The Circassian (closed)

Katirah was still breathless. "As the Comte wishes." She breathed. She returned his kiss.

She pushed the Comte onto his back. "Wine?" She poured for them them both. Her mouth was very dry from all of her moans and pantings. She handed the Comte a goblet and drank deeply from hers. She set the glass aside and with a sly smile she kissed the corner of the Comte's mouth. Then down his neck, across his chest. Her hand reached down to take his cock. She stroked it feeling the slickness of her fluids on him.

She kissed his chest again and traveled to his navel. the fingers of her other hand played in the thick nest of his pubic hair.

Finally, she took his manhood into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it. She looked up at him with a faint smirk. Then she took him in her mouth in earnest and pumped up and down, using her hand at the base. The taste of the two of them on his cock was as intoxicating as the wine. The Comte was covered in her scent and she with his.

She wanted to hear him moan. She wanted to hear him beg.
 
Marcel reached down and removed Katirah's hand from the base of his cock. "Listen to me Katirah, I wanted you to use your mouth alone."

He cupped her face and gently extricated his cock from her mouth, "I meant it, nothing but your mouth." Marcel stood his face set in the disappointment he felt.

"Come back tonight, perhaps then you will listen, and obey."
 
((Katirah is very upset at her author for missing the Comte's explicit instruction :) I had to read back and see what you wrote.))

Katirah was hurt. She felt as if the Comte had slapped her. "But the Comte--" What good would it do to argue. She had not thought he said to use only her mouth. If she had heard that, she would have followed his instruction.

"I wished only to bring pleasure to mon coeur." She said quietly and blinked back tears. She did not understand. The Comte would be denying himself pleasure. Fellatio was possibly her least favorite thing a man and woman could do together. She preferred something that would bring them both pleasure. Something that would bring her partner alone to bliss was of least interest to her.

She was sure the Comte would plan something for the evening that would not be to her liking at all.

She left their bed and put her clothing on. She turned back to him when she reached the tent flap, "I am sorry I have failed the Comte again. I will do my best to please the Comte tonight."

She left and nearly walked into Henri. "Pardon." She mumbled and headed for her wagon.

Henri looked after her. He admired her backside, not for the first time. he wondered what happened now that had her in tears. It seemed to him not long ago she was screaming in ectasy. He was familiar enough with her screams by now. Merde, the entire camp was familiar with her screams. It was a good thing the Comte had brought those whores in, they would have had a mutiny by now.

He entered the tent. "Do not tell me you have sent Katirah back to walk with the salves again. Sometimes I think the two of you are oil and water."
 
Marcel was still in the process of righting his clothes when Henri came proffering his insights unbidden. Pursing his lips a heartbeat, he replied, "She appears to be part donkey, either unwilling or unable to both listen and obey. One or the other is about all she can manage at a time."

Henri looked at Marcel, a cross look on his face. "Surely you don't mean that."

"That she doesn't obey and listen both? Yes. That she is part donkey? Well, she does appear to be as hardheaded as one."

"What are you going to do?" Henri asked.

"Keep training her, teaching her. Perhaps one day she will realize what it is I need, what she needs, and then things will go smoother."

"And when we get home?" Henri asked.

Marcel looked at Henri and then out the tent, "We will have to worry about that when we get there. Who knows, maybe the Baron is dead. Maybe he lost interest."

Henri laughed, "You know that won't happen."

"Yes, I know," Marcel said. "But there is no sense in coming to a decision until we know what is what."
 
((Katirah would be very angry to hear herself being compared to a donkey. xp))

Katirah went back to her wagon. There was nothing that needed to be packed. If there had been, Samara must have taken care of it.

She climbed inside and flopped on her pillows. The tears she had been holding back spilled forth. She didn't know how long she cried before Samara climbed into the wagon and put a hand on her back.

"My little dove, what is wrong?"

"The Comte. That insufferable man." Katirah sniffed. "I try to please him. I try. It is not enough."

Samara ran her palm in circles on Katirah's back. "Do you want to tell me?"

"This morning, the Comte was already awake. I called him back to bed and he joined me. We coupled and he gave me great pleasure but did not allow himself release." Katirah rolled over and wiped her tears. "He said it was his turn and wanted me to use my mouth on him. So I did. And I held his cock and caressed his globes. And he--he. Stupid insufferable man. He made me stop and was upset at me."

