The Sheik and the Slave

by Italia, Nicola

  She draped the white gauze-like scarf around her body. She wrapped it delicately about her head and then rewrapped it around her upper body, looking at herself in every position.

  “Remember, you must be obedient at all times, Safiya,” Khuzaymah said.

  “Yes, Father,” she replied, trying to please him but wanting so very much to try the other silk scarves he had brought for her to wear.

  Khuzaymah had purchased many beautiful colors and patterns for his daughter so that she might entice the sheik with her body.

  He had been approached by Abdullah, who had heard from town gossips that his daughters were very beautiful. As Safiya had already had her heart set on being the sheik’s wife, she had been excited to learn of the negotiations and the invitation to visit the palace.

  “Remember, he is a great sheik and you must defer to his knowledge,” he told his daughter.

  “Of course, Father,” she said.

  Although Safiya was the youngest daughter of a sheik, Khuzaymah was poor, and his many beautiful daughters had little dowries and only their beauty to recommend them. He tried to marry his daughters into families that would be advantageous for him.

  Though she was young and beautiful, she was childish, immature and silly. He worried that once a man of Mohammed’s stature had satisfied his lust, he would grow tired of her.

  When Yasmeen had been sent away in disgrace and Abdullah had approached him on behalf of the sheik, Khuzaymah had been delighted.

  “Allah has decreed a woman submit to her husband,” he continued.

  “Yes, Father,” she answered him, but she was very bored.

  She began to comb her long hair as he spoke and she felt her nipples harden. The sheik would want her, she thought. His stature among men was one of a leader, and his sexual prowess with women was much talked about. All knew of his harem. To please him, her body hair had been removed, and though no firm negotiations had yet been acknowledged, the men seemed convinced that Safiya’s young body would do most of the work for them.

  Her father’s brother Khaldun, her Uncle, accompanied them to the palace. He was a crafty man who also wanted Safiya with Mohammed for the power it would bring their family. Khaldun was a short, squat man who was very hairy. He walked with a slight limp.

  Safiya watched her Uncle Khaldun from the corner of the room as her father prattled on about the obedience of women. Khaldun had always been taken with his niece. He imagined her thighs spread before him as he settled his thick body between them. She had always thought too highly of herself, being just an insignificant girl.

  Safiya saw her uncle’s hungry look and blushed. He licked his lips once and adjusted his cock before asking her, “Are you listening to your father?”

  “Of course, uncle,” she replied.

  Her father sighed heavily.

  “Be obedient and all will be well,” he told her. He looked to his brother, shaking his head, and left the room.

  “Come sit here, my niece,” Khaldun said, and he gestured to a pillow at his feet.

  She smiled childishly and came to sit at his feet.

  “Yes, uncle?”

  His hand brushed into her hair. It had always been this way. Safiya’s uncle had spent time with her over the years, and he would touch her hair and gaze down at his favorite niece. Her older sisters warned her to stay away from him, though they wouldn’t tell her why. But she didn’t listen to them; she liked the attention and the candy he sometimes gave her.

  Sometimes she would sit on his lap and other times he would play with her hair.

  “My lovely niece,” he said.

  His fingers moved one strand of her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. She smiled.

  As he did so, his gnarled fingers lightly touched her nipple.

  “Uncle!” she gasped.

  In a quick movement, he jerked her into his lap, pushing his meaty hands over her breasts and fondling them harshly. She cried out.

  “I want to touch you, niece,” he said as he gazed at her young breasts covered in the fabric. His ugly face softened in the light of such beauty.

  “Do you hope to suckle sons one day?” he asked her.

  Safiya tried to move away from his lap, and he felt his cock bounce under his robe at the movement.

  “Well? Speak up, girl,” he said.

  “Yes, uncle. I suppose so.”

  Khaldun pulled her flush against him and held her arms behind her so she couldn’t fight him. Then, as he desired, he took one nipple in his mouth, wetting the fabric. He bit it lightly and Safiya arched into him. She cried out in pleasure and pain.

  “No,” she whimpered softly.

  He chuckled softly as her young body responded.

  “Did my brother have your hair removed?” he asked.

  Safiya nodded.

  “Let me see,” he commanded.

  Safiya shook her head.

  “Now, girl. Let me see your pussy.”

  Safiya moved too slowly, and his hands moved her silk orange abaya up her honey-colored legs, over her thighs and to her waist.

  Slowly, she spread her slim thighs to reveal her trimmed pussy, which was glistening with drops of dew from her encounter with her uncle.

  “Open yourself to me,” he commanded, smiling as the young girl did as she was told. Her small finger opened the lips of her delicate pussy.

  “Very good,” he said. He smoothed down the silk abaya over her legs and left the young girl wet and hungry.

  ***

  Safiya was hot, wet and confused. Her uncle had done things to her no other man had done, but she wasn’t satisfied. Instead she was aching.

  She wanted to please her father and Mohammed, but she also wanted the taste of something forbidden her uncle had shown her. She twisted a nipple with her thumb and forefinger and arched her back. The juices on her cunt made her slippery and she tasted the salty dew. When she finally came loudly, fingering herself, her uncle was outside the room smiling.

