Message-ID: <2577eli$9708021230@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: leonsan@rocketmail.com (Leo Sanderson) Subject: Harum Song : (M\F) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <33e2944c.10464239@netnews.worldnet.att.net> = HARUM SONG ******************* CHAPTER THREE When he glanced at the window, Ahmed could see a small white cloud in the pale blue sky. Was it an omen? He tried to remember if the cloud had been there a moment ago. Maybe Allah had put the cloud in the sky as an instruction to Ahmed to have the stupid wretch in front of him whipped. The shopkeeper was now grovelling on the carpet, his tears flowing at Ahmed's feet, lying tears at the feet of Ahmed Al-Hafsid, the Grand Vizier of His Excellency the Sultan Abd Al-Hassan, by grace of Allah the only man in the kingdom who might give Ahmed an order of any kind. Aside from the Sultan, Ahmed took orders only from God, and as the Shahada declared, there was no God but Allah and Mohammed was his prophet. There were ten thousand buildings in Fez and three hundred mosques, but no structure had the magnificence of the Sultan's palace, a place of marble, colored mosaics, finely molded stucco, ceilings of painted wood, and hanging from the ceilings enormous copper chandeliers. In the hundred rooms, rich materials covered the mattresses and thick Berber carpets covered the floors. Within the palace grounds there were enclosed courtyards, walks with paving stones of painted faience, beds of flowers and fruit trees, all the beauty and splendor complemented by the vast riches of the Sultan's domain. At least once each day, Ahmed reminded himself of his blessings, the kind fate that Allah had bestowed upon him by making him the Grand Vizier to the Sultan. Did it not mean that Allah looked on Ahmed with a certain fondness, with a high regard for Ahmed's abilities? Now Ahmed gazed at the wretched shopkeeper, the man weeping at his feet. "That's enough," Ahmed said. The shopkeeper looked up and whined. "I beg you for justice, Exalted One." Ahmed signaled to the guard, then looked at the shopkeeper again. "You shall have the Sultan's justice." "Thank you, Exalted One." "Get out," Ahmed said. He told the guard to take the man out and bring in the next petitioner. Leaning back against the pillows, Ahmed felt an intense boredom. He wondered which of his wives he should have later on, which woman to relieve his boredom before the evening meeting with the Sultan. A woman petitioner entered the room, and as soon as Ahmed laid eyes on her he sent the guard away. She was heavily veiled from head to foot, nothing showing except her dark eyes. The robe she wore was of the finest quality, soft and loose, flowing around her ankles. Her slender hands and dark mysterious eyes intrigued Ahmed, exciting him, instantly making him forget his boredom. He gestured to the woman, and she gracefully sat down on the carpet in front of him. Fingering the green amulet that he always wore around his neck, Ahmed gazed at her. "And your trouble? What sort of trouble is it?" "It's my daughter, Your Excellency." "Tell me." He wondered what the woman looked like under the veils, wondered if the face and form matched the beauty of the eyes and hands. How could one ever know? He listened to her sultry voice as she explained her daughter had been taken by one of the Sultan's officers, picked off the street and taken away on his horse. "How old is she?" Ahmed said. "Seventeen, Your Excellency." "Such a tender age." "Can you help me?" The woman pleaded with him. She wanted her daughter returned. Yes, it was a great honor to have her daughter chosen by one of the Sultan's officers, but the girl was already betrothed and her family would pay the officer a tidy sum to settle his inconvenience. Ahmed amused himself with the woman, teasing her, delighting in his power over these ordinary people. She was obviously the wife of a rich merchant. He taunted the woman by suggesting that maybe her daughter was better off where she was. After all, wasn't a janissary's wife happier than a merchant's wife? The woman continued pleading, insisting that her daughter be returned to her. "Before it's too late, Your Excellency. Before her betrothal is destroyed." Ahmed turned his eyes away, pretending a disinterest in the woman's problem. He fingered the amulet at his throat, listening to her as she pleaded with him, once again attracted by the sultry sound of her voice. Now he looked at her and shrugged. "Maybe you ought to wait. The officer might decide he doesn't want your daughter after all." The woman's unhappiness was evident in her eyes. "May