Samara clucked, "What man would make a woman stop when she had his cock in her mouth?"

"He said I did not obey him, that he said I should use _only_ my mouth." Katirah sniffed again and reached for a cloth to wipe her nose. "I did not hear him say _only_. Had I heard him, I would have done as he asked."

"Of course you would." Samara agreed. "And what man wants to be serviced with only a mouth? Hands add so much more, I would think... I shall ask Luc."

"I am to return to the Comte tonight, and I think he will punish me." Katirah started crying again. "I asked him to never send me away from him again...to beat me instead. I do not know what he will do..."

"Hush. Do not worry about that now. It will be what it will be. But I doubt the Comte would do anything to mar you. Shhh." Samara crooned to her taking her in her arms.

"I shall get you wine and fruit and you shall eat and feel much better."

((If you want to skip ahead to the evening, we can. I don't have anything else planned for Katirah/Samara right now.))
 
(( The next person that has a favorable opinion being compared to a donkey is likely the first to view it so. ;) ))

The day on the trail was dry and long. The dust, an eternal fixture, hung in the air in a thick amorphous mass that clung to everything, and everyone. Already in a less than humorous mood, Marcel was outright irritable by the time the sun passed its zenith, and began its downward slope.

Henri rode in silence most of the day next to Marcel, reading the Comte's mood and insulating most people from what promised to be an over exuberant tongue lashing at least if the Comte were crossed.

Toward the end of the day, they reached the destination for the night's camp. They pulled aside early, Marcel leaving the over sight of settling in to Henri. "I will ride a head a bit to look at the cross rodes to decide finally whether we take the short cut, or the long way."

Henri nodded and watched as Marcel rode off. Less than five minutes later, Henri dispatched some of the mercenaries to follow Marcel at a distance.
 
((Hmm, is something going to happen soon?))

((I believe Katirah's box has been left with the Comte.))

Katirah stayed in her wagon with the flap down. It kept most of the dust out. She drank pomegranate juice and ate fruit and played her oud and sang. She and Samara played backgammon for most of the afternoon. She wondered if the Comte knew how to play. Katirah knew how to play chess, but Samara did not and had no interest in learning.

When the caravan stopped, Katirah took great care to dress herself. Something to enhance her coloring and figure, but easy to remove since she would not be wearing it long. She went to see about the Comte's dinner. Seeing how dusty the soldiers looked, she also called for a bath to be brought for him.

She balanced the tajine with the Comte's dinner on her head. She picked up a jug of wine. Hips swaying, she walked to the Comte's tent.

She passed Henri. "Good evening, Effendi. Would you tell me the Comte's mood tonight?"
 
Henri glanced at Katirah and shrugged. "He was pissy, much like a drunk with a cause all day. Perhaps he will find something to kill out there." Henri waved vaguely in the direction that Marcel and the mercenaries had rode off in.

He looked at her critically a moment then said, "What ever it is you didn't do this morning, or did and shouldn't have, disappointed, or hurt him." He fiddled with his sword a moment then looked back at her.

"I need, one day, to tell you a story," Henri started. "No not today," he said cutting off the question that was about to blurt from Katirah. "There is not time until Marcel returns, and he needs to know that I am telling it before I do so."

He kicked aside a rock and smiled sheepishly, "I should have told you before you each began feeling what ever it is you are feeling for each other. Then maybe you would understand what motivates him, what he is."
 
Katirah felt her stomach clench. "Pissy? I know I disappointed the Comte. I did not think I had made him angry. I think...when we speak... my French is not so good, and the Arabic of the Comte...I try to obey, but sometimes I do not understand. Even when I know the words, sometimes I do not understand." She could not tip her head up to look at Henri for fear of tipping the tajine balanced on her head. But she could look up with her eyes.

"I had never thought myself stupid until I met the Comte." She said with a hint of bitterness.

"I would very much like to hear your story. Perhaps then I will understand. You told me before...the Comte has told me as well, he requires my obedience. I think I am obeying him, and I fail. I try to explain and he will not hear me." Her eyes stung and she had no free hand to wipe at them.

"He has become the Sun to me. Sometimes I think I am nothing more than a vessel for his release. A vessel who disappoints him daily." She cast her eyes down.
 
