“Are you virgin, Charlotte? ” he asked casually.
Her mouth fell open at the shocking intimacy of the question.
“Answer! ” he pressed.
She looked away, cheeks flaming, refusing to answer.
“Shall I call Zamil? ” he asked casually.
Her head jerked around and she trembled at the thought of that terrible instrument of pain, knowing that she would do anything . . absolutely anything . . . to avoid it.
“Answer! ” he ordered. “Are you a virgin? ”
She closed her eyes. There was no help for it. She just HAD to answer.
“Yes,” she whispered wretchedly.
He nodded. “I thought so. ”
Suddenly she was gasping. Without warning, he had reached out to touch her. Exploring, caressing, squeezing, hands delving between her thighs to take incredible liberties with her body. She could not stop him. Her girlish muscles were as nothing in the face of his powerful male strength. Under his touch, her hips widened and moved of their own volition, the suddenly slick wet touch of her telling its own story.
She moaned in shame as he took the hand away.
He held up his fingers, still wet with her juices. “You see! ” he stated. “Milady or no; you are still a female like other females. ”He smiled. “A slave to men and your own appetites. ”
She shook her head, weakly.
“Come closer! ” he commanded.
Still she did not move.
“Perhaps Zamil can convince you to obey,” he said softly.
Her heart thumped yet somewhere deep inside her, still unrecognised fully for what it was, that other treacherous feeling once more began to take root. She trembled. Deep inside, was there not a part of her that wanted . . . no, needed . . . to surrender to this man? Was it merely the memory of Zamil’s slave-whip that prompted her, or was it something deeper; something in her own psyche? Not that this beast probably wouldn’t relish the sight of her writhing under the lash. Oh, how vile he was! How could he do this to her?
Nervously, she drew closer to him. She could almost smell her own arousal.
He indicated the tray on the small table at his side. “Can you serve? ”
Trembling visibly, she nevertheless managed a comprehensible reply.
“I think so. ”
“You think so . . . what? ”
For the tiniest moment she was puzzled, then understanding dawned. By her own words, she was now to acknowledge his mastery of her.
He repeated the question. “You think so . . . WHAT, slave? ”
There was no escape. The swine! The beast! How she wished she had the strength to withstand him. Had God but granted her one wish, Khalif would have been struck dead by a thunderbolt at that very moment. Yet the heat in her loins mocked her silently at the thought. And if she disobeyed, what then? Another whipping? The very thought chilled her blood.
“I think so . . . Master! ” she ground out, the words like bile in her mouth.
He smiled. “Serve then! ” he ordered, holding out his cup.
Angrily, she reached for the long-spouted jug of mint tea. Crimson-faced, she poured into the proffered vessel. To his surprise she did so perfectly; handling the awkward artefact as if she had been doing it all her life.
“You have poured before,” he observed calmly.
Despite her embarrassment, Charlotte managed to regain a little of her poise. Whatever he did to her, however much he humiliated her, it could be no worse than Zamil’s terrible whip. Even so, her dented pride demanded that she not be too obsequious. She lifted her hands to display the iron manacles.
“Not with my hands chained! ” she replied bitterly.
He frowned a little at her tone.
“Meylissah . . . my maid . . . taught me,” she continued, somewhat hastily. “Your jug is no more difficult than hers. ”
He sighed and waited.
She knew what he wanted and knew she could not resist. Shamefaced and still desperately conscious of her nakedness, still she felt her treacherous body oiling itself. She shivered . . . not just from fear.
“Master,” she finally whispered.
Nonchalantly, he took a small key from within his robe and, bending forward, released unlocked and removed the manacles from her wrists.
Charlotte rubbed her wrists in relief, then looked up in surprise as Khalif abruptly changed the subject. “This Meylissah . . . you and she are close? ”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Khalif scowled and once again her heart missed a beat.
“. . . Master,” she repeated.
