that much from the gossip - and yet he seemed infatuated with her. His desire for her was evident. Where would this lead? she wondered.

  Certainly, she had considered that the stranger would get under his skin. No one had ever seen a woman that looked like Katharine, with her light skin, golden hair, and Arabian Sea eyes. But Bashasha had considered that once Katharine’s blood had stained the sheik’s bed, she would be mistress over the harem. Never had she considered that the white girl would rule over them all.

  Bashasha had never seen the look in Mohammed’s eyes before. The burning intensity of raw desire made her shake. It was a fire that could consume them all. She knew the law as well as any Arab that he was allowed four wives, but a stranger? An Infidel? No, it had never been considered!

  Mohammed’s father had had three wives and many more concubines than his son, but never had they been white women from the far away land.

  “Thank you. Send me Farasha,” he said. He waved her away and she went quickly to the harem.

  ***

  Bashasha entered the harem and said to the Chief Eunuch, “Send me Katharine and send Farasha to the sheik.”

  Mohammed waited for Farasha to attend him. He wanted to claim the princess’ maidenhead, but until then he wanted no one else, so he had summoned Farasha.

  “My lord,” she said as she walked into the room, always proud and sure but always understanding her place. She pleased him immensely.

  She was quiet and always dutiful. She had been exchanged by her village for her brother when a small war had erupted and the sheik had supported one side. Farasha had been raped and her brother captured. Her family had wanted her brother returned at all costs and had exchanged their lowly daughter for their beloved son.

  She had had sex with Mohammed’s father vaginally but had been just of an age to not understand any other kind. A visiting sheik who enjoyed young boys had taken her to bed one cold night. Because Farasha was slender and almost boy-like in her body appearance, he had preferred her. He had wanted a young boy to sleep with, but the sheik had none.

  It was during that night that Farasha had been initiated into anal sex. The dignitary had been a large, rotund man, with his belly almost covering his fat sex. He enjoyed Farasha’s squirming and cries, and by the end of the night, she realized that she enjoyed his cock inside her ass.

  Since then, Farasha had been one of the only harem women who enjoyed having anal sex and, in fact, preferred it. She prepared for anal sex by cleaning herself, and though he could have forced any of the women to submit to his cock anywhere, he preferred not to. He was a man who liked his women happy and sated.

  ***

  “Yes, Bashasha?” Katharine asked as she settled herself before Bashasha on the maroon pillows.

  “The sheik has asked you to attend him tonight,” Bashasha replied.

  Katharine’s heart leaped in excitement, but then realized it was just the banquet that Bashasha was referring to.

  “Yes, he has told me,” Katharine replied.

  “Then, I will send you to be bathed and readied. I am having an abaya made for you in the color he prefers,” she added.

  ***

  He motioned Farasha forward and she was already creaming at the thought of his cock inside her ass. She moved a pillow beneath her hips for easier access. Mohammed watched as she lay before him, arching her small ass into the air. She was delicious and biddable - a woman who knew her place. He removed his robe and his cock was hard and aching. He needed the release. He didn’t want to go to the banquet this evening thinking of the little cocktease who threatened his sanity.

  He positioned his cock between her ass cheeks and she sighed.

  “Please, my lord,” she gasped. Her hands clutched the pillow beneath her small breasts and she arched back.

  He spread her cheeks apart and saw she was clean and oiled. She was the perfect harem woman, always ready and willing to please him. His knees pressed her slim thighs apart as her ass popped into the air and her head remained down. She grabbed the pillow harder and allowed him to position her as needed.

  He stroked her slim globes as her ass remained ready. His fingers slipped into her tight pussy and then into her tight hole. Her pussy was dripping her juices, and her asshole was puckered and waiting.

  “Please,” she moaned into the pillow, trying not to move her hips because she wanted him.

  He smiled as his cock’s bulbous head touched into the asshole, so small and tight. She jerked up in reflex. She was hungry for it. He steadied her hips with his large hands and let her set a rhythm that suited them both.

  “Harder. Please,” she begged him in the quiet room, almost sobbing the last word. She needed the release.

  He smiled again as she arched like a cat and his cock slipped deeper into her tight ass. She groaned and slapped her ass against his hips.

  “I beg you, harder,” she said. Her words were breathless and she jerked her hips into his, grinding them.

  The room was quiet except for the sounds of flesh slapping flesh and the moaning of Farasha. Mohammed grunted, but with short bursts of air coming from his chest. He wanted the little blonde before him.

  He grunted once and she reached behind and fingered her small clitoris. Her climax was close and Mohammed waited until he could feel her body shake. He pulled out, spilling his cream first into her ass and then onto it. She used a small towel to clean herself before leaving the room.

  ***

  Katharine bathed in silence as she watched the other women giggle and chat in small groups.

  Yasmeen sauntered into the bathhouse, confident and regal in a deep purple robe that accentuated her dark beauty. She asked another harem woman why Katharine was bathing.

  “A banquet. That is all I know,” the woman responded.

