The Academy (54 page)

Ken also uploaded a series of graphic files. After waiting an interminable amount of time for them to free themselves from the e-mail, Khadija looked them over carefully. Farouk was in his mid-fifties, a short, dark-complexioned man with a tendency toward plumpness. In the first set of photos he was dressed in an expensively cut business suit, and looked all the world for what he was—an administrator of a multinational company. In the second set of photos, however, he was nude, and in the positions Khadija now knew to be standard Marketplace poses. Nude, his weight was more obvious, especially in his belly and buttocks, but he was able to hold even the more awkward positions with a sense of grace and dignity. She noted that his right nipple had been pierced, a small ring of gold drawing further attention to his skin color in a pleasing manner. Then she clicked to the next set of photos. And it took her breath away.

For there was Farouk dressed in the white
galabiyya
, the traditional dress for the
hajj
, surrounded by hundreds of other similarly dressed pilgrims on the steps leading into the Great Mosque in Mecca. He was staring slightly away from the camera, his dark eyes moist, and a look of intense joy radiating from his face. The photographer captured his desire, his love, his true link to Submission that Marketplace pictures could not, would not have been able to. She sighed in satisfaction, and printed out the entire document, but not before sending her message to Ken: “Please negotiate on my behalf, and contact me as soon as possible.”

* * * *

Ken burst past Fatma into the garden. “May I be the first to congratulate you on your upcoming marriage,” she crowed in delight. “What is it you say around here?
Mabruk
!
Mabruk
!” she added in Arabic, sounding like the souk peddler who had congratulated Khadija that morning on her clothing purchases, after they had enjoyed a fierce bargaining session. Khadija gave a cry of delight and embraced her friend. “Fatma, some refreshment, please!” she cried, and the ancient slave bustled away, a large smile on her face.

“I see you dressed so that I could pick you out from the crowd in the souk,” Ken commented, as she released herself from Khadija’s embrace. “Short sleeves? It must be the evil influence of the West, no?”

Khadija laughed, her hand reaching up to touch the bright scarf she had wrapped in her hair. “I purchased it this morning, in honor of your visit. Do you like it?” She stood, and swayed her hips so that the material swung from her hips, and the dress’s neckline promised the viewer a well-endowed bust.

“Cherie, you look like a luscious mouthful. I could, how you say, polish your cup with my tongue. Hah!” With a leer, Ken flung herself onto the garden’s bench and lit a cigarette. Fatma returned with a tray of fresh fruit and tea, and automatically the women switched to French so as to keep the details of the purchase private.

“Ah, cherie, I cannot help but provide solutions to all concerned, particularly where my cooperation will only increase my own family’s business,” Ken chuckled. “I told his owners that your new position for him might not keep him from seeking employment outside the home. They are prepared to sell him to you on the condition that they have the option to hire him back into his current position for six months to a year to train his replacement. They would also be willing to consider transferring him to their Cairo office!” Ken clapped her hands in glee, and Khadija laughed with her. “Naturally, these matters must be left in your hands, but I assured them that you would be most amenable to such a plan. After all, his paycheck would belong to you.”

“And then I could put him in charge of my father’s business—oh, Ken, it’s a wonderful offer. I must meet him at once!”

Ken squeezed her hand. “I knew you would. So I brought the papers with me, and the slave. He is waiting in the library for final approval.”

“He’s here? Now?” Khadija could hardly contain her eagerness to meet the slave, but forced herself to pay attention to the papers before her. They said exactly what Ken had outlined, and she noted his signature already affixed, as Ken had told her it would be. He was ready to be transferred to her, to become her property. “Do you wish to buy him first, or meet him and then purchase? You can still back out, if he is not suitable.”

Khadija looked down at her clothing. Years of cultural and religious training made her hesitate at meeting another Muslim with so much of her skin showing. But then, this man would belong to her. If she purchased him—just by signing these papers and making a transfer of money through her Swiss accounts—then he would see her in a variety of outfits, and even in nothing at all. She took a deep breath. “I shall inspect this man before I sign,” she said imperiously, a smile on her face.

