Rahab Bk. 01 Ch. 04: Will

The story soon got around. Rahab had not satisfied the Sultan. The Circassians looked smug, not least at Svetlana. The other wives reacted more kindly, on the whole. Those who were members of the play-group were sweetest. As zero challenge to any of them, but not banished by the Sultan, I was accepted as different. That Calliope obviously favoured me, did me no harm, either.

I told her what had happened with her son. She drew me to her and hugged me. I smelt her sweet perfume and lost myself in her breasts. She kissed my nose.

'You really are a clever little scrap. My son really likes you, and believe me, that is rare.'

'I liked him too,' I grinned.

She laughed.

'You are such an amusing kitten. I think everyone, except those damned Circassians, likes you. It helps you are no challenge to anyone.'

She cuddled me.

I liked that. Her affection had come to mean a great deal to me. The Seraglio, oddly enough, or perhaps not, was not a place where affection existed in any great quantity. One of the wonderful things about the play group was that it allowed for that to develop. It was sexual, but not wholly that.

We were a group of women, selected at random to satisfy the lusts of the Sultan. We came from across the Empire, from North Africa to Arabia, from the steppes of Tartary to the Black Mountain of the Bosnian Sanjak. One of us would produce the heir to the Empire; the others would probably find their sons slaughtered; the daughters would be given in marriage by the Padishah to cement his alliances. We were commodities. We were also rivals. My presence seemed to help soften things a little.

It soon became known that the Sultan liked me. He often asked for me to go to him in the evening, to tell him stories. I even had the rare privilege of being invited to banquets, where again, I would be invited tell my tales. The Padishah was proud of his kitten.

It was at one such that I met Will.

The Great Queen of the English had sent an embassy to Istanbul. She was, it was said, a learned woman, which may have been why the Padishah invited me to tell stories at the banquet. I told the story of Harold the Saxon. The English seemed to like it, and there was great applause.

Afterwards, I sat in my accustomed place, with the senior servants of the Padishah. There were, there, our English equivalents. I sat next to a smallish man with a trim beard, cut in the English fashion, around his chin.

'Can you understand French my dear?'

He spoke in halting French.

'No, but I can do some English.'

He smiled with relief.

'And how do you know my language, child?'

'I learned some words from a book about a man called King Arthur, and then talked with merchants from Cheapside in Odessa.'

'Cheapside,' he murmured, 'ah it is there I spent many a long, happy hour.'

'What is it you do, sire?' I asked politely.

'Officially I help write dispatches for the Earl, but I prefer writing stories of my own, for men to perform for my Queen.'

'You write plays, sire?'

'I see you know our customs too, child.' He smiled. 'I loved your stories, you told them well, even though I could not understand all you said.'

'I am not a child, sire; I am one of the wives of the Padishah.'

'I see that like the Italians, the Turks take them young.'

'Sire, I am nineteen next birthday.'

'Well, I apologise my dear. But I meant it; you tell a delightful tale.'

I asked after his family. He had, he said, an older wife and twins, but he spent most of his life in London or with the Earl, so he saw little of them. He was swift to tell me about the money he had made from his diplomatic labours, but it was clear that he preferred his literary pursuits.

I liked Will. For all his preoccupation with money (in which he reminded me of my father), he was a gentle man, who loved words. He praised my command of his tongue (which pleased me), and asked where, if there was such a thing, he might find women who would lie with foreigners.

'Do you think me a pander, good sir?' I joked. He blushed.

'I think you may know where such women lie?'

'Why, sir, they lie with men, and though it is said they sleep with them, I doubt much sleep is had.'

'Macbeth hath murdered sleep,' he said, strangely.

'Who is this man who has done such a thing?'

'He was a king of the Scots, who urged on by his wife, killed the king to become one, but lost the crown himself. I think of writing his history in a play.'

I said that sounded interesting, and he went on to tell me the tale. I hope he wrote his play. I told him where to find the women he sought.

Will was there for a month, and we spoke often. He loved my tale of the great Moor, Othello, who loved a Venetian noblewoman, but was fooled by a false friend and killed her. He took notes. It was, he said, a great story. I told him he was welcome to it, if it was of any use. In return, he told me many stories, which I later used to amuse the Padishah.

I liked Will.

His earl did his business, and left, laden with gifts. Will gave me a small Cross as a keepsake. It was, he said, of Rome, and would not suit him back in England, but he knew such things interested me. I kept it safe.

Back in the Seraglio, the power of the Circassians grew.

I received a summons to see the Sultan for afternoon drinks. He was attended by his entourage and lounged on a gorgeous divan. He offered me some juice, which, being thirsty, I took eagerly.

'What you did for Svetlana, little one, would you do for another?'

"Highness, I did it for you, so yes, of course.'

He smiled.

'You please me is so many ways, kitten. I have many who can sate my lust, but few who amuse me.

I went to the inner chamber that evening.

To my horror, it was Alexandra, one of the Circassians, whom he wished me to service for him. Well, it was not like I had a choice.

She looked as horrified as I felt.

'What, what is this Highness, why do I need this runt? Am I not enough for you?'

'You are my dear, but I wish you to enjoy as I do, and this little one is skilled, so let her serve you and get you ready for the sword.'

She did as she was told.

I could see why he loved her. She was blonde, blue-eyed, and had a figure like those I have seen in books of statues of Greek goddesses. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on her, but she was voluptuous.

I nestled between her thighs. My hands parted her lips. They were thick, and pendulous, and I could see how easily that could become a problem, so I pulled them aside gently, massaging her inner labia, before opening her. My tongue dipped into her wetness, sliding into her passage of love. She would find the process of love-making easier. I licked and sucked at her bud.

Alexandra's reluctance vanished with my ministrations. I sensed in her a great libido, and went on for longer than I would with another, save one who I wished to please, like Calliope. As my tongue played with her bud, unhooding it, she moaned, writhed, and her wetness filled my mouth. I sucked her bud, mimicking the actions I had seen women do when describing how they had orally pleased the Sultan. That drove her wild.

Sensing the extent of her lust, I moved my tongue down to the no-man's land between her sex and her anus, before allowing my tongue to tease her tight, puckered star hole. I could hear that the Sultan was breathing heavily. Alexandra's moans were in time with his. It was time for me to stop. Turning, wet-faced, I smiled at the Sultan.

Thankful that the Padishah did not want to use his member on me, I left him to Alexandra. As with Svetlana, he took he eagerly, and she responded in kind. It was not long before they came together in their pleasure, the Sultan groaning as he spent himself in her.

That, like last time, was my cue to depart.

The following day I received a little diamond kitten. It was from Alexandra.

From that time on, she sought my company. It was, it turned out, a useful investment, at least on my part.