Rahab Bk. 01 Ch. 07: Kittens

'There is one solution,' Calliope suggested, when we were discussing the ambitions of the Circassian women, who aspired to control the Sultan. Irene, the statuesque blonde who had ensnared him, and was carrying his child, was scheming to replace the Sultana, and we were wondering how to block her ambitions.

I asked the Sultan's mother, Calliope, what she thought we could do.

'You could get pregnant by him.'

I blushed.

Though I was one of the concubines, I was still a virgin. I doubted that my four foot ten frame would take the Sultan's manhood, or the consequences of a pregnancy -- and said so.

'It isn't a ridiculous idea, Pixie,' said my companion Jess, calling me by the name she had bestowed on me the first night we had lain together; it was one that had caught on.

'Hear me out. What if you were able to take him and got with child and survived? I am sure a child of yours would be more than a match for one sired on that blonde bitch.'

Calliope nodded.

'She has a point, child. Think on it.'

I disliked the idea on first hearing.

In the first place, I was a devotee of Sappho. I liked to lie with women, not men. In the second, being of tiny stature, I was not enamoured of the idea of the Sultan spearing me with his huge member. In the third, I was not sure that one with my narrow hips could, or should, bear children. And finally, what guarantee was there that I would produce a boy? Too much risk, too much of it personal. But if that was not the way to avert the danger that would come from the Circassians taking control of the Seraglio, what was?

Jess did not quite understand the dimensions of the problem, and Calliope, to test me, asked me to outline them.

'It is simple. Unlike in your country of England, Jess, where the Crown passes of right, to the eldest, even to a girl, here it goes where the Sultan determines. He decides which of his many sons to recommend. When he is dead, that son has to maintain his position against rivals, and usually, when he does so, he has his half-brothers killed; the fate of their mothers is seldom a good one. The same is true of others the new Sultan chooses to reject. It is usual that the wives of his father are cast off. It is why so many here secrete money away, against such an evil day.'

'And that, little one, is Fate at its best, for the Sultan may have them all killed.'

'I see,' Jess said, sadly. 'So we must avoid Irene and Alexandra having the whip hand?'

Ideally, yes, but the question is how?' Calliope sounded, and looked, puzzled.

For some reason she and Jess looked to me. I stared back.

'I am not becoming a brood mare, not, and not, and definitely not!'

I reiterated my reasons, convincing myself, if not them. They may have had the wrong answer, but the question was the right one.

As Jess took me on my couch, that night, we talked long into the small hours about the things which bothered us.

Jess wondered why, given my influence with the Sultan, I could not convince him of the danger, or, if that was not possible, why his mother could not do so. For all her skill in loving, she knew but little of the ways of the Sultan. He showed his prowess by begetting sons, and by manipulating the succession, and the woman who could capture his heart and his lust would be the instrument by which he demonstrated his omnipotence. Irene and Alexandra had lusted their way into his favour, and if the former produced a son, then they would do all they could to make him the chosen successor.

I pointed out that we did have one card. The Sultan enjoyed the way in which I prepared Alexandra for their encounters. She had a strong libido, but her lips were pendulous, and could get in the way of his member. By opening her up with my fingers, and then licking her bud, I could make their congress easier, and more enjoyable. Alexandra liked that, and what I did to her, and she delighted in my showing Irene what my tongue could do. Thinking me but a child because of my stature, they would talk openly in front of me, not realising that I understood both their language, and their meaning.

At least we would have early warning of their plans. But would that avail us anything?

I refused to worry for the moment. Time and chance had a way of providing opportunities for the intelligent and enterprising, and I was both.

The following morning, having attended to Calliope's physical and emotional needs, she smiled at me as we had our morning sherbet.

'You will be pleased, my darling.'

'I am sure, Mama, but what is it to which you refer?'

'Your nice friend Will is coming back with his ambassador. My son has had a request from their great Queen, and he will be discussing it with them when they arrive later.'

I clapped my hands. I liked Will. He was a writer and story-teller who worked with the earl of Oxford as his secretary, and at his previous visit, he and I had enjoyed each other's company, bound by a common love of stories.

'Will there be more banquets and storytelling, Mama?'

The mother of the Sultan was not, of course my mother, but in many ways she had taken on that role, and I loved her for the protection and comfort she afforded me. She knew of my developing relationship with the companion whom she had bought for me, Jess, but assured that, at some point, she would share her favours, she was happy for me.

'Mama, it may be that Will can help us.'

She looked at me curiously, as she often did.

'How so, little one?'

I explained that Will had told me that his great Queen sought our alliance against the power of the Pope. As Rome was the centre of Christian activity against both Islam and the Jews, and as it opposed the new religion of the English, it was a case of the enemy of our enemy is our friend. But where it appertained to our struggle with the Circassians, was that the Grand Vizier, Murad, who was their patron, favoured an alliance with the Romans. If the Sultan moved into line with the English, then it might well weaken Murad, and with him, the Circassians.

'So you did not just tell stories to Will?'

'Mama, I listen. People tell me things. And I think a lot.'

She smiled.

'Kitten, my son already calls you his "little Vizier," and I begin to think you would make a fist of the real thing.'

'Speaking of fists, Mama, I hope you enjoyed our play earlier?'

I did, Kitten, your tiny hands make a good instrument for filling me without giving pain. You know yourself to be loved, I hope?'

'Mama, I do, and I reciprocate that, as you could not be dearer to me.'

'Let me ponder this. But you will talk to Will tomorrow, yes?'

That night, I promised her that the long-awaited tryst with myself and Jess should take place.

Small as we were, she could attach each of her kittens to her breasts, and, clothed only in flimsy silks, we lay on her lap and suckled her, until her nipples stood erect and swollen.

I would usually have seen to the wetness between her thighs, but she wanted Jess to taste her. So I stayed and played with both her breasts, as Jess attended to her needs elsewhere.

Full and luscious, there was a quality which motherhood and age had bestowed upon her breasts which I loved. They may have lacked the pertness of small breasts, and the firmness of youth, but they offered comfort, as well as excitement. I loved to sink into her bosom, and to suck upon her nipples. Firm, and darker pink than my own, her nipples were a delight to suckle, and I loved the noises she made when I worked my magic upon her.

But that pleasure was intensified by her reaction to Jess. As I knew well, Jess was skilled in the art of servicing a woman's wetness. I could hear a slurping sound, and the squelching noise indicated she was using her fingers. As the mother of three children, Calliope's vagina had the elasticity mine lacked, and where Jess used her fingers only on my bud, with the mother of the Sultan, she was clearly invading her inner sanctum.

Calliope gasped. Her body began to tense.

'Kittens, my kittens, oh, oh, ooh!'

I bit, gently, but firmly on her nipples. I felt, from below, an increase in the tempo of the fingering of her vagina. Of a sudden she exploded.

I stayed firmly attached to her breasts, as Jess did to her thighs, as she shook and shuddered. As she calmed down, Jess slid upwards, kissing me, so I could taste Calliope upon her lips.

'You are my most precious kittens, my darlings, my girls.'

She hugged us close. We snuggled up.

It felt warm, it felt safe, and so it was, that in that place of peace, we drifted out to sleep.