I offer you a gift, Your Excellency?" Ahmed showed his surprise. "A gift? What sort of gift?" "Myself, Your Excellency. I offer you myself." He said nothing. Now he definitely wanted her. What an intriguing woman she was! He stared at her, expecting her to finally uncover her face. But instead she parted the front of her robe, and after some fumbling she brought out a full breast, smooth-skinned, the dark nipple tumescent. Ahmed stared at it, the heat rising in his loins. He made a gesture with his hand, commanding her to turn around. Immediately, she understood what he wanted, and with considerable grace she turned on the carpet, knelt with her head down as she deftly drew up her robe. After that, using both hands she slipped her loose trousers down to expose her buttocks. Ahmed gazed with excitement at her backside, at the deep groove between the two globes, at the dark-lipped hairless sex pouting below it. A long silent moment passed as he feasted his eyes. "Turn around," he said. She turned on the carpet to face him again, only her eyes visible. Sitting up now, she opened the front of her robe to reveal both breasts to his gaze. Without removing her face-veil, she wet the fingers of both hands with her mouth and then used her fingers to tease her nipples into full erection. With a sigh, Ahmed opened the front of his robe and exposed his penis. He held it in his hand and waved it at her. "Hurry," he said. "Your mouth first." Her breasts bouncing, she crawled forward on the carpet to get his member in her mouth. Now for the first time she removed the face-veil, and Ahmed was pleased at how beautiful she was. She was certainly a woman of the better sort, clear-skinned and with fine features. He leaned back on his elbows, watching her, his eyes on the full lips as they slid over his knob and down the length of his organ. His pleasure intense, he gave thanks to God for having provided him with such a delicious diversion. "How are you called?" he said. She stopped sucking him. "Jauhara, Your Excellency." "Turn around again." She did it without hesitation, once again kneeling with her head down and her naked buttocks in the air. This time Ahmed did more than merely look at her; he shifted forward, put his hands on her bottom, and then quickly penetrated the hairless sex from behind. He was too excited to make the pleasure last, and after a few strokes of his member in and out of her wet opening, the sperm gushed out of his penis and it was finished. With a grunt he pushed her away. She lost her balance and she suddenly collapsed on the carpet weeping. Ahmed was annoyed. "Leave me." The woman sobbed. "Will you do something about my daughter, Your Excellency?" "Yes, yes. Go away now." He wiped his penis with his robe as she left him. Next time he would have her with more leisure. A few moments later a servant hurried in with a message. "Yes?" Ahmed said. "The English girl, Your Excellency." "What about her?" The servant announced the caravan bearing the English girl had arrived from Tangier. * * * The Sultan's palace was in a large compound, and at the north end of the compound, attached to the palace by a walled gallery, was the group of buildings that constituted the quarters of the Sultan's harem. Amber was alone in a room, seated on the carpet with her back against the wall. She had just been unloaded from the caravan, and she was dusty and tired after the long trek from Tangier. She wore the clothes of a Moroccan woman, but the veil that had covered her face was now gone. England seemed such a dim memory now, a far away place, and already she was forgetting about her life in London, the hustle and bustle of the city. She was in a different world here. She was frightened by it, but at the same time she found herself fascinated by her surroundings, fascinated by everything she saw and heard. Suddenly a guard came in, one of the fierce looking men with dark faces and curved swords at their belts. This one jabbered at her in Arabic, and when he realized she understood nothing of what he was telling her, he took her hand, pulled her up to her feet and led her out of the room. They were in a splendid courtyard, a large rectangular space bordered with beds of white and red flowers that ran along the walkways under the arched roof of the galleries. The guard led her across the courtyard to another building, another room, empty except for the carpet and a few pillows. The guard left Amber alone again, but before she had time to sit down, two women entered. The spoke to Amber in Arabic and they seemed impatient with her, but again she understood nothing of the language, nothing