All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  “It is not for me to say, my lord Kedar,” she answered. “I am but your humble slave.”

  “You recite the words perfectly,” was his answer, “yet I do not think for one moment that you believe them.”

  “I was not raised to be a slave, my lord Kedar.”

  “Nonetheless you are an exquisite one, and I give thanks to the beneficent Allah who has given you to me, my fair Muna.” He was pleased to see that captivity had not broken her spirit. Skye smiled inwardly to herself at his words. She had decided not to be overly meek with this man. It would quickly bore him. His next words caused her to start. “Disrobe for me now, Muna. I would see your beauty entirely rather than through the taunting diaphanous silk of your charming costume.”

  Skye could not help the shiver that raced through her. This was the moment she had dreaded, for now there was no going back. Once again she wondered if she were mad in what she was attempting to do. Despite what Osman said, there were no guarantees that she would find Niall. What if he was dead by the time she arrived in Fez? Nothing was more fierce than a woman rejected by a man she desires, and Princess Turkhan was a powerful woman. A slave had no rights. He could be killed by his master simply because it amused his master to kill him. For a single second she contemplated racing from the room and begging Osman to stop this charade immediately, before it was too late. Then came the horrifying realization: It was already too late.

  Silently she slipped from the soft couch, turning to keep her back to him. With a motion so fluidly graceful that he wasn’t even certain how she had accomplished it, Skye slipped the little bolero off and dropped it to the floor. Seated upon the couch now, Kedar admired the long line of her back. There was not a mark on her skin. It was as pristine as an unwritten parchment. Skye carefully loosened her pantaloons, and they puddled around her ankles before she stepped out of them. As she turned he had just a quick glimpse of her breasts and belly before she was kneeling before him, her dark head pressing into the wool carpet. “As my lord commands,” she murmured at him.

  Ravish. The word entwined itself about his brain. He wanted to ravish her; to leap from his position upon the couch, press her back into the rug, and ravish her! Instead, he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He did not believe in hurrying a woman along passion’s pathway, but he had to admit to himself that he had never before desired a woman as greatly as he did this one. Perhaps it was his abstinence on his journey; but Kedar knew it was not. He was not a man to neglect his harem, often sending for two or three women in a single night; but neither was he one of those weak fools who could not survive a day without shoving himself into a warm and willing woman. No. This one was different, and he was fascinated. “Stand up,” he commanded her, and watched with pleasure as she gracefully rose from her obeisance.

  She, in turn, watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he stood and came down from the couch on the dais toward her. He stopped and then studied her in a slow and leisurely fashion, giving an occasional command which she obeyed silently. “Turn, Muna,” and she could feel his eyes moving from her shoulders down to her buttocks, down her legs to her feet. “Turn again.” His hazel eyes moved from her feet, up her legs, to her beautifully plump, pearl-smooth Venus mont. He could see that her cleft was fine, long, and deep, an indication, according to harem tradition, of a passionate woman. His eyes continued their inspection to her pleasingly rounded belly, to her lean, flat, and long torso, to her breasts. “Raise your arms,” he commanded her. “Put them behind your head.”

  This had the effect of raising her breasts upward so he might have a complete view of them. Skye had never felt more debased in her entire life as his glance fastened hungrily upon her round breasts. She wondered almost bitterly if he would ask her to open her mouth so he might inspect and count her teeth. She had never until now understood the awful and terrifying degradation of being a slave. Oh, she had legally been the slave of Khalid el Bey until he freed her before their marriage; but Khalid had never treated her like one. He had from the beginning been a man in love. Kedar was not a man in love. He was a man in lust; a man delighted with his new possession, as his careful inspection of her person indicated.

  Kedar, however, was not entirely insensitive to his slave. He saw the flush of embarrassment that stained her cheeks as she was silently forced to comply with his wishes. He saw the quickening of her heartbeat in the visible fluttering in her chest, a pounding pulse at the base of her slender throat. He noted that she was trembling ever so slightly, although she forced herself to stand grimly still. Yes, her spirit was still there, and he was glad! He would not break it, only tame it, but then a truly wild thing was never really completely tame. The pleasure at that particular thought washed over him like a soothing balm.

