Yasmeen filled her small mouth with the Moor’s huge cock and he fucked her mouth. She moved her hand beneath her body to massage her clitoris as Fajer fucked her ass.
“Oh, yes, yes. Harder, Lord Fajer. Harder,” she said, moaning into the man’s cock as Fajer and the Moor stuffed her.
The second Moor released her arm, positioned himself underneath her hips, and shoved his thick meat into her hungry pussy as Fajer continued to fuck her ass. Her pussy constricted around the thick cock and she cried aloud.
The three men began pumping her harder and harder. Fajer was pulling her asshole wider and wider as his cock pumped into her while the Moor in front of her was fucking her mouth. The other Moor was pushing his cock deeper into her, as he split her open with his thick, dark meat.
Oh Allah, Allah, Yasmeen moaned to herself as the hands everywhere roamed her body and she became the sexual orifice for the men. She was no longer a woman with a mind and spirit. She was the ultimate toy for men to use to satisfy their appetites. She was a mere vehicle from which men would be able to achieve their release. She existed for their sexual needs.
Fajer finished first, quickly climaxing inside her ass and then pulling out. The Moor before Yasmeen came into her mouth and then onto her face, spilling thick white cum on her while the Moor buried deep inside her tight cunt climaxed inside her. The four people lay exhausted in a tight heap of body parts and wet, sticky bodily fluids.
Katharine lay curled on her side, sleeping peacefully on the pillows and blankets, completely undisturbed.
***
Mohammed threw the glass into the wall. The frustration at his uselessness was driving him mad. It had only been two days, but already he felt like time was running out. Who had done this monstrous thing and why? Had Kat been kidnapped by ruffians wanting to exact their revenge on him? Was she being held by men who wanted money for her return?
Or worse yet, had she been spotted or seen by someone whose lust would never be sated until she lay underneath that man, struggling and raped, over and over again? The thoughts drove him crazy. Where was she? Suddenly outside the room he heard a knock. Bashasha was admitted into his presence.
“Forgive me, my lord. But it has come to my attention that my lady Yasmeen is missing also,” Bashasha told him.
“What?” Mohammed asked, turning to the older woman.
***
Yasmeen and the others were fast asleep when Katharine awoke. She felt disoriented and her head swam. Where am I? she wondered. Then, she remembered. Yasmeen and her hired ruffians had kidnapped her. She looked around and saw the two Moors, the fat man, and Yasmeen all naked and sleeping soundly in a massive heap. Disgusting, she thought.
She was able to escape Yasmeen and the men by cutting the ties that bound her wrists, but she had no idea how to make her way back to the palace and Mohammed.
Chapter 8
Katharine’s hand was bleeding. She had used a small spear that had been on one of the Moors to free herself. In her excitement and haste to be away, though, she had also sliced her right palm. She wrapped a purple scarf around her palm to stop the bleeding.
She pushed back the flap of the tent and looked outside into the desert. Her heart sank. It was pitch black for miles and all she saw were the sand dunes that dominated the desert Rub' al Khali.
Katharine flung herself out into the night. She would rather die in the desert than leave her fate to Yasmeen. She was in God’s hands now.
***
Bashasha had been summoned before the sheik.
“Any sign of Yasmeen?” Mohammed asked the older woman, his quiet voice belying his simmering anger.
“No, my lord. But she did disappear about the same time Lady Katharine went missing. I can’t help but think Yasmeen is involved in her disappearance,” Bashasha confessed.
Mohammed nodded.
“I agree. Have the riders discovered anything?” he asked about the men who had been sent across the desert to scout for Katharine.
“No, my lord. I am sorry, but no word yet has been heard from them.”
Mohammed shuddered and lowered his head. “Leave me,” he said.
“Please my lord, let me stay with you,” she requested. Bashasha feared for his peace of mind.
“Leave me,” he told her coldly.