Henri smiled and replied, "No. If you were nothing to him, then he would not use you at all, much less as something as important to him as 'release' as you put it."

Henri looked past Katirah and over the camp, "We all disappoint him some times, but most of us don't matter as much as others, sohe doesn't care about it."

Henri patted her arm gently, "You will learn, you are smart. The more you matter to him, the longer he will try to help you understand what he wants."
 
((Grr, my email alert wasn't working, I only saw just now that you had posted again.))

Katirah sighed. "The Comte should not be wasting the little time we have. Not that I would dare to tell him so... All of this will be meaningless when we get to France."

Her voice was sad. "He told me he would do this. He told me he would make me his and only his. If I am to be given to the Baron--I will die. I will kill myself." She was probably being overly dramatic, but not by much. "I should go into the tent and see that all is ready for the Comte when he returns." She smiled at Henri. I shall do my best to ensure he is in a much better mood tomorrow."
 
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Henri grinned as Katirah was about to walk off and asked, "Not fair warning you, was it?"

*~*~*~*~

Marcel rode his horse hard, trying to distance himself from the men he was sure Henri sent out after him, to watch over him. At the moment the last thing Marcel wanted was protection. He was hoping to see a bandit look out as he was riding and was sure that the bandits would not be able to help themselves from attacking a single rider, especially one as well dressed as Marcel.

Reaching the crossroads that he and Henri had debated, Marcel took the branch that would be a shorter, more perilous, path. Slowing the horse to a walk, Marcel made a show of disinterest in his surroundings as he rode on.

It took another thirty minutes before the riders could be heard behind him, and not long after that, they caught up. "We were sent to guard you," the lead rider said.

Marcel searched the man's face and nodded. "Well enough William; let's head back, I did not find that which I sought."
 
Katirah smiled at Henri. "You are a good friend. I hope the Comte knows that."

---

Katirah busied herself stoking the brazier. If she was to be naked, she would be warm. Besides, she had some time before the Comte returned. Even more so, it had not been his order but her whim that made her say she would be always naked in his tent.

She moved the tajine on top of the brazier to keep the food warm. She left instructions that the tub and water should be brought once word came that the Comte had returned to camp.

She undressed by the brazier and carefully folder her clothes. At least they would be warm when she put them back on again.

She sang as she worked. the tune seemed lighthearted but the lyrics told of a flower that the singer could not reach. A flower that refused to bend. It was clear the song was about unrequited love. The verses were short and simple enough that she worked out a translation. She wasn't happy with it.

She could not see anything else left to do in the tent so she crawled into the furs with a goblet of wine and sang the song again in her French translation.
 
It was on the way back that the bandits attacked. Marcel and the half dozen mercenaries were on the main road heading back, a little more than half way back to the camp spot when coming from the hills to the left of the road, the bandits flowed like over and around the hill like a wave of water. Numbering over a dozen the bandits had an advantage, but Marcel was willing to be on the training of his men and his own. "Form a line," Marcel barked out.

Marcel was intrigued that they were coming from what seemed to be the wrong direction. He had expected the attack from either his rear or the right. He quickly quashed the curiosity, focusing more on the task at hand. Surveying the bandit line, it seemed their right, his left, was more disorganized than the rest of their line. "Half wheel left!" he commanded.

"CHARGE!" Marcel's voice, full of power and command, roar out over the hills as he heeled his horse in the flanks. Leaping forward, Marcel's men and he attacked the bandits on the left, shattering the the men and horses like so many pieces of glass.

The move increased the distance from the bandit left, and the bandits began turning toward Marcel's men in a single file. Smiling wickedly, Marcel ordered his men to form the line again.

No sooner had the line formed, Marcel ordered a charge again, "Leave one alive!"

In the center of the line, Marcel charged the bandits, his riders spread out enough that perhaps only the last bandit would have a chance to escape them. And then only if the bandit rode off immediately.

He did not.

Within minutes, the twelve bandits lay dead or dying on the small battle field. Marcel was soaked in blood. mostly bandit blood, though he was hit by a spear that ripped a gash in his shoulder, just below the armor of the breast plate he wore.