  Reaching out, he touched her for the first time. He touched her as he would touch one of his thoroughbred Arab mares to gentle it. His hand smoothed down from her shoulder to her buttock in a slow and easy motion. “Don’t be afraid, my fair Muna,” he said in his deep, velvet voice; but Skye couldn’t restrain the fierce shudder that rolled over her, for the purr in his voice was that of a well-fed and powerful cat. One arm came strongly about her waist, and drawing her close to him he touched her lips gently with his. Then, to her surprise, he loosened her, and holding her lightly, cupped a breast firmly in his other hand. She raised her arm instinctively to fend him off, but he chided her in a mock-stern voice. “No, Muna, it is my right. You belong to me now. I will be patient, fair one, but you are no virgin to fear me.” He pulled the silk band from her head, and her long black hair swirled loose.

  “I do not know you,” she whispered. To her surprise, Skye found that she really was afraid of this man, and what was worse she did not know why.

  “It is no matter,” he answered. “You are mine, you are beautiful, and I desire you.” His thumb rubbed insistently against her hardened nipple, and Skye had to bite her lower lip to keep from screaming aloud. “You have marvelous breasts,” he continued. “See how perfectly you fit my hand just to overflowing, Muna? I believe that you have the most perfect breasts I have ever seen.” He smiled down at her. “The bath girls say you are no maid, and they believe that you had children. Were you married, my fair one?”

  “Yes, my lord. I am a widow. I have two children, little boys who will now be orphaned, and left to the mercy of my late husband’s family.” Her head drooped sadly.

  “Did you nurse your sons, Muna?”

  “Only a little while, my lord. Then came the wet nurse, for women of my class are expected to attend court with their husbands. I could not do that and nurse my babies.”

  So she was of that high a rank! Kedar was impressed, and very pleased. He quickly decided to have children by this exquisite slave woman, but already his passion for her was so great that he did not want her to waste her time nursing children when she might nurse him. His mother had nursed him until he was six, and he had developed a taste for breast milk that even today was not lost. The idea of being within Muna’s fair body while he drank of her milk excited him tremendously, and without meaning to he crushed her tender breast in his hand. Skye cried out with pain, and Kedar, instantly remorseful, caressed her tenderly. “Forgive me, my fair Muna. I was quite lost in contemplation of your charms.” He soothed her breasts, clucking worriedly, wondering aloud if he had bruised her soft skin.

  My God, Skye thought, I am naught to him except a possession! He feels nothing for me but the need to own me, to sate his bodily lusts.

  Kedar returned to a closer exploration of her body, moving his hand downward to rub across her fluttering belly. His touch was like fire against her skin, stroking seductively, sending tiny darts of fear through her. She wondered if Osman had known the kind of man his nephew really was when he had turned her over to Kedar. This was not a man to be satisfied with the mere taking of her body. He wanted far more than that. He wanted her. He wanted her soul and her mind as well as her body. Could she resist him? Already her treacherous body was
beginning to stir under his touch.

  His fingers moved downward again, this time coming to rest atop her cleft. Gently he moved his hand back and forth, touching her ever so lightly but insistently. She couldn’t let him do this to her, she thought frantically, but her legs seemed made of jelly; and then he demanded, “Tell me about the first time, Muna? Was he gentle? Did you like it?”

  “My lord …” she stuttered her shyness at such an intimate question, and then she almost wept to remember Niall, to remember how it had been with him that first time.

  “Tell me!” he murmured against her ear, his tongue licking it softly, his fingers slipping deeper into her cleft to coax the honey down from the hidden recesses of her fevered body.

  “H-he was gentle,” she whispered, “and yes, I liked it.”

  “Was he a good lover, my fair Muna?”

  “My lord, I was a maid when I went to my husband. I have known but one man in my lifetime. How can I know the answer to such a question?” Her answer was certainly in keeping with the story Osman had concocted about her, and she must remember that story else Niall be lost.