***
Katharine had no way of knowing, as she stepped away from Fajer and Yasmeen, that she walked into even greater peril. A desert sandstorm was brewing. The storms were known to be dangerous and even life-threatening.
Sandstorms were common in the desert regions, and a storm could move large volumes of sand unexpectedly. If dust or sand entered the body, it could cause illness; untreated sand in the eyes could lead to blindness.
The sand swirled and twisted around her and she recalled the harem women talking about the danger of the storm. Katharine continued to walk through the sand until it became impossible. The sand spit into her eyes, her mouth, her hair, and her ears. Katharine knew she would die in this cursed desert, never to be found. She fell to her knees and then collapsed. Her last thought before she sank into oblivion wasn’t of the green trees of England or the deserts of Arabia; it was about the dark, sensuous eyes of Mohammed, and his mouth as he kissed her.
***
Yasmeen arched her body as one of the Moors settled his large muscular body over her delicate one. With no words or preliminaries, he had thrust her legs apart and shoved his large cock inside her. She had fallen asleep directly after the night’s fun, so her cunt was still filled with the Moor’s sperm and her own juices. The Moor grunted as his cock filled her, and Yasmeen cried lightly as not to wake the other two men, although secretly, she wanted to wake the other two and have a repeat of the night before. The Moor grasped her honey-colored thighs hard as he continued to pound into her.
***
The two teenagers were fighting as they returned to the large main tent in the desert.
“I think she’s dead!” said the younger, Bikr. At twelve years old, he was given to exaggerations and enjoyed making scenes to embarrass his mother and father.
“She’s not dead, Bikr. She’s alive and we need to tell Father,” spoke the older, Saber. Saber was 15 years old and his father’s pride and joy. As Bikr scampered off to find more trouble, Saber went to find his father.
Saber and his father Majeed remained seated on their camels as they looked at the form half-covered in sand. She was almost buried and her face was underneath her arm. She looked ragged. Both men couldn’t guess how long she had been in the desert.
“A woman from another tribe?” asked young Saber.
“Could be,” Majeed said, nodding at his son’s question. There were many Bedouin tribes such as his that wandered the desert. Some were linked by family, and others by marriage, but rarely did anyone venture into the great desert when a sandstorm was upon them; they knew better. This storm that passed had been raging for two days.
“Why would she go out in such a storm, Father?” asked Saber.
“Perhaps she was lost,” Majeed said. He dismounted and Saber followed. “We’ll take her to the camp and allow the women to attend her.”
Majeed walked to the form and knelt beside her. When he turned her over in his arms, Saber gasped. Majeed looked down at the woman he held and was also shocked. The woman had golden-blonde hair that blended into the desert’s sands, and her skin was the color of cream. Her face was lovely and, against his will, Majeed could feel himself stir.
He lifted her easily and settled himself and the girl on his camel.
“Come, Saber,” he said.
Rana, the first and only wife of Sheik Majeed, was charged to look after the young girl. Since Rana had given Majeed two sons and a daughter, Majeed had never thought to take any more wives. He had only ever wanted sons to help and continue with his tribal duties, and Rana had done her duty by providing him sons. Since Majeed was not a sexual man, he was content to rule over his tribe with only one wife. In addition, he knew of
many sheiks who had large harems and many wives, and the trouble the women caused was not worth the sexual pleasure.
Rana’s brothers and their families lived with them, and together with all the offspring, they lived a nomadic existence. As the tribal leader, Majeed was intelligent and thoughtful, though he owed allegiance to his father’s family as well as his wife’s.
Rana bathed the girl and dressed her in a simple dark blue abaya. As Katharine slept, Rana bathed the girl’s forehead with cool cloths and tried to keep her comfortable.