Ken rose and elegantly gestured toward the door. “Then let’s go.”

* * * *

Farouk was kneeling on the dark, Persian carpet in the center of the room, naked except for a collar and the nipple ring. “Better than the pictures, don’t you think?” Ken asked Khadija, as they entered the room. “Present, slave, for this fine lady.” The slave moved in a smooth motion until he was standing, his fingers locked behind his neck. At Ken’s command, he executed a turn, then bent over, resting his hands slightly above his knees. “Quite a tasty bit of meat, my friend,” Ken said wickedly, her hand cupping the slave’s ass. “Shall I leave you to inspect him more privately? Take your time. Feel free to... be thorough.” Without waiting for an answer, she sauntered out of the room. “I’ll be in your garden, enjoying my last cigarettes,” she called over her shoulder.

In the light filtered through the latticework of the library windows, Khadija circled the slave, stretching out a hand to caress the slave’s back, and saw a shiver run across his shoulder blades. Her touch had done that? How exciting. She trailed her fingers across his back again, then to his chest. She found his pierced nipple, and pulled lightly on the ring. He sighed, and she felt a warmth between her legs. She pulled on it harder, then twisted it. He gasped, but remained in position. She felt the warmth rise through her body, filling her with wetness. This man would belong to her, Khadija thought. Soon he would be compelled to do anything she desired.

The rush of power was as strong as the sexual rush she had felt moments earlier. She stepped forward abruptly, grabbed the slave’s greying, short hair and pushed him back into a kneeling position. With her other hand, she pulled her skirt up, and thrust her hips forward toward his face.

The slave needed no further encouragement. He pressed his mouth against her moist undergarment, and exhaled softly. She could feel the warmth of his breath heating the cotton, and her nether regions as well. He pushed his face nearer, and Khadija moaned as she felt his tongue probing her, through the barrier her panties created. She thought briefly of ripping the garment off, but found she took a deep pleasure in keeping herself hidden from her husband-to-be in this manner. Instead, she tightened her grip in his hair, and pushed his face deeper between her thighs, rubbing herself against his nose.

The slave made a low, inarticulate sound, and she felt his teeth lightly tug at the edges of the cotton. His tongue slid under the fabric and she felt its velvet brush against her tiny bud. The intense pleasure of this contact dizzied her; he must have felt her sway, for his hands reached up to cup her buttocks, which steadied her and drove her mad. Her skirt had fallen over him, covering his face, but she could feel him increasing his efforts to stroke her button of pleasure. Khadija rocked herself against him, directing his tongue to the rhythm that would release her mounting need, so tightly focused there between her legs. He obeyed her, flicking his tongue rapidly, using his teeth to increase the sensation across the restricting undergarment. She felt herself reach the apex, and with a cry of release and relief her body thrust against his face uncontrollably. She could feel the slave’s fingers digging into the flesh of her buttocks, holding her in place until her thrusts had subsided, and gently releasing her when she could once again stand upright.

Khadija straightened her dress, and sank into one of the library’s wingback chairs. She looked under heavy eyelids at the slave, who had returned to his kneeling position, albeit with an erect cock that stirred her anew. That would be hers, as well. In good time.

“Farouk, please kneel here,” Khadija said in Arabic, pointing to a spot in front of her. The man complied, and settled again into a kneeling position, looking both alert and patient.

“Farouk, I am Khadija, and I believe I shall be your new Owner,” she began. “And if you are capable, you shall have an unusual assignment which is bound to be challenging and, I hope, rewarding.” Farouk’s eyes grew wider and wider as Khadija explained to him what would be expected of him.

“I know from your records that you are capable of handling such a position,” Khadija concluded. “But tell me, honestly, Farouk, because I need to know: are you willing to be my husband yet still my slave? My family must not suspect, nor my father’s business associates, that you are not a free man. You will have a great deal of autonomy. But not in everything. Certainly not when we are alone together. Can you do this?”

