Rahab Bk. 01 Ch. 06: Pixie

Jess came to my couch.

I had told Calliope, my patroness and mother of the Sultan, of my design, and she had offered me the inner sanctum, where no eunuch ever came. That was typical of her generosity to me. I had brought her much pleasure, and she was unselfish in allowing me to have some of my own.

She had bought Jess for me at the slave market. She had offered me objects of greater value, and much though access to funds would have suited me longer term, I wanted something which money could not buy, but in this case, might facilitate. On sight, I had taken a fancy to a young maiden called Jess, and Calliope had bought her for me. But I would not use that to bind her to me. I had asked for a night to make my case.

It was not, I reflected in a split second, the wisest thing, to take her after the day she had been through, but my heart said it was now or never. Or was that my lust? Much as Calliope satisfied my need to serve, I also needed to love and, if possible, to be loved. Some instinct told me that there was a chance of that here; I went with it.

In a sense, it was a chance to escape from the calculations and the politics of the Seraglio. My skill as a story-teller had won me a special place, but it was clear that the Circassians were making a play for power. Roxanne, the Sultana, was no politician, she accepted the increasing hold they had on the Sultan. That I serviced one of the blonde beauties for the Sultan, gave me privileged access to their conversations. Dismissed by them as a child used to prepare them for him, they spoke openly of their ambitions and their scope. If, as Irene, the more ambitious of the two hoped, she was pregnant, then they would act.

I do not think they had worked out what they would do. They relied upon the lust they inspired in the loins of the Sultan and lacked the brains to work out how to exploit it. But Murad, the Grand Vizier, could supply what they lacked, and it was from that direction that Calliope feared the worst. Roxanne was too bovine either to see the danger or react to it, if told about it. The signs were there that Irene was with child. If it was a son, we had less than a year to prepare our course of action.

Calliope was powerful and experienced, but as she said, we needed a male politician, and we did not have one. In my heart, I doubted that we would find one, and my head was beginning to wonder whether we really needed one? Calliope was listening to my thoughts, but the whole thing was a strain. She was my mother-substitute, but I needed something more. I needed a lover and a friend. If not Jess, then who?

I took her into my arms. We kissed.

And it was we who kissed. I may have planted the first one, but the harvest that followed was not all mine. She kissed me back - and with a passion that surprised me. When I stopped for a moment to get my breath, she brought her lips to mine, and her tongue slipped between my lips and took possession of my mouth. I let her. Her hands touched my nipples. I gasped. She gripped between my thighs. I moaned. She slipped a finger into me. I had thought the lead would be mine. The very idea of two women together had been dismissed by her as 'unnatural,' and yet it seemed very natural to her.

She rolled onto me. My legs opened - naturally. Her mound ground into mine, and her breasts, small as they were (but bigger than mine), pressed against me, and our nipples rubbed. Her fingers moved against my bud but did not try to enter me. She had felt my hymen and did not push. But she did press on my nub, rubbing her, making her ache. Her lips pressed against mine, her hand cupped my backside. She pressed her advantage home, making me gasp. Whatever I had intended was forgotten; I was hers.

She worked on me with energy, pressing around my nub, making me gasp.

'You are my little kitten, aren't you? You are my little Pixie fairy.'

I moaned.

'Yes, I am, I am so, your little Pixie.'

I felt it growing. Used as I was to giving pleasure, I was unfamiliar with receiving it. Jess continued her loving assault on me. I surrendered. She took me. I yielded. I felt my explosion begin, my tummy rippling, my thighs tensing. She kissed me, pressed against me, taking me, making me feel as though pleasure was all I wanted. I exploded. The wetness was incredible. I shook, shuddering, shaking, crying. She hugged me.

As I came around, she smiled.

'Suck my finger, Pixie girl.'

I sucked her finger, tasting myself, smiling at her. She smiled back.

'Did you like that, my lady?'

I blushed.

'I loved it, but I thought...?'

'Oh, I began by thinking what I would want from a man but ended as a woman giving my woman what she needed. Did YOU enjoy it?'

I nodded, speechless, still trembling. She smiled, caressed me and kissed my nose.

'You are going to be a good kitten for me, aren't you?'

She looked at me tenderly.

'I think you liked it that way; yes?'

I croaked an answer, which amounted not only to "yes," but to "give it me again." She laughed.

'I used to please my lady back home, and she liked it when I took the lead. So yes, Pixie Rahab, I will be yours, as you will be mine, and I am so happy you rescued me from the market. I will make sure you never regret it. I am your woman night or day, right or wrong, and through affection, not compulsion.'

I smiled, and I folded myself into her arms. I offered my services, but she was tired and, hugging, held me close as we drifted into the sleep of the exhausted.

And thus Jess came into my life.

Outwardly, and in the eyes of the world of the Seraglio, she was my boon companion, my playmate, but when we took to my couch, she was more, much more than that.

Calliope smiled. She knew, I think, and she suggested that, if we wished, we might both play with her. I promised we should do that.

But while my personal life took a turn for the better, life in the Seraglio became more tense.

Irene was with child. In fact, according to the doctors, she was already five months gone. From the size and shape of the child, they were sure it was a boy. Mehmet was delighted.

There was no system of primogeniture in the Empire. The Padishah would choose from his many sons, and then the choice would have to hold his own. Most often, it was easy enough, but latterly, the women of the harem had schemed, as Calliope had, to get their son the peacock throne. Sultana Roxanne's eldest son was a pleasant enough lad, but not the stuff of which Sultans were made. There were other princes better placed than him, but their mothers lacked the skills of Irene and Alexandra, the Circassian beauties who had captivated the Sultan.

Calliope was aware that the future would not go well for her if they gained the ascendancy, but the question was, how could they be stopped? Mehmet was only in his mid-thirties, and he had many years ahead of him, during which time the child of Irene would be groomed for the throne. The Grand Vizier looked with favour on such a prospect, and so it seemed to be a foregone conclusion. But as I reminded Calliope, what transpired was always, in retrospect, inevitable. But we were looking in prospect, and it lay in our hands, still, to try to avert that which seemed bound to happen.