“She has served you a long time? ”
“Not long. She was a gift from Sheikh Omar, my uncle’s friend in Valletta, yet she is as my sister. ”She blushed inwardly even as she spoke. She did think a lot of Meylissah, it was true . . . but not as a sister!
This time he did not comment on her omission and, in that second, she was tempted to bargain with him.
“Please! ” she whispered. “Do not make me a slave, I beg you! Ransom me, please! You have said I am beautiful. I will do anything . . . anything you want! Please . . . please! ”Her heart was thumping in her breast and once more she felt the moistness beginning to make itself felt between her legs.
Khalif’s voice became firm again, once more dashing her hopes and expectations to the ground. “Do not try to bargain with me, Charlotte! Your offer means nothing. You are my captive now . . . my slave. I can do with you exactly as I wish . . . and believe me, I will. ”
She opened her mouth as if to argue, and he held up a hand to silence her.
“Do you understand? ” he asked grimly.
Charlotte’s heart sank. What was the use of arguing or trying to bargain with this man? For the present she was just what he proclaimed her to be . . . a slave. “Yes, I understand,” she whispered bitterly, defeat showing at last on her face.
Once more he waited pointedly for her to complete the sentence.
“. . . Master,” she whispered. She held her breath as he reached for her breasts, palms brushing gently across her nipples, already in full erection; then breathing out noisily as one hand swept down to her stomach and beyond. Frightened again, she grasped his wrist with both hands in an attempt to stop a further advance.
“Don’t . . . please . . . don’t! ” she begged.
The wrathful look on his face was enough to still her protests and she relaxed her grip, slowly, helplessly widening her thighs to allow him easier access. Not satisfied with this, he removed his sash and took her arms behind her back, swiftly binding her wrists together. Then he began to caress her again, sliding two fingers deep into her already moist tunnel, thumb dextrously teasing her rapidly erecting clitoris.
“Oh . . . oh God,” she panted, her body already beginning to move of its own accord under his knowing touch.
Confidently, Khalif continued to delve as he wished, Charlotte’s thighs widening even more as, giving up the unequal struggle, she abandoned herself to his caresses.
“Oh God . . . please, oh, please! ” she moaned, leaning back, body thrust out for his touch, knuckles white, hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically behind her back, his touch bringing her pleasures and feelings more powerful and erotic than any she had known . . . even with Meylissah. She was totally helpless now, her defences in tatters. He had complete control of her, bringing her closer and closer to the orgasm she fought against, yet sought so desperately. Mouth open, breathing heavily, her eyes stared wildly and the sweat began to shine her body.
Three times, cleverly, he brought her to the brink, each time pulling back to stop just short of the sexual fulfilment she so desperately craved.
Then he took his hands away and leaned back to shed his robes. Shaking as if with the palsy, sh
e looked at him, fascinated, as he undressed. The sight of the powerful, full-grown man’s body mesmerised her and she gasped at the already erect evidence of his desire for her, seeing in her mind’s eye her own soft nakedness spread open for his conquest. Oh God, she thought, he was so big, how could she possibly accommodate him? Yet she knew she wanted to, desperately. She breathed deeply, suddenly dizzy with the strength of her desire for this man who now literally held her very life in his hands.
“Come here, slave! ” he growled, holding out his arms and lying back on the cushions.
Heart thumping alarmingly in her chest, trembling, she laid herself in his encircling arms. He pulled her close and she felt the hardness of his body against her own. He kissed her and she shook uncontrollably. Despite her natural apprehension at what was about to happen, she was unable to protest. His kiss became more demanding and hers with it. His tongue entered her mouth to fight a duel with hers, the very intimacy of the act serving to inflame her even more. She moaned huskily, as he began to caress her body, thighs already moist with escaping juices. His hands moved to her breasts and her nipples hardened in natural response. His fingers closed on them roughly and she was immediately lost! Lifting her breasts to his touch, she surrendered herself completely, kissing him back with rising passion.