Rana looked over the girl’s lithe frame with envy. Rana had never been a beauty. She was the youngest daughter of a neighboring sheik and had grown up coddled by her father. Though Rana’s sisters had been beauties, Rana was not, although she always had been sweet and kind. She was a devout Muslim, a loving mother, and caring wife. When Majeed had wanted to marry all those years ago, Rana thought he would certainly pick one of her sisters. But Majeed was not interested in beauty and found it distracting. Instead, he had settled for Rana and never regretted his choice.
Rana had bathed the girl with the help of the women and all had admired the girl’s face and figure. Her golden hair had been cleaned and pinned back, and her oval face had been washed and creamed with almond oil. Rana could not help but think the foreign woman was more beautiful than all of her sisters and any woman she had ever seen. Perhaps it was the uniqueness of her creamy skin and hair, but she could not help but wonder if Majeed would desire her.
Majeed came into the room quietly. The women had gone to tend to the evening meal and Majeed wanted to see the young beauty. She lay asleep on the pillows and blankets inside his wife’s tent. She was dressed modestly in a blue abaya, but Majeed could see her nipples taut and stiff through the material. He knelt beside her as he had done in the desert. His fingers itched to touch her and he couldn’t stop himself.
Majeed was an attractive man in his thirties, tall and muscular, with brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a beard, which aged him, but he was an attractive man never given to impulses until now.
His fingers encircled her nipples and Katharine moaned in her sleep. He wanted to touch her more and taste her, but his honor held him back.
Katharine was startled awake and batted his hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
Majeed was dazzled when she opened her eyes. Her eyes were blue, like the Arabian Sea.
Katharine’s head spinned as she tried to grasp where she was while Majeed stepped away from her. She was frightened, but as her head continued to spin, she murmured, “Help me,” and sank into the pillows and oblivion.
Majeed stared at the sleeping beauty as she seemed to faint, but was distracted by a noise and turned toward it.
“Rana!” he said. Rana’s eyes were accusing; she wore a pained expression on her face.
“My lord,” was all she said, and she exited the tent quickly.
Majeed cursed the beauty. He had been right. Women, especially beautiful ones, were only trouble. He looked down at her. A woman of her unusual coloring was obviously not a native Arab. She must therefore be a slave, concubine or a foreign visitor. In any case, he owed it to his wife and his own sanity to find her rightful place and be rid of her.
He sighed. He would take Saber and a few of his men and visit the neighboring sheiks to see if anyone knew anything about the pale beauty.
***
Mohammed sank his head into his hands. It had been a week with no sign of her. The second riders had come back exhausted and with no word. It had been an excruciating wait and one that held no satisfaction. He decided that either Yasmeen had secured a passage for her and sent her away or Katharine had been sold into slavery, which was a frightening thought. Even for someone with Katharine’s spirit, the world of slavery was evil. In the harem, she had been relatively safe from everyone except himself and the wrath of Yasmeen. In the outside world, though, the ship’s captain would have her, the sailors would have a go at her, and by the end of the voyage, she would be sold to a dirty brothel or worse. Mohammed couldn’t stand it. His thoughts were dark.
He needed to get away. He had many brothers but his favorite was the farthest away, on the edge of the great desert. He would travel there as quickly as possible.
***
Katharine was seated inside the tent as she picked at her food. She knew Majeed’s eyes were on her as they always were. Rana was visiting her family in a nearby tent and, as Majeed had dismissed the servants, they remained alone.
Katharine stole glances at Majeed while he was eating. He was a tall man, golden-skinned, with brown hair and eyes. He reminded Katharine of Mohammed, except Majeed was slimmer in build and his beard made him look much older. Majeed was attractive, but he did not have Mohammed’s dark looks and seductive gazes. Katharine shivered at the memories of his possession of her.
“Are you cold, beauty?” Majeed asked quietly from across the many pillows as they both remained seated.
“No, I’m well. I wish you would call me by name. Katharine,” she said, not wanting to seem contrary.
She knew this sheik had only one wife and no harem. He was a quiet, studious man who relished his power and yielded it extremely wisely. He was greatly respected, but she worried he would take notice of her and want her for himself. As a respected sheik, no one would deny him.
