Desire's Sirocco

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Blindfolded, trapped within darkness as deep as she had encountered upon first entering the Chamber, Jameela felt her fright return with a vengeance. She bit her lower lip and tensed against what was to come.

  It was the sound of shuffling feet from above that nearly stopped her heart. There were no murmurs, no comments as the robed figures made their way down what must be stairs, for she could hear the scrape of boot heels against stone. The echo of footfalls drawing closer set her blood to pounding in her ears, drowning out all else. She could feel heavy warmth surrounding her and knew the Brothers had circled the table and were staring down at her, their eyes glowing with lust, but she could smell nothing save the cinnamon oil that Dagan used as an aftershave.

  As the first faint pressure of flesh met her own, she tensed, going as rigid as petrified wood.

  His touch was tentative, a stroking of the middle portion of her left thigh. First upward, then downward, then slowly upward again, it was almost as though the Brother was testing the smoothness of her flesh. His fingers stilled then a hot, dry palm flattened on her flesh, radiating warmth before the fingers kneaded the firm muscle once, twice, a third time finally withdrawing.

  Almost instantly another hand spread its fingers upon her lower belly, pressing gently into the softness before sliding upward to her waist. The hand eased over her from right ribcage to left ribcage then departed.

  She felt a hand squeezing her right thigh, another followed to stroke her left shoulder. Fingers tickled beneath her armpit, traveled delicately from the hollow of her throat to the indention of her belly button. A palm slid firmly down her right leg from thigh to toe tips then retraced its path. Fingers drummed along her upper chest from shoulder to shoulder like a spider walking a gossamer web. Fingernails moved down the inside of her right arm then her left. Hands cupped her feet, massaging the toes, one after another.

  When one hand left her, another immediately took its place on a different area of her body. Never remaining long enough to heat her flesh, the fingers of the Brothers tested her flesh, stroking it, pressing lightly, and causing her to draw in a quick breath with each new quarter of her body touched. Yet there were no intimate touches upon her breasts or between her legs, no accidental grazing by the back of a firm hand or a questing finger.

  Long minutes passed as those searching hands experienced every portion of her anatomy save those parts that were now heavy with expectation and quivering with need.

  There was heaviness between her legs that she had never experienced before and a wetness there that she could smell. Her breasts ached to be touched, the nipples straining upward as each hand grew close. She shifted her body, lifted her hips as hard, calloused fingers stroke the flesh of her inner thigh. Quickly, the fingers were removed and Jameela groaned with frustration.

  She heard someone chuckle and felt the stain of embarrassment heat her cheeks. She was no better than the harlots who sold themselves on the waterfront at Sahar Colony, wanting a man’s hand upon them more than bread in their bellies.

  The sudden possession of her right breast made her gasp with shock and pleasure for the hand that molded itself to her was hot, the fingers lightly squeezing with an authority that made her draw in her breath. The palm pressed firmly against her turgid nipple and she arched upward, pressing herself against it. Without a break in that wondrous invasion, her left breast was captured and treated much in the same way.

  Jameela reveled in the feel of those knowledgeable hands cupping her flesh. She gave herself up to the fingers that pulled the heavy flesh upward then released it only to draw it up again. Sinking into the rhythm of one hand pulling as the other released, she relaxed and turned her head to one side to sigh as the Brothers continued to massage her. She barely reacted as more hands stroked her thighs, her calves, massaged her toes and feet, and fingers trailed on both arms almost in tandem. Fingers threaded through her hair as a Brother used both his hands to massage her scalp.

  Try as hard as she could, she could not count the number of hands upon her. At one point, she thought there had to be at least six men plying her flesh but she knew at least three times that many had been standing on the balcony. Did one move back so another could take his place? How many would touch her, claim her flesh before the bidding began? That she had been accepted and not turned away as the Master’s chancellor no doubt thought would happen was both a relief and an exercise in expectation for her.

  Breaking into her revelry, the gong sounded once more and cool air flowed over her naked flesh as every hand left her flesh. She held her breath, wondering what would happen now.

  She did not have long to wonder for strong fingers grasped her left and right nipples at the same time and began to roll the pebbled flesh gently between them. Well-manicured fingernails grazed her areolas with each circuit of those commanding fingers. As the Brother—or Brothers—pulled her turgid flesh upward and twisted it gently, the young woman thought she would melt.

  “Ah…” Jameela sighed. The sensation was unlike anything she could have imagined. Her entire body became taut, then limp with pleasure.

  But the delicious consciousness that was invading her upper body was nothing compared to the intense feeling that jerked her to full awareness as a hot hand molded itself over her pubic mound, the base of its palm pressed firmly against the hot opening between her legs.

  “Oh!” she gasped, shuddering. She would have spoken again but that firm palm pushed harder between her legs and she could do nothing but open her mouth and pant.

  As strong fingers plucked at her nipples, the Brother who had taken possession of her nether region began to massage her, his fingers digging lightly into the crisp hair at the juncture of her thighs. The heat from his hand sent waves of intoxication throughout her system and she felt completely relaxed. It was as though he were drawing her strength from the core of her.