  Kedar smiled, satisfied. It was what he had wanted to hear, as it meant that she had not played the wanton as so many of these married European women did. He was glad that her husband had been a kind and gentle lover, her only lover. It meant that she was not afraid of the act, and that was good. No matter if her husband had been a proficient lover, he, Kedar, was a better one. By dawn the beautiful Muna would have a strong comparison, and he knew that her late lord would suffer by that comparison.

  She was almost fainting against his strong arm, and so he lifted her up into his embrace. Walking to the velvet-draped couch in the alcove, he carefully placed her upon it. Her blue-green eyes heavy, she watched as he swiftly removed his white robe. Through thick lashes she peeped at him, quickly assessing his assets as he had assessed hers. He stood probably no more than three inches taller than she did, but he was powerfully built with a barrel chest, narrow waist, and sturdy legs. His body was pale and totally devoid of hair. His manhood, however, was totally out of proportion for a man under six feet. In its already half-roused state it was quite long, and she noted with trepidation that it was thick. The circumcised ruby knob of it reminded her of the head of a battering ram.

  He caught her look of fear, and coming down beside her upon the couch, he murmured again in her ear, “Do not fear, Muna. Your sweet sheath will accept all of me and weep for more, I promise you!” Then he was kissing her, his lips raining a hundred little kisses on her face, scorching at her temples, her closed eyelids, her sculpted cheekbones, her stubborn chin, and the corners of her trembling mouth. His two hands pinioned her lightly against the soft velvet-covered mattress. He was strong, and she knew he could break her should he decide that was what he wanted. He was kissing her now upon her lips, testing the texture of her mouth. The kisses demanded an answer that she knew she would have to give, and the only way she could do that was to abandon herself to total passion. Niall! her tortured heart cried out. Forgive me, my darling, but I must do this if I am to save you and bring you back to me, to our babes!

  Then she kissed Kedar, hesitantly at first, the kiss deepening with the increasing pressure of his lips. “Muna, Muna!” he spoke low against her mouth, and she shivered with the dark intensity of his voice. Gasping, she opened her lips to him as he ran his tongue quickly across them. Her breath came in little pants as his tongue licked the side of her face, then along her slender neck. Finding the palpitating hollow of her throat, he buried his lips there, growling, and she was again reminded of a sleek and savage cat. He terrified her. He was like an animal, possessive and totally sure of himself and his prowess. He reeked of his own masculinity. Then suddenly his tongue was entering her mouth, seeking delicately, probing gently.

  Skye moaned, trying to escape the building fury of his fierce passion, but he held her firmly now, refusing to accept any rejection on her part. It would be an endless battle between them, and the knowledge of that was an incredible aphrodisiac to Kedar. Her tongue struggled to escape his, but he caught at it and sucked upon that delectable morsel. His fingers now sought her cleft once more, and pushing two of them gently within her he moved his hand slowly back and forth until with a soft cry she had her first tiny orgasm. With a smile he drew his fingers out and, pressing one of them against her lips, said, “Taste, my fair Muna. Taste your own sweet honey.” She obeyed him, sucking the salty sweetness from his finger, and then watching almost mesmerized as he sucked the second finger once she had finished. He then drew the two wet fingers between the valley of her breasts in a slow and seductive motion, his hazel eyes holding her blue-green ones with a forceful magnetism.

  “Tell me what pleases you,” he demanded.

  Skye pretended confusion. “My lord,” she said low, “I have been taught by the women in the bagnos that it is not what pleases me that matters, but rather, what pleases you. I have been told that it is the woman’s duty to please her master, to ride him to pleasure. Is it not so?”

  “For some, perhaps,” he answered, smiling, “but I believe a man is better served when he may conquer the woman beneath him. There will be times when it pleases me to let you ride me, fair Muna, but that is my decision. I will lead you in our lovemaking. You need not fear, my beautiful one, that you will displease me.” His fingers then trailed back up between her breasts. “Tonight,” he said, “I want to learn about you. I want to know what gives you pleasure, what excites you, how your luscious body responds to sensuousness. Tell me what your last lord did when you made love together.”