“Where did you learn to speak Arabic?” Majeed asked her.
“From living in a palace and serving another sheik, which is where I want to be returned,” she answered. Katharine had tried to talk to him about being returned to Mohammed before, but he would never let her raise the subject.
“You don’t like it here, beauty?” he asked. Majeed’s voice had lowered and he moved toward her.
“I would like,” she began.
“Yes?” he said. Majeed lowered himself to sit beside her. She gazed up at him with eyes that were blue and wide. His palm touched her face and it was like silk. He hardened at the thought of taking her right there in his tent. The thought of her creamy thighs spread wide as she accepted his cock spurred him on.
“Please,” she said. Katharine tried to move away from the close proximity, but he caught her in his arms.
“You were this man’s wife?” Majeed touched her golden hair, marveled at the color.
“No, but,” she started to explain, breathlessly.
“Servant?” Majeed pulled her closer to him as he examined her features.
“Please,” she said again, and tried to edge away from him.
“Perhaps a concubine? A woman used to giving away her body?” he asked. His hands moved over the abaya’s fabric.
“No!” she exclaimed. Katharine colored at the question and scooted away from his touch.
“I want you to stay here as my guest,” Majeed said confidently. His eyes were intelligent and kind, and Katharine saw that he was a good man.
“Will you send me back where I belong?” she asked.
“Of course. But you might find out that you belong here,” he added. Majeed was bewitched by her words, her accent so foreign yet speaking the Arabic tongue, and a pale body, golden hair, and eyes like the Arabian Sea.
“No. I don’t think so,” Kat shook her head.
Her words angered him. A slave had no say, and he expected she was a slave. He had never wanted a woman as he did this pale beauty.
“We shall see,” he said. He strode angrily from the tent.
Rana cornered her husband outside the tent.
“My lord, I have never asked you for anything. I have been a good wife. But I beg you, in the name of Allah, please send this woman back to where she came from.”
Majeed’s eyes narrowed. “By the Qur’an, you are also to obey your husband, and obedience is what I require, Rana.”
“My lord,” Rana said.
“I will send her away when the time is right,” he said, interrupting her. “Until then, she will remain here. That is my will.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rana
said, and lowered her eyes.
“And you would be wise to remember that there is nothing between the young girl and myself. She is my guest,” he added.
Rana watched her husband walk away and sighed deeply.
Kat tossed and turned and didn’t fall asleep until well after midnight. Just as she was falling asleep, a lone camel came into view as Majeed and his men were outside smoking. The figure dismounted and came forward. The stranger had only one word of greeting, which was “Brother.”
Majeed strode forward happily. He clasped the man in a broad hug and said, “Mohammed,” before leading him into the tent.
Chapter 9
Katharine chewed continuously on her bottom lip as she remained deep in thought. Her night had passed slowly, and when she awoke she felt as though she hadn't slept at all. A decision had to be made. She had escaped Yasmeen's plot and Fajer's fat hands only to be saved by another man who wanted her as his concubine.
Kat was grateful to Majeed and his sons. Had they not found her in the desert, she surely would have died. But now what? She wanted to return to Mohammed, but if that was not possible, then she wanted to return home. She missed so many things about England and she had taken much for granted.
Katharine knew she must decide quickly. She would have ventured into the desert again, had it not been for the conversation she heard outside her tent.
"Please Dunya," Adib murmured into the servant girl's ear.
Dunya was a short young girl, and her long, flowing hair was her only jewel. She lacked both beauty and brains, but she had been with Majeed's family for many years and had been a good and loyal servant.
Adib was a crafty young man who sold his goods and wares to the desert people. He had long been trying to get Dunya to join him and sail far away from Arabia. He knew many people and had saved for their passage, which could be arranged in a few days’ time.
The Sheik and the Slave Page 10