Farouk lowered his eyes in thought, and that pleased Khadija. Despite all she had learned in the last months about the Marketplace, despite the scene which had just taken place between them, she still feared she would have a slave who would blindly agree to anything she said, and ultimately ruin the whole plan. But Farouk was taking his time, clearly weighing the challenges and the opportunities. Finally, he lifted his eyes.

“May I speak freely,
ya mahdem
?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“To answer your question first, yes, I am willing to be your husband and your slave. But I cannot simply answer you without providing you with my own reasons. To begin,
ya mahdem
, I am intrigued by this position. It challenges me in a way that, to be truthful, I haven’t felt challenged in a long time. Business management is interesting, and I have pleased my previous masters with my skill, but in my last few years I began to wonder if there were other ways I could serve that would feel more... fulfilling.” His soft, slurring North African accent warmed the room, and sent a delicious shiver through her spine. Oh, she would enjoy listening to this voice in her bed. She wanted to have his voice wash over her again.

“Fulfilling? I wish to know exactly what you mean,” she requested, unable to keep a seductive lilt from her voice. Farouk’s cock jumped slightly, in response to her tone, but his voice revealed no distraction.

“Yes,
ya mahdem
. I was remembering my days as a butler, and even before that, when I was serving young William while he was in school. The drive to anticipate his whims, to please him before his friends, even the... punishments when I was not successful. I became aware that my nature is to be pleased by simple service, to be excited in the pleasure of my employers, my masters, and now, my owners. Those elements of service are not as... prevalent in business settings. I believe I was beginning to miss them. I began to think about returning to a more personal form of service.”

“I see,” Khadija breathed, delighted to discover this about her new purchase. “Well, as you may have already guessed, I will expect a great deal of personal service from you, Farouk. But I shall not make use of your lovely and attentive adornment until we are married,” she said, gesturing at the slave’s erect cock. “That would not be proper. However, I cannot just bring you home and announce to my family that I am to marry a perfect stranger none of them have met. Especially after my uncle has been working so hard to find me a husband. We must be properly introduced. And I am calling upon your talents to suggest a way for that to happen.”

“Yes,
ya mahdem
. As you explained the problem, I considered a possible solution.” And when Farouk explained to her his idea, Khadija smiled broadly. This indeed, was a resourceful slave to own. And a man to marry. She called for Ken and the papers and signed them joyfully.

* * * *

“Oh, praise Allah you are home, Khadija,” her uncle said over the phone. “I have the most wonderful news. I met a man today—no, don’t protest, my niece, this is not like Ali, or Samir, or Nabil, or Mohammed, or the others. This is a man who says you may remember him from business in Zürich. His name is Farouk al-Wadir. He works for Danberry & Ellis, your father’s dear colleagues in Great Britain. Do you perhaps remember now? Yes, good. Because he remembers you, my darling.”

Khadija could barely control her laughter as her uncle rapturously described meeting Farouk at his favorite tea house (imagine! such a coincidence, a happy one, praise Allah), and lavishly praising his manners and demeanor, his dignity and all the respect he heaped upon her modest Uncle, and the obvious esteem he held Khadija in.

“He remembers you fondly, Khadija, and he has asked me to provide him a formal introduction. So wonderful to be talking with a gentleman with such manners, true? And so I would like to bring him by this afternoon.”

“Yes, this afternoon would be fine, Uncle,” Khadija responded, with a smile on her face. “Thank you, Uncle, for your persistence and your concern for my future.”

“Ah, it is my pleasure, little one. And you know something,” her Uncle’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone, “I think this may be the one,
insha’allah
.”

Chris poured out the last of the tea from the small pot and removed it from the table, placing it outside the door. Tetsuo and Anderson had covered a variety of topics, including his new investments in Kobe, and her recent visit to California, taking the train across the country and being utterly anonymous for almost three weeks. They did not discuss the proposal, or even the Academy. But finally, Anderson leaned forward and pulled the folder over between them and said, “Now, as to the matter at hand.”

Chris stood away from them and coughed politely.

“You may go,” Anderson said.

“Please—if I may make a request,” Tetsuo said quickly. “If you do not think it inappropriate, I wish he might stay.”