Searching the surviving bandits, Marcel picked the one he thought mostly likely to talk, and killed the rest in front of him. A few minutes later, and one broken finger for veracity's sake, Marcel had all the information he thought he would need.

"You are free to go, but tell your comrades this, I am Marcel Barton, Comte de Pierredon of France, if they attack my caravan as I travel through these lands, I will take the time to hunt them down, and kill each of them, and their sons. I will take their wives and daughters that are worthy and sell them to pay for my troubles."

The man's eyes widened in fear as the blood streaked Comte hissed in his face, no more than a breath of air separating them. "If I see you again attacking my possessions, I will do things to you that I can not imagine at this time, but I will."

The man's fear was a palpable pulse thundering from the man with each rapid heart beat. "Now leave," Marcel hissed.

The man scurried off as Marcel got on his horse and headed back to the camp. "Would you really do those things you told that man?"

Marcel didn't spare the man a glance as he asked back, "Do you think I will?"

It took William a couple of minutes to answer. When he did, "Yes, I think you would."

Marcel glanced and said, "Good. I bet that man does too, and that is all that matters, if he believes enough, he will convince the others. If they believe him, perhaps they will leave us alone, and we can take the short cut in peace."

The rest of the ride into the camp was quiet, William pondering the Comte, the Comte pondering bandits.

As they arrived in the camp, Marcel rode to his squire and gave the horse over before heading to his tent.
 
((Gosh, I love reading what you write :) ))

One of the guards who was always nearby the Comte's tent, opened the flap without actually looking in, "The Comte has returned to camp," was all he said.

Katirah stopped singing and got out from the furs. She poked the brazier and fed more coal (?) wood (?) into it. She used a cloth to lift the tajine from it and removed the lid. She poured wine for the Comte so it would be ready when he entered.

She sat back into the furs and covered herself when the slaves arrived with the bath tub and water. She did not want to flaunt her nakedness even though these slaves had seen her already. The entire camp had seen her nakedness already. But after what happened to the mercenary...Katirah did not want anything like that to happen again.

When the tub was prepared, she added fragrant oils and put towels near the brazier to warm them. She sang again as she moved about putting all things in readiness for the Comte. She was determined to please him tonight.

Katirah heard the heavy steps of a man in armour and turned to greet her Comte. Her smile quickly turned to shock at the sight of him. She ran the few paces to reach his side.

"What has happened? God save you! Are you hurt? Where is the chirgeon? Have you sent for the chirgeon?" She fluttered around him like a bird looking for a place to roost. "So much blood. So much blood." She fretted.

"Send for fresh water and bandages!" She called out to the guards. How could they have let the Comte pass through the camp and not sent for the chirgeon already?

She worked at the fastenings of his breastplate trying hard not to cry.
 
It wasn't until Katirah fussed over him so, that Marcel felt the fire of the wound. A searing pain radiating through his arm and chest. He grunted in mute acknowledgment of that pain as Katirah began yanking at the straps that held his armor close to his body. "Easy, Katirah," he said softly. "The wound won't kill me, though you might."

He felt her shock, then smiled. "Go easy on the arm, that is all. I am fine. Though I want you to learn from the chirurgeon, your hands are much softer than his."

It took them several more minutes to get the armor off and on the stand. By the time they finished, the chirurgeon arrived and looked at the wound. "The cut is deep, Comte. I will do what I can for it, but it is best if you rest the arm for several days, or perhaps weeks."

Marcel snorted something along the lines of assent, though all three had little belief in it.

As the chirurgeon left, Marcel turned to Katirah and said, "I bet the old saw will have his first erection in years as he remembers your naked body tonight."

He saw the shock in her eyes as she looked down and saw her own naked flesh. He cupped her face with his good arm and whispered softly, "That is what I want from you Katirah, for you to absolutely lose yourself in me."
 
Katirah would have to ask one of the soldiers to teach her about armour and the taking off and putting on of it. She was sure she could find any number who would be happy to teach her.

"A thousand pardons, my Comte." She said as she tried to still her shaking hands and move more slowly.

She was relieved when the chirugeon arrived. She hovered around and handed the old man cloths, she held the basic on water for him. She had to turn away sometimes because the sight of the wound was too much for her. She did not know how the Comte could sit so stoically. She thought she felt every bit of his pain for him. She paid attention to how the chirugeon cleaned and wrapped the wound. She asked intelligent questions and sometimes had the man repeat his answers so she could be sure she understood.