  ***

  When Mohammed returned to Arabia, he had been frantic to discover the ship that Katharine had sailed on and to bring her home quickly and safely. But days ticked by slowly and nothing turned up. Captains sailing into ports were courteous and amiable, willing to help him in any way. However, none knew of her, and she had sailed with none of them.

  He questioned Abdullah again in regard to his conversation with Jean Baptiste. He went over in detail their conversation and Abdullah never changed the details. Jean Baptiste had sold her to another man, and the ship had been bound for Arabia. He knew nothing more than that.

  Had Abdullah been sure the man was telling the truth? After all, he was a mercenary. Abdullah replied that he believed the man to be telling the truth.

  Mohammed grew more agitated as the days turned into a week and still she had disappeared into thin air. He wondered if Abdullah had indeed received the whole story from the savage, but he shook his head. Abdullah was his trusted advisor and had no reason to deceive him.

  Abdullah had even gone out of his way to comfort him and had brought a neighboring sheik to sup with him to divert his mind from the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Katharine. These things preyed on Mohammed’s mind, and Abdullah was looking out for him.

  The neighboring sheik brought with him his brother and his daughter. In the gardens one night, the sheik saw the 16-year-old daughter walking there alone. She was a sweet, simple girl who spoke shyly, and her eyes dipped down in deference to him.

  She was a sweet child. He had invited her to dinner as well as her uncle and father.

  Afterwards, the girl had asked if the sheik if he would like a neck message to relieve his tension.

  He had been touched and smiled at the young girl. He nodded.

  Since he had returned to Arabia, he had not taken any of the harem girls to bed. He was wholly and completely entranced with Katharine and could bed no other woman. He had made mention of his feelings to Bashasha, who spun a tale to the harem women that the sheik ha
d returned ill and could not bed with anyone.

  It was a momentary lie that would pacify the women for a time.

  When the young girl offered to massage him, he was touched. She was a young child who would marry soon. He must see about finding her a good match.

  Her small hands kneaded into his neck and he closed his eyes.

  “Your hands are heaven, Safiya,” he said.

  “Thank you, sire,” she replied. Her voice was soft and melodious.

  “Your uncle and father treat you well?” he asked her. The two men had retired to another room to smoke the Sheesha.

  “Yes. They are loving and caring.”

  “I am glad.”

  “You have many troubles, sire?”

  “Yes,” he sighed heavily.

  “I am truly sorry,” she whispered into his ear.

  The room was silent and her little hands eased his flesh.

  “Would you like me to dance for you?” she asked shyly. “I dance at home.”

  He smiled kindly. She was a young girl and would make a man proud to have her as his wife. But his thoughts were consumed with his lost Katharine and their unborn child. However, he didn’t want to hurt the young girl’s feelings, so he nodded.

  “Please do,” he said.

  He clapped twice and the oud master appeared. He began to strum his instrument as Safiya performed the sensual movements of the Eastern Dance. As her hips moved, she could feel his eyes upon her.

  Mohammed swallowed slowly as his cock expanded. He watched the young girl go through her movements in a sensual haze, her hips undulating. He felt a little ill.

  The incense was suffocating in the room and he suddenly couldn’t distinguish between fantasy and reality. He wanted her blonde hair falling all around them and those Arabian Sea eyes dark with passion as he took her.

  He wanted to see her ripe with his son and watch her as she moved. He saw the young girl dancing and wondered where Katharine had learned the Eastern Dance. He had never seen her dance it before.

  “You may leave,” he told the oud musician.

  “Come here,” he beckoned Safiya to him. He lay upon the pillows, watching her dance.

  As she came to him, her body honey-colored and slim, he shook his head. What was this? Who was she? Where was Katharine?

  Safiya joined him on the mound of pillows, smiling and willing.

  “My lord?” she asked. Her voice was small.

  She moved the silk abaya up her thighs and placed his hand on her thigh.

  “Safiya?” he said. He heard the question in his voice.

  The blue eyes weren’t blue but brown and her hair wasn’t golden. What was this? He shook his head as the young girl played her part as she had been told to do. She moved the abaya up over her body and lay naked underneath him.

  “My lord, I’m yours. Take me,” she said.

  The room was spinning and his head felt fuzzy. Why did Katharine look so different, he wondered. But he missed her so. She meant everything to him.

  “Katharine,” he murmured as he pressed the girl’s legs apart and mounted her. He heard her cry out as he broke her hymen. Then, he blacked out.

  ***

  “The drug was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, not make him unconscious,” her father yelled at Khaldun.

  Safiya washed the blood from her thighs as the two men bickered.

  “The deed is done, though,” her uncle said. “She has been penetrated.”

  “Yes, but no seed,” her father said harshly. “Without seed, she is just another harem girl. We need his seed.”

  Her uncle nodded in agreement.

  “It will be done,” he said.

  ***

  That night, Safiya lay in bed. She was groggy and tired. She wondered absently how she was to get the sheik’s seed.

  “Safiya,” she heard someone whisper.

  “Yes, uncle?” she asked. She sat up in bed.

  He had entered her room so quietly that she had not even heard him.