She jerked, panic-stricken for a moment, as his erection brushed her thigh. He kissed her gently and her qualms dissolved as quickly as her passions rose. She wanted . . . no, needed . . . him inside her. After everything he had done, her body would not be denied; she was as much a slave to her own passions as she was to him. Truly, at that moment, he was her Master, and . . . oh God . . . she was loving it.
Squeezing her sensitive nipples as she writhed under him, he kissed her over and over; she thrusting her breasts upward to welcome the sweet torture. Once more his tongue sought the inside of her mouth; hers, in turn, seeking his. Gradually then, taking his time, he manoeuvred her so that she lay on her back, and he partly on top of her. She took his weight easily and, unasked, opened her legs wide so he could lie between them. Again, his manhood brushed the entrance to her sex channel. The fleshy staff parted the lips of her sex and she moaned. The sound encouraged him. It was not a frightened sound but, rather, one of rising pleasure and passion.
Kissing her savagely, he reached down between them to part the fleshy lips and thrust himself inside. Gradually, a little at a time, he slid into her until at length he was three quarters encased in her tight but welcoming channel.
Now he reached between their joined bodies once more to caress her clitoris. She looked up at him wide-eyed, breathless suddenly as he moved sharply and decisively, impaling her completely with one powerful lunge. Ignoring the pain, completely lost to the sensations gripping her body and mind, Charlotte sought to bring him even further inside her. Crying out with passion, she moved in time with him, instinctively bringing her legs up and round to make a saddle on which he could ride.
Mouths locked together in a kiss, they moved on together towards climax; Charlotte, mouth open and gasping wildly, helplessly surrendering to his maleness as he continued to lift her to heights of erotic feeling she had not known could exist.
The feeling was far too intense to last long. Crying out her need, bucking and twisting under him, Charlotte felt her orgasm burst upon her; her frantic movements sending him, too, over the edge before, sublimely, he lost himself in her softness.
Slowly then, eyes wide in wonder and delight, she came down from her peak, her body relaxing unconsciously under him as he continued to move within her. Gently he kissed her again, feeling her lips part readily under the pressure of his tongue.
He pulled back, rising on his elbows to look down at her. Tearfully she gazed up at him, then lifted her lips to be kissed again. He obliged, then pulled her close, cradling her possessively against his chest. She laid her head on his shoulder with a sigh, wriggling as close as she could. Head buried on his shoulder, she murmured something.
“What? ” he growled.
She looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded from spent passion. “I didn’t know . . . ,” she whispered, “. . . I didn’t know it could be like that! ”
He smiled. “Go to sleep now! ” he ordered. “It has been a long day and I wish to rest. ”
Charlotte hadn’t realised how tired she was. As was Khalif. Almost within moments of laying her head on his shoulder, they were both asleep. He awoke first, several hours later. For a few moments he watched her sleeping, then began to caress her again. The caresses awoke her and, seeing the lustful look on his face, she immediately turned once more on to her back, widening her thighs immediately in invitation. He smiled and shook his head, lifting her so that she now sat astride him; hands still tied behind her back. Slowly and carefully then, once more making sure of her pleasure, he took her again. This time he was very thorough, taking his time and guiding her to several climaxes. And once more, as her natural sexual appetite took control, Charlotte surrendered herself completely. Later, lying once more in his arms with her head on his shoulder, she slept again. She did not stir, not even when he left her embrace to go on deck.
Several hours later, Charlotte awoke to the appetising smell of hot, spicy food as both Leila and Meylissah entered, accompanied by a grinning lad of about twelve or thirteen. Leila was carrying a tray containing several delicious looking dishes. Both girls were still unclothed, and Charlotte could see that the little golden padlock no longer swung between Leila’s thighs.
“This is Achmed! ” Meylissah said softly with a respectful nod of her head in the direction of the boy. “By the Rais’ command, he is now our keeper and we must obey him in all things! ”Turning her head so that the boy could not see, she made a silent grimace with her mouth. “He has the power to punish if we disobey,” she whispered softly.
“Rais? ” asked Charlotte.