  “We … we made love,” she replied helplessly, deciding that lack of sophistication in this area was what would make him happiest.

  “He touched your body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your breasts? He rode you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “What else?” Kedar demanded.

  “What else is there, my lord?” Skye’s blue-green eyes were guileless, but inside she was trembling again as she wondered where this line of questioning was leading. Was he a gentle man, or was he one of those who gained pleasure through pain?

  A slow, satisfied smile lit Kedar’s features. “There is much, much more, my fair slave, than the little that you have described to me. I can open a whole new world to you, and I intend to!”

  In a corner of the divan rested a woven gold basket, square in shape and without a handle. Within the basket were several bottles carved from different-colored marbles and alabaster. Without even looking closely, Kedar reached out and drew forth a narrow-necked vessel with a silver and cork stopper. He opened it, and a strong fragrance, vaguely familiar, wafted out.

  “Musk rose,” he said, seeing her curiosity. “It is a special lotion for the body. Turn onto your back and let me rub some on you.”

  Skye rolled over and lay waiting tensely for his touch. When it came it was gentle yet strong. He had warmed the lotion in his hands so as not to shock her delicate skin, and his sure, long strokes swept up her back from her buttocks, kneading the muscles with a firm motion. His touch was strangely soothing, and she began to relax. What an odd man he was, she thought. Seeing his open lust, she had thought he would be quick to mount her and sate that desire. Instead, here he was massaging her with tender hands and making no effort to hurry her. Perhaps it would not be so dreadful to pretend to be his slave for the next few weeks until she found Niall, and with young Hamal formulated a plan for their escape from Fez.

  “Do you like this, Muna?” he whispered into her ear. Then he very gently nipped at the back of her neck, pushing her long hair aside first.

  “Yes, my lord, it is most pleasurable,” she answered him.

  He laughed softly and resumed his massage, working now on each of her long legs, the firm thighs and calves, her slim feet. “I once had a slave girl from Cathay,” he said, “who taught me that there is a particularly sensitive spot on the foot.” His fingers dug into her foot, and sudd
enly Skye felt a stab of desire race through her. She gasped, surprised, and Kedar laughed again. “Yes, my fair Muna, right there.” He moved on to her other leg and worked it as he had the first. “Turn over now, beautiful one,” he ordered, and she obeyed.

  “What happened to your slave girl from Cathay?” Skye asked.

  “She died under my lash,” he said casually.

  “Why?” Skye was horrified.

  “I caught her betraying me with one of my guard. He was forced to watch while I beat her. Just before she lost consciousness for good, my head eunuch decapitated him. I then finished her punishment. No one takes what is mine!”

  “You killed her,” Skye whispered. “Dear God!”

  He tipped the alabaster flask of pale-pink lotion into his hands, and then put aside the bottle to massage her breasts and her belly. “It should not concern you, beautiful Muna. I am normally a kind master, but you must understand that I could not allow one of my women to escape severe punishment for such unconscionable behavior.”

  “Could you not have sold her off?”

  “To whom? Who would want a faithless woman? Besides, I would not be shamed by the public knowledge that one to whom I had given the title of favorite had openly cuckolded me.” He sat astride her hips, his supple hands smoothing the silky pink liquid over her soft belly, across her quivering breasts. His eyes, hazel green with small flickering gold pinpoints of light, bore into her blue-green ones. “Tell me what you are feeling now, Muna?”

  Skye forced her thoughts from the unfortunate woman whom Kedar had so easily killed. She realized that without warning her body was beginning to feel restless and strangely hot beneath his hands. She shifted nervously. “I feel strange,” she whispered. “Hot. A little …” she hesitated to give him any advantage. “A little frightened,” she finished, unable to think of another word.

  “I don’t want you to feel frightened,” he said soothingly. “I want you only to feel pleasure.” He leaned forward across her, and reached into the gold basket. Drawing out a small crystal flask from the container, he uncorked it. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and when she did he poured a small amount of clear, apricot-flavored liquid into it.