  The hand between her legs turned, pivoting firmly on her mound until the Brother’s fingers were paused at her vaginal lips. Lightly, delicately, those fingers fell in succession over her flesh as he drummed a slow, fragile rhythm upon her body.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  Four.

  With each successive, infinitely slow fall of those heated fingers, the pressure grew so that when his middle finger descended the fifth time, it passed slightly into the slit between her lips.

  “Sweet Lalartu!” Jameela breathed as she arched her hips from the table.

  A hand was placed on her belly, pushing her down again, anchoring her there. It was as close to a warning as she would get, the young woman thought and stilled. For her obedience, the Brother returned his fingers to her mound but this time he spread the fragile lips apart with the thumb and index finger of one hand while with the other hand he gently dragged his short nails along the inner flesh.

  A long sigh of pleasure pushed from Jameela’s throat. She thrilled to the stroking, the scratching of the Brother’s fingers and was so wrapped up in the pleasure such actions caused, she was caught by surprise when he touched something between her legs that made her cry out and arch upward as though struck by lightning.

  It wasn’t pain, she realized, that had caused her intense reaction. It wasn’t exactly pleasure, either, she thought. It was a combination of both and she wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. When he touched the spot again, she felt the same powerful reaction.

  “Don’t! Please!” she said, deciding the sensation was too powerful, too concentrated to be enjoyed. Biting her lip for daring to give an order to a member of the Conclave, attempting to deny him his right to do as he pleased with her, she feared she would be dismissed now.

  She need not have worried. A snort was the answer to her request and the Brother’s finger hooked downward inside her for a moment then withdrew. Before Jameela could react, her nipples were pinched firmly between dull fingernails and worried as though they were corks trying to be drawn from a wine bottle, the flesh being drawn upward but no
t in a painful way. Truth be told, the sensation was as close to ecstasy as she had ever come.

  But true ecstasy was but a finger flick away for the Brother’s hand slipped lower down her mound and his finger entered her soft moistness, going in as far as flesh and bone would allow. At the same time, another hand was placed on her lower belly and firm pressure was applied.

  Beyond forming words, all Jameela could do was moan as the sensations began building one atop the other. She squirmed against the pressure attacking her nipples and ground her hips against the wiggle of the finger buried within her. Panting, beginning to experience a strange itch centered deep in her lower belly, she felt her womb quiver.

  Almost as quickly as the pleasure had begun it ceased for the Brothers withdrew their fingers at the same moment.

  “No!” Jameela groaned. She lifted her hips, whimpering as she wordlessly begged for a renewal of the delicious feelings.

  She barely felt the hands at her wrists and ankles removing the shackles. So aroused was she that she all but ignored the hands pulling her to a sitting position. Even when strong arms went behind her back and under her knees to lift her from the table, she could not bring herself to protest. Her lower body was on fire with need, aroused to the point of actual physical pain. As her bare rump was lowered to the floor and she was pulled to her knees, she was a mass of frustration.

  Someone was standing before her for she could feel the heat of his flesh. When he anchored her head in his hands and brought her face forward, she knew what was expected of her for Dagan had taught her well.

  But what had been taught using a firm barely ripe banana had nothing in common with the reality. Obediently she did as Dagan had instructed—opening her mouth and allowing the Brother to place his organ inside. Behind the silken blindfold, her eyes opened wide for that which entered her mouth was huge! Though she relaxed her throat as she had been taught, her jaws and neck ached as she began the sucking motion that would draw the Brother’s essence from his shaft.

  “Move your head back and forth as you suckle him,” Dagan had ordered. “Purse your lips tightly to create the pressure he will need to know pleasure. Do this five times before reaching up to cup his warriors with your left hand while you cup the base of his sword with your right.”

  She was following Dagan’s instructions as she remembered them. While her own body was on fire with a need she feared would not be met, she knew it was to her advantage to please the Brother. She put her left hand on his scrotum and circled the base of his shaft with her other hand.

  Kneading the heavy, pendulous flesh in her left hand, gently tugging at it as she had been told to do, she used her right hand to lightly twist the Brother’s rigid member in her mouth. Easing her lips up and down his penis and occasionally thrusting her tongue into the moist slit, she found she was not adverse to the taste and feel of his essence, as she feared she would be. She found the rhythm was easy and was lost in the repetition when the Brother buried his hands in her hair and thrust himself forward against her.

  Jameela felt the first pulsing of his organ and relaxed her throat as Dagan had instructed. Having no preconceived notions of what was right or wrong during the sexual act, she did as Dagan had instructed and felt a moment of pride when the Brother shuddered against her and sighed with obvious pleasure.

  When he was finished, his essence drained, the Brother pulled free of her lips and brought her to him, turning her head so that her cheek rested against the wiry hair of his belly. He stroked her hair gently, the side of her face then knelt beside her, gathering her in his arms to place a light kiss on the top of her head.

  “If you win the trust of the Brother, show him you appreciate his goodwill,” Dagan had said.

  The man whose essence she had taken might not be a handsome warrior. He might not be young; but he had not been cruel and had not hurt her. If this was the one who would win the bid for her, she thought she could live with it. So without another thought, she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her. Beneath her cheek, she could hear the hard, rapid beat of his heart.

