The Love Slave (30 page)

“I am afraid of your power, my lord,” she admitted, “but I do not think I am afraid of you.”

“You are wise to know the difference,” he replied, smiling. He fastened his hands firmly about her waist and lifted her up onto the bed. Then stepping back, he observed her once more. “Turn for me, Zaynab,” he said.

Slowly she revolved, giving him ample time to view her naked form. She was amazed at how very controlled he was with her.

He ran a hand over her pretty posterior. “You have a bottom like a perfect little peach,” he complimented her. “Has the maidenhead between its halves been plundered yet?” His hand lingered, caressing the silken skin, fondling her.

“The Passion Master felt that was your privilege, my lord,” she told him, “but I have been prepared to receive you.” Zaynab strove with all her might to keep from shuddering. There
was something sinister in the fingers now trailing over her flesh.

“Good!” he responded. “Now turn back to me, my lovely,” and when she had, he said, “I know you are trained to give me pleasure far greater than that of a mere concubine, but tonight I would simply have you be a woman. Tonight I will make love to you. You will obey my every command, and together we will find pleasure.” He lifted her down from the bed.

“You will find no woman more obedient or eager to please you than I am, my lord,” Zaynab promised him. She felt foolish at her earlier nervousness. The caliph was no monster. He was really quite nice, and the fact that he was a stranger to her could make no difference. She was not just his personal possession.
She was a Love Slave, and she knew her duty
.

He quickly disrobed, pulling his caftan off and letting it drop to the floor next to her garment. Then he stepped back, giving her the same vantage point that he had previously had. “You may look at me,” he told her. “A woman should know her master’s body even as he knows hers.”

Her face was grave as she examined him. Her earlier impression had been correct. He was not slender like Karim, but rather stocky. Still, he was not fat, and he was very well muscled. She knew his age to be over fifty. Yet the body before her was not what she would have imagined that of an older man to be. It was attractive and firm. He was fair of skin, but devoid of body hair. His torso was short, his length in his shapely legs. His male parts seemed well formed and of a good size. Zaynab raised her eyes back to his again. “You are most pleasing, my lord,” she complimented him.

“Men’s bodies,” he told her, amused, “have not the exquisite beauty of women’s, my lovely. Still, when put together, they usually fit well.” Reaching out, he drew her back into his arms, moving to fondle her breasts with the eagerness of a young boy with his first maid.

Zaynab closed her eyes a moment. His touch was distinctly different from Karim’s, but the thought, rather than distressing her, sobered her. The fact that she and her Passion Master had fallen in love was unfortunate, but they had both known all
along such a love could not end happily. She would not disgrace him by behaving badly with the caliph. She must be a credit to Karim,
and
it was he who had taught her to give herself over to the pleasure of man’s passion. For all their sakes, she had to do it. She was not some silly virgin with foolish dreams of true love.

She concentrated upon the hands now palpating her flesh. They were firm, a trifle insistent perhaps, yet gentle. His mouth met hers, his deep kiss warm and sensual, sending a thrill down her spine. She could not help but respond, kissing him back. He was a stranger, yet he was able to arouse her, which she had not thought really possible. There were obviously things Karim had not taught her; things she would discover for herself.

She threw her head back, and his lips followed the graceful line of her throat She felt the warm wetness of his tongue succeeding the feathery touches of his kisses. She murmured, satisfied, as his mouth found the swell of her young breasts. He kissed and licked the perfumed skin, the scent of gardenias permeating his senses, heightening his desire for her. His mouth closed over a coral-tipped nipple, sucking hard on it, and her body arced in his possessive embrace. He bit down lightly on the nipple. Zaynab cried out softly, her senses now whirling, caught up in the strengthening erotic loveplay between them.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, standing straight again. His look was passionate as he stared directly into her gaze. He traced his fingers over her half-open lips, suggestively pushing his forefinger deep into her mouth. She sucked slowly upon it, her tongue revolving sinuously about the finger, her breasts pressed lightly against his smooth chest.

“You have eyes like aquamarines,” he said softly. “A man would die for such eyes.” Drawing his finger from her mouth, he ran it down the valley between her breasts. Then, hands upon her slim shoulders, he pushed her down upon her knees before him.