  “Indeed? Bashasha!” Yasmeen cried, stalking through the harem looking for the chief.

  “Yes, Madame,” Bashasha said when she came rounding the corner, looking at the beautiful lady.

  Though Katharine hid it well, she understood much of what was being said about her.

  “What lies do I hear tell about this upstart slave? A banquet? Attending my husband?” Her dark eyes glared at the lovely foreign woman in the water.

  “Yes. She is to attend our master at the banquet, for she knows the language,” Bashasha told her in Arabic.

  “Ah,” Yasmeen smirked. “A translator.” She walked over to Kat and hissed into her ear, “I see you, little bitch!” quietly, so no one else could hear. “You are a slave still, and always will be.”

  She kneeled next to Katharine on the cool tiles, while the blonde remained in the water. She didn’t care that the woman couldn’t understand Arabic. She hated her.

  “You can eat my husband’s cock a thousand times, just as these sluts do, and you’ll never be anything more than a cheap little whore. He’ll sell your body to the highest bidder once he’s tired of your cunt and your taste,” Yasmeen hissed.

  Yasmeen took her leave, but Katharine remained chilled in the water. She had understood a few of the words and knew that she had been called a whore. Yet, was Yasmeen wrong? As his wife, she had to submit to him and watch as he took woman after woman to his bed. It was degrading. She had a right to be upset.

  If Katharine submitted to Mohammed, she would become a whore. After all, he could empty his cream into any of these women! She would become nothing to him. Her body would become
used and loose and she would be given to other men to enjoy and take. This would become her life if she submitted. She knew she must escape.

  Bashasha waved the women away as Katharine stood before her, naked. Bashasha smiled. It was no wonder that the sheik was taken with her. She had a slim body that was appealing, but she was also feminine and curvy, with long legs the color of cream, a small waist, and high, young breasts. She would have to suckle many sons before they became saggy and old, Bashasha thought enviously.

  The abaya gown was long, with enormous sleeves that fell to the wrists. The bodice was fitted but not tight, and the gown itself fell around the hips and legs but did not reveal anything. Deep, silver embroidery danced along the simple neckline, wrists, and hem of the gown.

  The gown covered her completely and gave her a sense of modesty. Although she was allowed no undergarments, the dress provided breathing for her and she did not miss the corset at all.

  The majlis, a reception room where the meal was taken, was a large room decorated with carpets and cushions. Katharine had never seen the room before. It was colorful and decorated in the vibrant colors of red, yellow, and orange.

  Hospitality was taken very seriously in Arabia, and Mohammed made certain his guests were comfortable and had all that they required.

  The meal would consist of lamb, chicken, rice, dates, and other dishes native to the area. Alcohol was forbidden by Islam, but it could be offered to non-Muslim guests. Finally, after the meal, tea and coffee would be served along with date cakes and other desserts.

  Many men were already seated around the large room. Katharine noticed the sheik speaking to several men at the far corner.

  Fear gripped her stomach. The sheik spoke English well. Why did he want her here? Surely, he would not want a mere woman doing business with these important men. Why had he demanded her presence? She was escorted by the Chief Eunuch to another corner and smiled at an older gentleman as she was seated.

  The sheik had not yet noticed her, but regardless of that, her hands shook. She accepted some wine and took a sip. It was warm and flavorful. She smiled again as the gentleman spoke to her in perfect French. She knew that alcohol was not allowed, but surmised that the sheik made an exception for his foreign guests.

  Katharine quickly slipped into the French language and the nervousness ceased. He was telling her of his younger days in Paris and his first love, which had been architecture. She laughed in delight at his humor and threw her head back, exposing the long white column of her throat.

  Mohammed jerked his head toward her in response and saw her laugh, her head thrown back in pleasure. Her blonde, golden hair fell around her and she looked beautiful, like a lovely painting frozen in time. His jaw tightened as the foreign Frenchman admired her.

  Katharine had just finished her first glass of wine when suddenly she and the Frenchman were joined by a small, stocky man with a monocle and cane. Katharine’s heart skipped a beat when he spoke to her in a perfectly clipped English accent.

  “Good evening, my dear. You might not remember me but I remember you. It’s good to see you again, Lady Fairfax.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it lightly.

  Oh dear God, Katharine thought. I am going to be free at last!

  Mohammed came across the room and joined her trio, so before long, she was separated from the Englishman. She tried to remember his name as she spoke to another French gentleman. She was sure he had been a friend of her father’s and she was quite certain he was an earl.

  She sipped her second glass of the sweet wine but ate nothing. She was nervously thinking about how she could get a message to the Englishman when she saw the sheik watching her. She knew those dark eyes followed her movements, watching her lips as she spoke. She looked away and tried to follow the conversation with the two Frenchmen. The language was not a problem to follow, but she felt warm and his eyes made her feel the liquid between her thighs.

  She knew she must get a message to the Englishman before he left the palace. She had no friends among the harem women and the servants barely knew her.