of what they wanted. They finally made her leave the room with them, pushed her along the corridor to another room, a larger one, and there Amber was delighted to see a bath, a large pool for bathing. The women made Amber disrobe and enter the bathing pool. Then they leaned over the edge of the pool and they helped her wash. She found herself embarrassed as they touched her, the memories of Mrs. Brophy's caresses in London rising in her mind and making her pulse race. The Moroccan women talked to each other in Arabic as their hands moved over Amber's body. It was more than washing now. They amused themselves toying with her breasts, squeezing her buttocks, tickling and fingering her sex. They made her stand in the pool, all of her body exposed above her knees, and they smiled at her as they ran their hands over her wet skin. One of the women slid a hand between Amber's legs to touch her sex again, but this time the touching was more intimate, the fingers probing between the lips to find Amber's clitoris and rub it. At first the rubbing was slow and delicate, but then as Amber began trembling with excitement the rubbing became more forceful. Amber spent immediately, her body shaking from head to toe, the women giggling as they watched her. After that they made her get out of the pool and they dried her body with white linen. They dressed her in new clothes and they put carved bracelets on her arms and legs, the bracelets as pretty as those they wore themselves. They chattered in Arabic again, and this time Amber was certain they were talking about her, discussing her appearance. One of the women touched Amber's auburn hair and rolled her eyes with envy. The guard returned. When he looked at Amber, he seemed disinterested in her. But he took her hand and he led her away again, back across the courtyard to the main part of the palace. This time they walked through many corridors, until finally they came to a doorway on either side of which stood a tall guard with a long sword. The guard who held Amber's hand pushed her inside the room and stepped in after her. This room was larger than the others, and the man who sat on the pillows near the window looked important, a man of influence. He had a thin face, a hooked nose, dark penetrating eyes that made Amber quiver as they gazed at her. Around his neck he wore a large green amulet. The man with the amulet spoke to the guard, and the guard immediately moved to Amber and began stripping her clothes away. She was too frightened to resist. She remained passive as the guard pulled all her clothes away until she was naked, barefooted, wearing only the bracelets on her arms and legs. The man with the amulet looked at her, his dark eyes roving over her body, and then he beckoned her forward until she stood directly in front of him. He slipped a hand between her ankles, ran the hand up along the insides of her legs, up between her thighs until he found her sex. Amber gasped as she felt his long fingers penetrate her sex and anus at the same time. He laughed as she groaned, calling out something in Arabic to the guard, his fingers probing even deeper inside the two passages. He began moving the fingers in and out, and now she felt his thumb scraping her clitoris, rubbing it as the other fingers continued sliding in and out of her body. Then suddenly he removed his fingers and he pushed her away, waved his hand in dismissal as he spoke to the guard again. The guard threw Amber's clothes at her, and as she held the clothes he led her out of the room and into the corridor. There the other two guards grinned at her nakedness, watching her as she dressed herself. After that the guard who had brought her took her hand and led her away again. * * * In the harem once more, Amber was now surrounded by a host of women. She was in a large open room furnished with cushions and benches, a number of low tables, two fountains attached to one of the walls. The women of the room were all similarly dressed, most of them with dark hair and dark eyes. They seemed curious about Amber, staring at her, gesturing to each other, chattering in Arabic. They served her food, and she was happy about that because she was hungry. Some of the women came close enough to fondle her, running their hands over her hair and shoulders before feeling the firmness of her breasts. They smiled at her, made smacking noises with their lips and laughed. Then more women came into the large room, and now Amber was astounded at how many women there were in the Sultan's harem. She felt anxious, uncertain about what would happen to her next. Some of these women seemed to look at