She knew what was expected. Taking him within the warm cavity of her mouth, she began to suckle upon him. His sharp intake of breath told her she was pleasing him. His fingers dug
into her head, kneading the scalp with growing urgency as he began to burgeon. She fondled his pouch in her hand, cupping it, squeezing it gently. With a single finger of that hand she reached beneath him, seeking for a certain spot, finding it, pressing up upon it. He groaned, then shuddered as a sharp stab of desire slammed into him. Her clever little tongue encircled the ruby head of his manhood, coaxing his desire into full flower.

“
Cease!
” he groaned, pulling her to her feet again. “You are going to kill me with delight, Zaynab. What a naughty little witch you are, my lovely!” He was swollen with burning lust, but he yet managed to control his need to possess his new toy. He would not take her too quickly the first time. He wanted to test her mettle. If he died, it would be from pleasure.

“Sit,” he said. When she had settled herself upon the edge of the bed, he knelt down. Taking her foot in his hand, he studied it intently. It was small and narrow, each toe beautifully shaped, the nails dainty and round.

Enfolding the little foot in his hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. He ran his tongue along the high arch, then sucked upon each tiny toe. Next he pressed slow, hot kisses from her ankle up her leg to her inner thigh. Her other foot and leg received equal treatment. She shivered with delight beneath his skillful mouth.

“You have love balls?” he asked her, and when she nodded, he said, “Fetch them, my lovely.”

Reaching out to the gold basket by the bedside, Zaynab drew the velvet pouch forth and handed it to the caliph. Opening it, he spilled the little silver orbs into his hand, rolling them about his palm, smiling with satisfaction.

“They are nicely weighted,” he noted. “Open yourself to me now.” She spread herself before his avid gaze, and he slowly inserted the balls, one by one, pushing them deep into her love canal with a long, expert finger. Bending forward, he then spread her nether lips, staring with delight at the moist coral flesh beneath his gaze. His tongue snaked out to touch her little jewel.

“Ummmmm,” she murmured, squirming edgily at the contact. Within her the silver balls hit together at the slight movement. Zaynab gasped. The sensation was incredibly intense, almost painful. Karim had demonstrated the balls once. She had forgotten the sweet torture that they could inflict upon a woman.

The caliph’s tongue began to probe her in earnest. It lapped over the interior of her soft, silky nether lips; it worried at the sentient little badge of her sex until she thought she would die of the pure pleasure he was provoking. She was half sobbing as again and again the silver balls butted against one another, sending the painfully sweet sensation thrilling through her writhing body.

Finally she could take no more. “
Please!
” she pleaded to him.

Without a word he withdrew the wicked little instruments of torture from her body. Then holding her legs apart, he leaned forward once more, his tongue pushing into her passage, withdrawing, pushing forward again. She cried out with pleasure. Her love juices were flowing generously when he pulled himself up and over her and kissed her deeply, his tongue transferring the taste of her own musk into her mouth. His lips were everywhere on her body: the hollow of her throat, her belly, her lips again. She was wet with the waves of heat he was creating in her.

Zaynab was suffocating with her desire. She clung to Abd-al Rahman, feeling the hardness of his masculine body against the yielding softness of her female body. They had somehow in their love battle managed to gain the full area of the bed. Now the caliph positioned himself between his eager lover’s outstretched thighs. He smiled as the girl beneath him whimpered her hunger, rubbing the tip of his manhood against her little jewel.

“Look at me,” he growled low. “I would capture your soul when I mate with you.
Look at me, Zaynab!
”

She was half mad with passion, but if she let him overwhelm her now, she would fail with him. She would be just another concubine. Opening her eyes, she gazed meltingly at him. “What a lover you are, my lord!” she murmured huskily at
him. “Do not keep me waiting any longer. Sheathe yourself within me! Make me ache with the pleasure that I know only you can give me!’ ”

Her words sent a thrill of excitement down his spine, and he thrust deep into her. She was hot, and tight. He groaned. “Ahh, Zaynab, you will surely kill me with delight!” He began to move upon her. She was wonderful, wrapping her legs about him, taking his face between her two little hands, clinging to him desperately as if she would perish if she let go.