  “The Brother will not copulate with you the first time,” she remembered Dagan saying. “This is a consideration for you as a virgin. The next time he arouses you, he will take your maidenhead so be prepared for the slight pain that will follow.”

  Jameela had no worries about the “slight pain”. Having been raised in a household of four brothers and an aged father who was adverse to explaining the ways of life to her, the only knowledge she had of the sex act had come from eavesdropping on her brothers or else watching the barnyard animals. From what she had learned from spying on her brothers, the act was something women enjoyed and often initiated. After watching the barnyard animals, it seemed to her the female merely tolerated the act, appearing bored by it then calmly went on its way when the male was finished. It there was pain involved, it seemed minimal to Jameela.

  The gong sounded and the Brother kneeling beside her pulled her to her feet with him. His strong arms went behind her back and under her knees and she was placed upon the table once more, guiding her legs to the cross arms of the table, stretching her arms out until she was spread-eagled upon the soft padding. But this time he did not shackle her wrists and ankles.

  Boots scraping against the stone floor confused Jameela until she felt the many hands upon her body again. Fingers stroked, palms smoothed, and nails grazed over her flesh but did not stray to the sensitive areas that longed to be touched. Two Brothers were at her feet, massaging the arches and each individual toe. Two more firmly rubbed the length of her legs, carefully working on the thigh muscles. Another gently scratched her scalp, seemingly careful not to pull her hair as he worked. Two more worked over her outstretched arms and fingers, kneading the muscles and digits until she felt as limp as an overcooked green bean.

  As relaxed as she was, she became as tense as a tightly coiled spring when she felt an eighth Brother put the palm of his hand over the core of her, his fingers threaded gently through the crisp curls at the juncture of her thighs. Though the manipulations of those massaging her were a delight upon which she had not counted, this last Brother’s touch was sheer pleasure. The heat of his flesh made her ache with need and when he began to rotate his palm against her, the fingers shifting back and forth over her pubic mound, her arousal grew in leaps and bounds.

  “The Brothers are experts at the art of copulation,” Dagan had explained. “They have had centuries of learning what is pleasurable and what will pleasure. Give yourself over to them with no reservations and you will not regret it for they will care for you as you deserve.”

  Only one Brother would win her in the bidding, she remembered, but he would gladly share her with his brothers, for that was the system of the Conclave. He would be her owner and she would be required to answer to only him and do whatever he required without denial or comment. No doubt the man whose hand was upon her most private and sensitive of places had won her. It would be his staff that deflowered her.

  “No Brother will touch you until the one who owns you has determined you are ready to accept other staffs. Until he has stretched your orifices, made you ready so that the act can be accomplished with ease, only he will lie with you. Be not afraid that you will be ill-used Jameela, for that is not their way,” Dagan had assured her.

  As she lay there, reveling in the feel of gentle hands firmly massaging her and that strong, hot hand rubbing slowly at her core, she thought back to the slave block and how she had stood there trembling, terrified of who and what kind of man would pay her price. Her nakedness had shamed her and she had kept her head lowered, not wishing to see the men gathering before the platform. She had tried to blot out their ribald comments but the vulgarities had stained her cheeks scarlet red and caused her such mental anguish she thought she would pass out.

  For the first time she heard Dagan’s voice. It had been his voice above the bawdy jokes and lewd observations that had broken through the fog of shame and caused her to
lift her head. She remembered well his words.

  “How is it this woman is being sold here? She is not a harlot to be auctioned.”

  “Nay, Milord,” the slave trader responded, “but her father has left this world and her brothers have no desire to look after her.”

  She had watched Dagan push his way past several men until he stood directly before her. His amber eyes were molten with anger. “Then why do they not offer her in Joining?” he demanded.

  The slave trader shrugged, his arms spread. “They have no dowry for her and who wants a maid with no dowry, Milord?”

  “You mean they drank or gambled away her dowry, do you not?” Dagan seethed.

  As she stared at the handsome warrior standing below the slave block, Jameela hoped he would be the one to buy her. His wide chest, strong arms and lean hips gave evidence that he would be a determined protector and if it was to his household, to his staff of servants she would be led, she would thank Lalartu every day of her life.

  “I bid 200 hibahs for her!” a heavily cloaked woman had shouted. “She’ll make me a good enough house pet!”

  Coarse comments and rude laughter met the woman’s remark and Dagan had turned to glower at the woman—her face hidden within the cowl of her robe—who was no doubt a wealthy libertine. “The only one who will take this Wench is me!” he snarled as he looked about him, challenging the other men. “Is there one amongst you who will dare gainsay me?”

  The men shuffled their feet, looked down at the ground and remained silent. There was authority in the challenger’s tone of voice and raw power in his stature that brooked no disagreement.

  “Then I claim her!” Dagan stated.

  Jameela’s heart soared at his words. When he turned back to look up at her, she saw determination in his tanned face. His amber eyes raked her with a possession that made her knees weak.

  “Your bid, Milord?” the slave trader asked, licking his lips, his fingers moving together in anticipation of the warrior’s purse.