Desire's Sirocco (3 page)

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.

“I bid for the Conclave,” Dagan announced and shocked whispers filtered quickly through those gathered. Men moved back, putting distance between themselves and a servant of the Conclave. “Put her down for 600 hibahs.”

Only the cloaked woman held her ground though she apparently had no counter bid to make.

Stark terror lanced through Jameela’s soul. No one save the Brothers of the Conclave could enter the Conclave’s keep. Little was known about the secret society of warriors and few townsfolk at Sahar Colony had had contact with the nobility who resided behind the fortified walls. The Brothers kept to themselves. Only orphans, widows and widowers—those without kith and kin, without friends and protectors—were purchased for the staff of the Great Keep at Lalssu. Once beyond the gates of the Keep, those purchased were never seen again for they were not allowed to leave.

It was the rotation of the hand between her legs that brought Jameela from her memories of that day. The Brother slid a finger inside her, going deep, and withdrew it slightly before pushing it back inside her again. Sucking in her breath, she wriggled on the table as he began an in and out rhythm that made her lower body heavy with arousal. When he placed his other hand on the hood of her clitoris and gently peeled back the protective veil, she forgot all about the other hands on her and concentrated on those working the core of her.

Nothing could have prepared Jameela for the sensation that followed. She felt soft, warm air on her then a stab against that most sensitive part of her anatomy. She tensed; expecting the pleasure-pain she had felt before, the irritation that had nearly driven her mad, but the feeling she began to experience was heavenly. It took her a moment to realize the contact on her clitoris was the Brother’s tongue for his warm mouth had latched onto her nether lips as his finger wiggled inside her.

Sheer bliss, this wonderful feeling invading her loins! The temptation to cry out in pleasure made her bite down on her lower lip. It was all she could do to keep still and not wiggle around on the bed in wild abandon. Coupled with the touches from the unseen hands along her limbs, head and feet, she was beginning to experience an itch in her lower body that she realized must be a precursor of ecstasy to come.

“Foreplay is the start of the passage, little one. Copulation is the journey and the Brother’s staff is the stallion that will take him where he wishes to go,” Dagan had told her. “Pleasure will be the destination.”

As that strong, insistent finger continued its in and out motion, going deep, retreating, it found a spot within her that brought a groan of delight from Jameela’s throat and she arched her hip upward.

“Aye!” she called out.

Removing his mouth from the young woman’s core, the Brother chuckled as he began to manipulate that secret spot concealed within her trembling body. Such gentle, firm pressure, such complete possession by that knowing hand had conquered any shame or regret or lingering fears Jameela might have had lurking in her pulsating body. “Aye?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“
Aye
!” Jameela replied, no longer concerned with anything save the growing pressure building within her.

“Then….” he whispered and pulled his finger free of her.

“No!” Jameela pleaded and jerked her arms in an attempt to pull free of the hands that stroked her but she felt strong fingers circle her wrists and her arms were pressed down against the table. Before she could protest again, that firm digit entered her from the rear and she arched off the table as though launched from a catapult. In another second the Brother’s thumb was inside her moistness, his nail flicking against that responsive button that sent her lower body into a spasm of craving.