“You are a stallion, my lord,” she half sobbed. “Take me! Punish me with pleasure!
I am yours!
”

His lust was inexhaustible. It had not happened to him in years. Again and again and again he pushed into her eager body, but he could not find his release, though she certainly found hers, not once but twice. Finally he withdrew from her, saying, “Turn your body and assume the opposite stance, my lovely. I need your other maidenhead.”

Her compliance was immediate. He saw no reluctance in her at all, but she dreaded what was to come. She hated this form of lovemaking. She had hated it when Karim had slowly pushed the ivory dildo into her. She hated it now. She had hoped never to be used in this fashion. In the future, she would try to find a way to avoid it if at all possible. Pulling her knees up beneath her, she arched her back, elevating her bottom for him.

He was at her in a moment, his hands pulling the cheeks of her posterior apart, his manhood pushing against the tight little rosebud of her fundament.
Pushing. Pushing
. And then it gave way. The head of his weapon gained a slight entry. His hands tightened about her hips, holding her steady as he thrust hard, ignoring her cry of pain, groaning with his own pleasure. She was incredibly tight. Tighter than any he had ever known. He pressed on, withdrawing slightly, pressing steadily forward again and yet again until finally he was fully engaged within her. She felt him throbbing, and at that very moment his crisis came.

Though his seed fell on barren ground, he sighed with relief at his release. “Ahhhh,” he groaned, and slowly withdrew from her.

After taking a few minutes to recover herself, Zaynab arose from the bed. Going to the door, she opened it and gave swift orders to her two servants outside. She returned to the caliph’s side with a silver ewer of scented water and several love cloths. He lay sprawled, utterly exhausted, before her. Tenderly, she bathed him, and then herself, clean of any evidence of their passion. Removing the basin, she crept back into the bed next to him.

His arms tightened about her, drawing her back into his embrace. His hand caressed her golden hair. “I will try never to use you in that fashion again. I could sense you did not like it, but tonight there was no other way for me, my lovely Zaynab. I cannot remember having ever been so aroused in my entire life by any woman as I was aroused by you a few moments ago. You are magic. You have brought me back my youth, and I quite enjoy it.”

“I am your slave, my lord Abd-al Rahman.
Your Love Slave
. I will never refuse your passion no matter the form it takes,” she told him proudly. “I am not some weak little concubine. I have been trained to both give and to receive the ultimate in pleasure.” She would never admit to him that she had hated his perverse way of passion. It would only shame Karim. A Love Slave feared none of passion’s roads. She willingly traveled them all.

“Fetch me some wine, my lovely,” he ordered her.

She left the cradle of his arms, and went to the single small table she had allowed to be placed in the room. On it were several decanters. Two were of wine, but the third was filled with the restorative that Karim had given her. Pouring a few drops of it into a silver cup, she filled the rest of the vessel with sweet red wine and brought it to the caliph. “There, my lord, drink, and be revived.” He quaffed the cup quickly down, shaking his head at her offer of more.

“I know I am to obey you in everything, but will you let me relax you now in my own special way?” she asked him with a small smile.

The edge had been taken off his lust. The wine was helping
to mellow him. He nodded his permission, lying back amid the pillows of the bed.

Zaynab reached into her gold basket and drew out an alabaster jar. Setting it among the bedclothes where she could reach it, she straddled him, and opening the jar, scooped a handful of pink cream from within. Rubbing her two hands together, she then smoothed them over the caliph’s torso with a delicate, sensuous touch.

“It has your scent,” he noted, amused.

“Do you mind?” she replied, making teasing little circles upon his chest. “You were very masterful before, my lord. I but wish to soothe you.” Her slender fingers ran seductively over his skin yet again.

“I think you seek to arouse me again, little houri,” he teased her with twinkling eyes. Taking the jar, he scooped out some cream, which he then began to rub over her pretty bosom. “You have adorable breasts, Zaynab. It is impossible to see them and not seek to touch them.” He fondled her with his fingers, pulling her nipples out and pinching them.