The Comte was correct. Katirah had forgotten her nakedness in her concern over his wound.

"That is what I want from you Katirah, for you to absolutely lose yourself in me."

"Oh, but I have." She whispered back to him and gave him a kiss. "So much that sometimes my brain does not function." She kissed him again. "The Comte must have a bath now. And eat. And rest."

She helped him into the tub. She sluiced water down his back avoiding his wounded shoulder. "I know we cannot stop the caravan while the Comte heals, but I think the Comte should stay in my wagon and rest as we move along. I have many ways to entertain the Comte." She moved to wash his uninjured arm.

"I play chess and backgammon, and know card games. I can sing for the Comte and tell stories." She moved to wash his other arm being very careful of how she moved it and keeping the water off the bandages.
 
Marcel shook his head slightly, "No, tomorrow I ride. We are taking the short cut, and I must be seen both by the men, and the bandits."

Katirah was about to interject when Marcel cut her off, "I still have a job to do, Katirah, and that job is to deliver you to the Baron."

((Perhaps we should start using Marquis instead :) ))
 
((Yes, the Baron is now the Marquis. Marquis sounds better anyway :D ))

"Could one of the men wear the Comte's armour for a time--so the Comte may rest?" Katirah said. She knew many stories where people disguised themselves for a variety of reasons. "I would not have the Comte do more injury to himself."

Katirah moved on to the Comte's legs and scrubbed his feet giving them a bit of a massage.
 
Marcel shook his head, "No, I will not hide like some sniveling child, I will ride tomorrow. Perhaps once we are through the pass I can then ride in a wagon for a couple of days."

He leaned back enjoying the feel of her soft hands all over his body, and said, "The short cut will save a week or more of travel time provided the bandits behave themselves. Traveling will be faster and easier on all, once we are out of the mountains."
 
"A thousand pardons. I was not implying the Comte was a child. Far from it." Katirah moved the cloth down his stomach to gently clean his genitals.

She was not washing the Comte to sexually arouse him. She did not know if he should expend the energy and she certainly did not want him to feel inadequate because his wound might lower his prowess. For herself, she did not need earth-shattering orgasms every night, although they were incredible. It might be nice to simply have a quiet night together.

"It would be my pleasure to entertain the Comte in my wagon." Katirah smiled.

She swallowed at the mention of the bandits. Were these the same who had raided the camp before, or a new group? She remembered the leering man who cuffed her to near unconsciousness and road off with her.

"So we may reach France a week earlier than expected?" She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
 
It was an almost flawlessly poised question. The hitch did not occur in a manner that did not suggestion she was having problems with the language. It sounded more like she was controlling her emotions instead.

He shook his head gently, "No, at best it means we will winter in Pest if need be, or points further west as long as the weather holds."

He caressed her hand and gently said, "It is unlikely we will make it to France this year still. I am hopeful for early spring."
 
"Hopeful." Katirah muttered, the disappointment showing this time. She would be hopeful for something far into the future.

She knelt next to the tub and kissed the Comte's hands lightly. Now was as agood a time as any to broach this subject. "Could we not...run away? The effendi could say the bandits took us, killed us. We could live somewhere else."
 
Marcel's face was the image of shock, bordering on outrage. "No! Never!"

Marcel turned toward her and took her shoulders in his hands, forcing her face toward his. "I am the Comte de Pierredon of France. If I am not there for my people, to protect them, to guide them, and represent them to the Marquis and the King, who will?"

He cupped her face, "You must believe in me, as my people do," Marcel said. "I will make it where we can be together."
 
Katirah had done it again. She blinked as if struck. His fingers dug into her flesh as he intensely looked at her. "I am sorry. I did not understand the Comte's responsibilities..."

The way the Comte had spoken before, she had little reason to think they would be together once they reached France. Perhaps he had thought of a plan.

"The Comte has a plan? I had little hope for us once we reach France." She kissed him fiercely. "I wish only to be with the Comte. I will kill myself if I cannot."

((And if they are done this part of the conversation and take it someplace more comfortable...))

"The water grows cold. Let me help the Comte out of the tub. The Comte should eat and rest."
 
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