her with disdain and they made her afraid. She could see the dislike in their eyes, their dislike of someone different, dislike of the foreigner. Then one of the women came forward, an older woman who seemed a bit different from the others. She smiled at Amber and Amber was suddenly shocked as the woman spoke to her in English: "They all envy you, darling." "You're British!" Amber cried. The woman laughed. "Yes, darling. My name is Blanche and I'm British, all right. Was, anyway. I suppose I'm something else now." She was about forty, dressed as the others were in loose white trousers, a linen blouse and an embroidered jacket over it. But her face was different; she had an English face and the bluest eyes. Amber was delighted, keenly excited by the presence of someone from England, someone who could speak her own language. Blanche sat down beside Amber and the two women talked. Amber soon learned that Blanche had been in the harem twenty years, long enough to speak fluent Arabic and long enough to know all the secrets of the harem and the Sultan's palace and the Sultan himself. "They envy you because of the custom," Blanche said. "What custom?" And Blanche explained that it was the custom for a new concubine to share the Sultan's bed immediately, possibly that very evening. "They all want it," Blanche said. "There hasn't been a new girl here in some time, and the old king seems rather bored with us these days. They all want to sleep with him, because if it's one of them that's chosen they get money and jewels for it, maybe even a slave or two. In your case it's only a customary call and you'll have nothing for it except a few coins. Unless you make an impression, that is." Blanche seemed to be studying Amber carefully. "You might make an impression, I think." Amber listened carefully as Blanche told her the Sultan was a kindly old man and not to be feared. The two men to be feared were the Grand Vizier Ahmed Al-Hafsid and the Chief Eunuch Yousef. "Those are the mean ones," Blanche said. "Don't you dare make either of them cross or you'll be sorry for it." When Amber asked how Blanche had come to enter the harem, Blanche revealed that she'd been kidnapped, forcibly taken off a ship by pirates twenty years before and sold as a slave to the Sultan. Amber felt a great despair. "Haven't you tried to escape?" Blanche smiled quietly. "I did at the beginning. I haven't thought of it for years and years." Before Amber could speak again, a sudden hush fell over the room as a huge man in a white turban stepped through one of the doorways. Blanche whispered: "That's Yousef, darling. Be careful with him." He looked dangerous indeed, a huge black man with a short whip in one hand. Some of the women cringed as he approached them. Others moved close to him, clinging to him, obviously offering themselves. Yousef pushed them all aside as his eyes scanned the crowded room. When he finally spied Amber, he muttered and immediately walked toward her. Immobilized, afraid, Amber sat on the low bench as he looked at her. He seemed amused by her as he reached a hand out to fondle her hair. Still holding the whip in one hand, he used the other hand to open his loincloth, unwrap it and drop it to his ankles. Amber was shocked to see his testicles were gone. The penis was enormous, but below it was only a shriveled knot of scar tissue. Blanche whispered: "You'd better suck him, darling. He wants to spend in your mouth. Whenever he shows himself like this, that's what he wants. You either do it or you get whipped." Fearful of the huge man, Amber immediately crouched at Yousef's feet and took his long organ in her hands. Without looking at it, she slipped her lips over the tip and she began sucking it. Yousef grunted as he felt his penis engulfed by the warmth of her mouth. He muttered in Arabic, holding her head with one huge hand as he slowly rocked his loins back and forth. Understanding what he wanted, Amber held herself still as he thrust himself in and out of her stretched lips. The organ was turgid now, a stiff truncheon sliding back and forth on her tongue, the knob striking the back of her throat each time he pushed forward. A crowd of women had gathered, all of them watching Amber and Yousef. Before long Yousef's movements quickened and a guttural sound came from his throat as he reached his crisis. Amber expected a copious discharge, but instead there was nothing, not a drop of sperm from the giant eunuch's organ. When he finished with her, he pushed her away and she lay on the floor with her face covered as the others laughed... -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /