The Love Slave (47 page)

A man came into the tent, going through to where the woman stood waiting. Instantly she came alive, pouring water into a basin, drawing the man’s male organ from his trousers, washing it thoroughly, then kneeling before him, taking it into her mouth to arouse him. When the man’s member had burgeoned to its full size, the woman said in a piping singsong voice, “How will you have me, lord?”

“On your back, wench,” the man growled, falling between the woman’s outstretched legs even as she complied.

Zaynab drew a sharp breath. She barely recognized her friend, but the voice, for all its odd pitch, was Iniga’s. Ali Hassan’s hand
removed itself from her mouth and fastened about one of her breasts.

“She has become a very amenable whore for the camp,” he said.

The man finished his business and stood up, pushing his now flaccid manhood back into his trousers. Dropping a coin in a dish on the table with the basin, he exited the tent As he did, a second man pushed by him and went through to where Iniga was washing herself off. Zaynab watched with a mixture of horror and pity as Iniga disposed of the dirty water and, refilling the basin with fresh water, began her ritual again. When she had bathed the new man’s member and kindled it to a stand, she again asked, “How will you have me, sir?”

“I hear,” the man said crudely, “that you have a fine ass.”

Instantly Iniga was on her hands and knees. The man came quickly behind her, pulling apart the woman’s bottom and pushing into her. She whimpered, but he paid little heed to any pain she might be experiencing, using her roughly until he was fully satisfied.

Zaynab wanted to weep for her friend, but once more she refrained from any show of emotion. She had to be strong if she was to save Iniga from this appalling life of cruel degradation to which Ali Hassan was subjecting her.

“I have seen enough, you pig,” she murmured softly to her captor. “And if you do not cease squeezing my breast, I shall be bruised for a month. My skin is very fair, and I mark easily.” She pulled away from him and walked from the tent, across the compound and back to the large tent that was obviously his.

He followed after her, his black eyes almost burning through her garment. Beneath his robes his own manhood was as hard as an iron rod, and he wanted very much to have this woman. He would turn her icy disdain into screams of pleasure before the night was half gone.

“Take off your caftan,” he ordered her. “It is time you learned what a real man is like, my beauty.”

Zaynab drew herself up to her full height and glared at Ali Hassan with utter disdain. “I am a Love Slave, you dog,” she said coldly. “If all you wish to do is couple with me like some
street prostitute, then do it, but you will learn nothing of the utter bliss I have been trained to give a man.”

He was astounded by her words. Her lack of fear was beginning to unnerve him. To be faced with such a female of strong character was startling. “You are mine now,” he blustered.

“So you have said, Ali Hassan,” Zaynab replied, sounding very bored. “I am trying to instruct you in the proper possession of a Love Slave. Do you or do you not wish to be the envy of both your friends and your enemies? Do you or do you not desire to know paradise in my arms? Unless you do exactly as I tell you, none of these things will come to pass.”

“What must I do?” he asked her curiously.

“First,” she said, knowing now she had intrigued him, “you may not have possession of my full body for three days,” and seeing the protest rising to his lips, she quickly continued, “because I must prepare myself properly for a new master. It is my custom to bathe twice daily.”

“There is a stream nearby,” he told her.

Zaynab laughed. “
A stream?
The water will be cold, Ali Hassan. No! No! No! No! Cold water roughens the skin. The water I bathe in must be warmed to just the proper temperature,
and
it must be scented delicately.” Reaching out, she took his hand and brought it to her cheek. “Feel it,” she invited him. “Is it not as soft as the finest silk? And the rest of my body, those parts not touched by the winds, are even softer.” She smiled seductively at him, showing small white teeth.

“
What else?
” he growled. He could not take his eyes from her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was gold and ivory and aquamarines. He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted this one. Patience was certainly not one of his virtues, but he would wait the three days for her because he wanted everything that she had to give. The erotic talents of Love Slaves were legendary, and he was in possession of one. He could scarcely contain himself.

“My servant, wretched girl, ran away when your men stole me from the prince’s gardens. I need someone to serve me,” Zaynab said.

“I will send a woman to you,” he quickly answered, eager to please her.

“No! No! No! No!” Zaynab trilled again. “What do any of your peasant women know of how to serve a lady of rank like myself? No, give me Iniga as my servant. She will know just what to do, and will understand my orders. You can always find another whore for your men.” Then she giggled. “Do you think it amusing, Ali Hassan, that the Prince of Malina’s sister will be slave to the Love Slave he once trained?”

He guffawed loudly. “You’re a clever bitch,” he said. “Very well, my beauty, I will give you Iniga to serve you.”

She favored him with a smile and then said, “Where are my quarters, Ali Hassan? I will need a bath, some food, and then sleep.”

“You will remain here with me,” he said slowly.

“No! No! No! No!” Zaynab said, but the remonstrance in her voice was of a gentler sort. “A Love Slave, Ali Hassan,
must
have her own quarters. My accommodations need not be large, but they
must
be private. Then when I am brought to you for your pleasure, or you visit me, all the camp will know, and your men will swell with envy, even as I will make you swell with your lust.” She gazed seductively into his dark eyes, struggling to keep her amusement under control. He was positively drooling with his intense desire to possess her. She had begun this game with him in an effort to fend off his unwanted attentions, but she hadn’t been certain how he would react. She was surprised to find such a vicious bandit so utterly gullible. She had not realized until now how powerful the reputation of the Love Slave really was.

“I will give you your own tent,” he said. “It will be set up next to mine. I will have food brought to you now, and while you eat, it will be done. Three days? No more?”

“Three days, Ali Hassan, and then you shall enter paradise, I promise you,” Zaynab said in sugary tones.

They brought her food, a bowl filled with a wheat cereal and chunks of lamb. It was a disgusting mixture, but she ate it all down, including the slab of round flat bread they gave her to use as a utensil. She washed the taste of it away with a sharp
wine. Then she sat and waited until finally Ali Hassan returned and without a word drew her to her feet. He brought her out of his tent and into the small tent that now stood next to it.

The little tent had been set up on a wooden platform covered with a beautiful red and blue wool carpet. There was already a charcoal brazier warming the space. There were two bed mats with coverlets, a single low brass table with a lamp upon it, and a second lamp of ruby glass that hung from the tent pole. There was also a round wooden tub in the center of the floor that was filled with steaming water.

He grinned at her, pleased with himself. “Well?”

“You have done well, Ali Hassan,” she encouraged his efforts. “Where did you find the tub for me?”

“I had my men saw a barrel in half, Zaynab,” he told her.

“It will do for now,” she answered him, “but where is the soap? And my scent? It must be gardenia. I always use gardenia.”

“I do not know if any of the women in the encampment have soap or scent,” he admitted.

“I must have both, and they must be of the same fragrance, but tonight I will settle for one or the other, Ali Hassan.”

He stamped from the tent, and while he was gone she checked the temperature of the water. When he returned, he handed her a small cake of soap. She sniffed delicately.

“It’s aloe,” he said. “One of the women had it hidden away.”

“Thank you,” Zaynab said. “Where is Iniga?”

“Later,” he said. “I want to watch you bathe.”

“Are you capable of restraining your passions at the sight of my naked body, Ali Hassan? Remember, I must prepare myself properly for you, or you will never have the full joy I can give you. Are you certain you wish to see me bathe?”

“Just what is it you must do?” he demanded, wondering suddenly if she were making a fool of him.

“A Love Slave’s master generally uses her each day at least once,” Zaynab told him. “My sheath is used to the manhood of the Nasi Hasdai. It takes three days of complete abstinence for it to shrink back to its virgin state. And, of course, I do certain other things that are secret. When I finally take you
into my body, Ali Hassan, you will find me as tight as a virgin, but without the boring impediment of a maidenhead. Then when my muscles caress your cock, it will have perfect enjoyment. If you entered me now, I should not be able to give you that pleasure for my sheath is not the correct size for your manhood.”

“Ahhhhh,” he said, as if he had actually understood her explanation. “Yes, of course.”

“There is much more,” she said with a little conspiratorial smile, “but those things must remain sacred to the Love Slave, Ali Hassan.”

He nodded his agreement, but then said, “I am not some silly boy, Zaynab. I can watch you and not violate you.”

“Very well,” she answered him, not wishing to make him suspicious by too much resistance. She was amazed at how much he had actually believed. She would probably have to allow him some liberties with her body before she could escape him; or before Karim, Hasdai, and their Saqalibah found the encampment. By now they would have been alerted, however, and the trail left by Ali Hassan and his men would still be a fresh one. She drew off her caftan, slowly and with a very graceful motion. Carefully she laid it aside.

“Does my body please you, Ali Hassan?” she asked as she turned for him. “I have already had one child.”

His burning gaze feasted on her breasts, her buttocks, her shapely legs, the triangle between her thighs. He licked his lips nervously as she pinned up her golden hair and stepped into the tub. “The three days will be an eternity,” he told her. Then he sat cross-legged watching as she settled into the water and washed herself.

When she had finished, Zaynab arose and stepped from the tub. Beads of water sluiced down her lush form, and he could not take his eyes from her. “Your willpower is to be commended, Ali Hassan,” she said. “I would like to reward you if you can exercise your self-discipline a tiny bit more. Do you think you can?”

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his heart hammering.

“Would you like to lick the water from my nipples, Ali Hassan? You may not touch me except with your mouth. You do not have to, but if it would please you, you may,” Zaynab told him, as if she were bestowing some great honor upon him.

He put his hands behind his back. Leaning forward, he pushed his tongue from between his lips. A drop of liquid hung suspended from her right nipple, and he scooped it up with a quick motion. Then his tongue made several sweeps about the nipple before moving over to its mate. Finished, he raised his head up, looking at her triumphantly.

“
Very good, Ali Hassan
,” she purred at him.

In answer he reached into his trousers and drew forth his manhood. It was the largest she had ever seen, long and quite thick. He presented it to her, cupping it in his hand. “It is eager to delve between your thighs, Zaynab, but I will wait the three days.”

She ran her eyes down the length of him, then reaching out, caressed him with delicate fingers. “Find a woman tonight, and release its juices, Ali Hassan, for a man should never deny himself. You will be stronger with me for it. Restrain yourself altogether for three days, and you will be weakened gently. Now, put that big fellow away and send Iniga to me, Ali Hassan. I want to instruct her in her duties before I sleep.”

Ali Hassan left Zaynab and walked across the encampment to Iniga’s quarters. She was alone. “Hands and knees,” he barked at her, and when she had obeyed, he knelt behind her, entering her female passage. She winced, but her discomfort was not his concern. He pumped her vigorously, closing his eyes and imagining she was Zaynab. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as he slammed himself into her again and again until finally his lust broke. He sighed, relieved, and stood up, yanking her to her feet.

“For the time being you will no longer be required to serve as the camp whore, Iniga,” he told her. “Today I stole the Love Slave, Zaynab, possession of Hasdai ibn Shaprut. She is now mine, and wishes a serving woman. None of the females here in the camp would know how to serve her, but you should. Her
tent is the small one next to mine. Put on your caftan and go to her immediately.”

Wordless, Iniga grabbed up the dirty caftan that lay upon the floor, and pulling it over her thin frame, hurried from the tent. For weeks she had said little to anyone. Her throat still felt sore these months later from screaming when first Ali Hassan, and afterward several of his men, had raped her that day they had killed everyone.

Then Ali Hassan had decided that she should be his alone, but she had foiled him by showing no emotion at all each time he used her. He had retaliated by making her the camp whore. Now, he said she was to serve Zaynab. She remembered Zaynab, the beautiful girl who had been sent to the caliph. How had she come to this hell? Iniga entered the small tent next to Ali Hassan’s.

“Iniga!” Zaynab’s welcome was warm, but she was horrified by her friend’s appearance. She was painfully thin and her lovely blond hair was dirty and matted.

“
Zaynab
.” It is truly her, Iniga thought, but how could that be?

Zaynab saw the confusion in Iniga’s eyes. “The bathwater is still warm, Iniga. Get into it and wash,” she gently ordered her friend. Then she went to the opening of the tent, and handing Iniga’s ragged garment to one of the two guardsmen outside, said in a commanding tone, “Take this to Ali Hassan. Tell him I want a clean caftan for my servant. She cannot wear this filthy torn rag. It is alive with vermin.”