“Rais is Lord Khalif,” interjected Leila. “Mean Lord. You understand? ”
Eyes wide, Charlotte nodded; noting with some apprehension the silver-handled slave-whip tucked into the sash holding up the youth’s ragged pantaloons. She found it difficult to speak. To be at the mercy of a mere boy was the final indignity.
Meylissah smiled gently, helping Charlotte to sit up so that she could untie the sash still confining her hands. “Rais Khalif take pleasure with Mistress last night? ” she asked softly.
There was no point in denying it. Red-faced, Charlotte nodded, still feeling the lingering, somewhat bruised sensation inside her sex channel and the clinging, still-wet stickiness at the juncture of her thighs.
Leila moved forward, pouring a cup of dark liquid from a small jug as she did so. “Drink now! ” she instructed, offering the cup to the somewhat bemused Charlotte. “Maybe make safe from baby! ”Charlotte, who until that moment had not given the matter a moment’s thought, felt her heart lurch at the thought that she might already be carrying Khalif’s child. Her thoughts in a whirl, she raised the cup to her lips and took a mouthful. The liquid tasted quite pleasant, though a trifle bitter.
“Make me safe? ” she whispered. “What is it? ”
Leila looked serious. “This ‘cup of roots’. Girl drink . . . most time, no have baby! ”
Meylissah smiled and a bemused Charlotte shook her head. She had never heard of such a thing. Still, if the other girls believed it . . .
Leila still hadn’t finished. “Lay back now; show how make safe more! ”
Nonplussed at the other’s matter-of-fact tone and still more than a little embarrassed at her lack of clothing, Charlotte nevertheless made no demur. Leila picked up what appeared to be a small sponge from the tray and, dipping it liberally into what remained of the dark liquid in the cup, pressed it to the blonde triangle of hair at the base of the English girl’s belly.
“Open legs! ” she ordered.
The watching Achmed’s grin widened as, blushing a deep r
ed, Charlotte obeyed, stifling a gasp as Leila pushed and prodded the soaking wet sponge right up inside her body.
“Lift legs now! ”
Too stupefied to disobey, Charlotte lifted her legs until her knees were pressing against her breasts. Leila gave a satisfied grunt and continued to push and probe, wadding the soaking sponge deep inside the somewhat astonished girl’s sexual passage.
“Is good,” grunted Leila. “Now . . . when Rais take pleasure . . . no baby comes. ”
“Achmed, still grinning widely, said something in a rapid Arabic dialect which Charlotte did not understand. Questioningly, she looked at Meylissah.
Meylissah looked a little uncomfortable. “He say you make good slave, Mistress. Bring much gold for crew! ”
Charlotte let her legs drop, the colour of her face and neck betraying her lingering embarrassment at being so displayed to the watching youngster.
Leila displayed no such emotion. Sitting back on her heels, she helped herself to a triangle of pastry, indicating the tray with a ‘you too’ gesture to Charlotte. After a moment’s hesitation, mouth-watering at the appetising smell, Charlotte lifted a similar triangle to her mouth, biting into the middle part as had her companion. Trying to ignore the watching lad, she tasted it. The filling, some kind of spiced ground meat, was absolutely delicious and she suddenly realised how hungry she was. Forgetting her embarrassment, she managed a shaky smile.
“This is splendid. What is it? ”
“Call ‘Brik’,” mumbled Leila, mouth still half-full of her own pastry.
It was a start of sorts and from this beginning the three girls began to talk while they ate, hesitantly at first, then more freely as tensions eased. Achmed, losing interest now that Charlotte’s private parts were no longer so blatantly exhibited, left them to it and left the cabin to pursue other duties. Once the ice was broken, Leila proved to be an absolute mine of information. Most interestingly, she told Charlotte that, while Redbeard journeyed to Algiers, Khalif and the rest of the corsairs would first take the San Cristobal to a fortress somewhere where they would off-load the gold and some of the ship’s cannon before sailing to meet the old corsair in Algiers, when they would sell the ship and the slaves.
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