  “You are a virgin no longer,” he said as he smiled.

  “Yes. That is so, uncle. But, no seed,” she replied.

  He smiled and undressed slowly as his niece inched away from him on the bed.

  “No,” she said as she shook her head.

  “I have been waiting a long time for this day, my lovely niece,” he said to her.

  “I will tell my father!” she hissed at him.

  She hid underneath the blanket, which he quickly stripped away from her beautiful body.

  “I will say you bewitched me. Who will believe a little girl over a grown man?” he told her.

  She fought him briefly, but she was no match for his strength. Suddenly, when she had given up, her slim thighs were spread apart for him.

  “Oh my dear, you are so tight!” he said. He grunted as he went deep within her body.

  Safiya cried out, but it was in satisfaction, as her body arched into her uncle’s. Her slim legs were parted wide as her hairy older uncle took his time fucking her. When Khaldun finally climaxed, he pumped his seed deep within his niece’s body. Now they could claim the seed was Mohammed’s and none would be the wiser.

  “Cheer up, my little niece,” Khaldun told her as he dressed. “To all the world, you now carry the next Sheik of Arabia in your belly.”

  Chapter 19

  Penelope ran swiftly down the long, barren hallway. Her heart raced, but she didn’t think twice about her actions. She had to speak to the Mother Superior. She pulled the woolen shawl closer to her small, bony chest. The drafts in Father O’Day’s monastery were chilling and damp. Her bones ached, though she was a young woman.

  Father O’Day had separated the novices and the Mother Superior from the rest of the monastery and they had remained separate since their arrival. The trip to Ireland had been uneventful, and the stranger had remained unconscious through it. The Mother Superior had been very worried about her, and all knew the woman was pregnant from her rounded belly.

  Father O’Day’s reputation as a godly man and one of medicine was an established fact, and the Mother Superior was very grateful to him for his assistance.

  Penelope knocked upon the wooden door once-twice.

  “Yes?” asked Mother Superior with a gentle voice.

  “Please, Mother Superior. Come at once! The woman has woken and she is upset. No one can understand a word she is saying.”

  Abigail sighed and the chair creaked as her weight shifted slightly.

  She had been so concerned for her safety during the voyage to Ireland, and once they had arrived, the Father had set to work. He had shocked the women by refusing to bleed Katharine, saying that she needed nourishment and rest.

  She followed the novice down the stone hallway and thought again of the girl with delicate features and sunlight hair. She was a lady; of that she was certain. But what had become of her family? Had she made an impudent match and married a brute who turned her out?

  Though she wore no ring on her hand, it could easily have been lost or stolen. Maybe she had been separated or taken from her loved one? That seemed a more likely occurrence, as she had arrived at the Abbey in a state of unconsciousness.

  Perhaps savage bandits had set upon her, taken her clothes, abused her and left her for dead. Maybe a wicked stepmother had thrown her out, for the young woman’s beauty had overshadowed her own. Abigail chuckled at the last thought, which was pure fairy tale. But perhaps she had been attacked and dumped at her doors.

  These questions had plagued her ever since she had discovered the girl bleeding on the front steps of the Abbey. That she had been pregnant and bleeding from between her legs had frightened Abigail immensely. She had managed to stem the blood by stuffing cotton inside the woman but had known that her knowledge was severely limited. Thus, she had written to Father O’Day, whose reputation had grown as a man of medicine.

  Once they had settled inside the Irish monastery walls, separate from the men, novices Penelope and Edith and taken turn
s watching over the women while Father O’Day had prescribed bed rest and soothing Chamomile tea.

  The Abbess spent her time in prayer and reading to the young woman who had troubled dreams and cried out often. Abigail would pat her hand and murmur to her that all would be well. She prayed for her during this time. The woman had been through much and was now all alone.

  “Ma petite,” she called her often.

  She thought once that the woman might have been a high-priced mistress who had become pregnant with the man’s child, though she doubted it. She remained certain that someone loved this woman very much and that she had been ripped away from him. She knew she had a romantic heart, but she remain convinced of this as being the truth. She wanted nothing more than to reunite them.

  It was a cold night. Abigail moved a shawl closer around her shoulders and gripped the book in her cold hands. The winds seemed to howl through the stone monastery and the chill was almost unbearable. In her own Abbey, she allowed herself the luxury of a fireplace, and she missed it dearly.

  When she stopped reading to close her eyes, she set the book on her lap. As she reached for it again, she glanced quickly at the girl lying quietly on the bed. Between her legs, the cotton was stained with dark blood. The book dropped to the floor as she ran to find Father O’Day. She clasped her cross in her hand as she ran down the hallway.

  She found Penelope reading the Bible in her small cell and breathlessly said, “Go get Father O’Day. Quickly!”

  Father O’Day entered the room and looked at the women.

  “I can’t have anyone stay who fears blood,” he said. “Mother Superior?”

  “I will be fine, Father.”

  “And you?” he asked Penelope as he laid his instruments out.

  “I think I will be okay,” she whispered.

  “If she starts to faint, Mother Superior, I want her out. What I’m about to do here is very serious. This young woman may not survive,” he told her calmly.