  The musicians left to dine, save one musician who stayed alone, strumming his oud. The player with the riq returned as well. The oud was a solemn instrument and the riq, a tambourine, were soon joined by an Egyptian harem woman. She was to perform the “raqs sharqi” which was also known as the Eastern Dance. It was a seductive dance performed alone by a woman dressed in veils, moving her arms and hips in time with the music.

  The men were all entranced as the woman moved her belly and her hips suggestively to the oud’s beats. Her breasts moved to the music and Katharine felt herself flushed and warm. It had been unwise to drink the wine and eat nothing.

  Mohammed watched the Egyptian girl sway and move to the music and saw Katharine in a halo of silver across the room. He had watched her interact with the Frenchmen and knew at home in England she must have been a consummate flirt. She had beauty and intellect, yet she kept herself aloof and untouchable. Men would want her. Had he been a lord or earl in her far away land, she probably would have led him on. And how might it have ended?

  But such was not the case. They were both here in this desert land, and he wanted her. The ending for them in this land would be his princess on her back and the next sheik of Arabia deep in her belly.

  Katharine’s cheeks cooled in the night air. Many of the visitors were heading off to their rooms in the palace, and the sheik had graciously allowed them their pick of companion for the night. The harem would be empty when she returned there. She knew it was probably close to midnight when she watched the Frenchmen leave, almost skipping down the steps to enjoy their night with the harem women.

  Katharine had looked for the Englishman, but had not seen him again. The wind picked up behind her and brushed her hair across her mouth.

  “Princess,” Mohammed said as he stood beside her, using his long fingers to take the golden strands away from her mouth.

  ”Yes?” she asked breathlessly. She felt light-headed and dizzy as she stood before him.

  “My guests are retiring for the evening and the harem women will satisfy their remaining needs.”

  She blushed in the dark.

  “I will escort you to our room,” he said. He took her arm and laced it with his.

  Katharine glanced up and almost jerked her arm away from him. “No, I don’t…” she started to speak. But then, she remembered that he had commanded her to be with him.

  The dark sky was filled with stars as they walked through the gardens in the palace. The great water fountain sprouted quietly as many couples walked hand and hand, disappearing together. She watched one couple caught up in the moment as the woman went down on her knees before the man. She heard laughter and grunts and moans of sexual conquest from another room and she turned her face away.

  “It is the way, princess. Men and women. Women’s bodies were made to accept and allow us to come into them and leave our seed.”

  “Not when they are unmarried,” she reminded Mohammed.

  Katharine felt lightheaded and warm. The sighs and moans around them excited her and made her pulse race. She could feel the warmth between her thighs. She knew her body was readying itself for the sheik, when he would take her and claim her.

  “Perhaps. But it is not natural to deny yourself. Lying with a man is a natural thing. A man’s body was made to fit into a woman’s. Thus Allah has made it so that we can give you our seed to bear our children. Your bodies are for us to give Allah sons.”

  “So I’m unnatural?” Katharine asked, hurt.

  They had stopped outside one door and Katharine could hear a woman’s cries of, “Harder, harder!” She grinded her teeth as she felt her juices pool into her and fall upon her thighs. She knew she wanted the sheik, but she fought it.

  “You are afraid. You are a virgin. It is natural for you to be afraid, but also natural for you to give yourself to a man. It is what your body was made for. You were made to receive pleasure, to give pleasure an
d then feel pain at the birth. Such is life.” His fingers caressed her soft cheek and she pulled away from him.

  Once inside his private rooms, he locked the door. The lights were low and oud incense was burning. He turned to her and breathed in the scent of her hair.

  “They have scented your hair with jasmine,” he said, smiling. He looked at the blonde hair curling along his fingers. “Jasmine is my favorite scent. Bashasha knows this.” His hand drifted into her hair.

  “Please,” she said. She shook her head, but then felt dizzy and stopped.

  Mohammed moved the golden strands off her shoulders and Katharine could only feel the lightness of her body, the warmth of the man in front of her, and the continued drizzle of her juices upon her upper thighs.

  “What did you tell the Englishman?” he asked her sharply, suddenly.

  “N-nothing,” she stammered.

  “He knows you. I saw his look upon you.”

  “No. You’re mistaken,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I don’t think so,” he argued, leading her to the cushions and fabric upon which he slept.

  “No,” she argued back. He eased her to sit beside him, with her legs bent at the knees.

  “Who is this man?” Mohammed asked softly, as he moved the hem of the abaya up to her calves.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. Katharine watched his hands as they moved against her skin.

  “You do. Tell me. I will not be angry,” he promised. His brown eyes bore into hers.

  She shook her head once. She dreaded this. She wanted him. She ached to have him here between her legs. She wanted to feel his cock stretching and filling her. She wanted to feel her hymen break and have him claim her as his. She wanted to see the blood stain his cock and know that she was his.

  He pulled the hem of the dress further up below her knees.

  “Tell me.”

  “I truly don’t know. I-I think he was a friend of my father’s, but I swear to you I don’t know his name. But he knows me,” she admitted.