The Circassian (closed)

Marcel ground his pelvis against Katirah's, his cock sliding in and out of her. Though his experience was not that of other knights, he knew that this woman was special. It felt as if Katirah was massaging his cock from with in, with each stroke.

Her pussy contracted and oscillated around his member, coaxing him further and faster into her. His mind focused on the sensation and his eyes rolled back into his head.

His hands wrapped around Katirah's thighs and he pushed them down onto her chest as he held himself up. The palms of his hands against her thighs and his cock buried in her was the only contact.

His eyes focused on her, his hips slowed down. Gaining control of himself, Marcel began a slow hard pace. One second, two seconds, three seconds passed while pulling out, then less than a heart beat and he was buried in her again.
 
Katirah knew how to use her muscles. It was generally easy since the men she had been with were more concerned about their own pleasure than hers. She watched the Comte's face as he pushed into her faster and faster. He was totally engrossed in the act. She shifted to make herself more comfortable. Then she saw he had come back to himself and was looking at her.

He moved her legs and changed his rhythm, slowly pulling out and the ramming home in a blink. With her thighs pressed to her chest, the Comte's thrusts were deep. Katirah moaned. Her muscles tightened around him, this time of their own accord. She balled her fists and put them under her ass tipping her pelvis even more.

Generally she found it easy to concentrate on her partner's pleasure, but this. She wanted to close her eyes and revel in the feeling of the Comte moving with her. But this was not her place. She opened her eyes, forcing herself to watch him so she could gauge the situation to give him maximum pleasure. It was so difficult when she wanted to abandon herself to her own bliss. It had been a very long time since any man had given her even a measure of pleasure.

She moaned again.
 
Marcel could see the struggle in her eyes, her attempt at restraint, fighting the pleasures that surely were ravaging her body. Her fists under her ass changed the angle of his cock, which now drug along the top wall of her vagina, the sensation sending wave after wave of bliss through them both.

"Give it to me, Katirah, give me your scream of pleasure, let go" Marcel whispered, "

Her moan fueled the fire between his legs and Marcel began firing his hips faster, steadier. "Give me the control," his whisper urgent, hoarse, laden with lust.
 
"I. Can. Not." Katirah breathed out with each of the Comte's thrust. But she already knew that try as she might, she could no longer concentrate on giving the Comte pleasure. In fact, he was urging her to let go. Was it control he desired more than pleasure? She did not have time to ponder that. She arched her back and lifted her chin to the ceiling pushing her head into the pillow. She felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice ready to over backwards in the abyss.

She let out small cried with every exhale, each one louder than the last until finally every muscle in her body tensed as if she were reaching toward something almost unattainable. She screamed. She panted trying to catch her breath but she felt it building already as the Comte had not reached his peak yet. She tried to bring her thoughts back to giving the Comte pleasure but it was no use. She screamed again.
 
Her screams were becoming louder, with each stroke of his cock, Marcel could feel the pleasure coursing through Katirah. Long steady strokes, powerfully thrust down by hips long accustomed to carrying the extra weight of a suit of armor. The lack of the additional weight allow Marcel to easily move and glide in Katirah's sex.

A sex that was hot, wet, soon soaking him, her and the bed beneath her. Her glistening quim coated his cock, flowing freely to collect in the heavy sack that held his balls.

Changing his pace Marcel slowed his in stroke to as slow as he could, his out stroke a fast movement leaving her inner space achingly empty, only to be filled slowly, his pelvis grinding against her clit as his cock filled her completely.
 
Katirah thought she might be dying. Or that she might faint. She felt as if she could not breathe and her heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird.

She moved her hands from under her ass and tried to free her legs from the Comte's grip. She wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him, to hold him close to her. She wanted to feel him come inside her, his seed deep and hot inside her. She buried her hands in her hair as she tossed her head from side to side feeling another wave overtake her. This man must be a djinn or a demon to bring her over the edge time after time.

She gasped out incoherently as she came again.
 
Marcel moaned as his balls tightened, cocking to fire his load deep into the woman below him. Then with a mighty roar, his balls blew, firing over and over as his hips kept pounding his cock into her. His pleasure mingled with hers, the physical proof in the liquids pumping into her, sluicing from her with each stroke.

Letting loose of her legs, Marcel collapsed on top of Katirah, his mouth finding hers. His tongue slid softly into her as her arms and legs wrapped around him, entrapping him in her warm embrace.

"Not too much a young boy, I guess," Marcel whispered.
 
As deep as Katirah was drowning in her own bliss, the Comte's roar was unmistakable. As was the change in the way he pounded into her. She cried out again, near to madness, begging him to stop. She spoke in the language of her childhood, calling out to gods she no longer believed in.

When the Comte finally collapsed on top of Katirah, he kissed her gently but deeply. She shuddered beneath him holding him tightly as if to anchor herself to the earth lest she float away. Indeed, she felt as though her soul was floating outside her body.

Marcel whispered. "Not too much a young boy, I guess."

It took Katirah a moment to realize he had spoken. Longer still for her brain to make sense of what she heard. "No. No boy at all." She breathed. Her heart still pounded but her breathing was nearly normal. Normal, she thought. Would she ever be normal again after this? Her body could take no more and yet her thoughts were already straying to when the Comte would take her again.

She ran delicate fingers through his hair and sighed against his neck. Her body was leaden but her spirit soared. She sought his lips again.
 
Her lips. Her fingers. Her thighs. Her feet. Her arms. Her full breasts. Her flat stomach.

Mostly her lips.

Marcel's world view expanded to the point that it contained only that of Katirah's body wrapped around his. Sharing the space and time of his body. He hadn't understood a world of what she babbled as their orgasms rose into a crescendo, but the tone was unmistakable.

He slid off of her, pulling her into the crook of his body, wrapping himself up in her, allowing her to shift and adjust until not a single molecule of air could pass between them.

Thoughts of a six month journey banished. Thoughts of the Baron and fulfilling his duties to the Baron banished as well. For now his brain processed the only thing it was capable of handling, her proximity and the feel of her.
 
Katirah had not realized how much pressure the Comte had put on her until he finally slid off. She nestled against his side. Her head rested on his chest. Her breath, still somewhat rapid tickled across his hot sweat-slicked skin. Her feelings spun in circles. She had never experienced anything like with any man. No, nor woman neither. Suddenly all the love songs made sense, the longing , the ache, the incredible pleasure to be had in a lover's arms. But the Comte couldn't possibly feel that way about her. He was interested in her pleasure only in so much as it enhanced his own. That had to be the reason he urged her to let go. Katirah tightly pressed her eyes closed. She would worry about that later. As a slave, she knew how to seize the few moments of pleasure afforded her. She thought this might last her a lifetime. Katirah could not afford to think that the Comte would keep her, nor that he would treat her as a lover. That was not her place and they were traveling to bring her to the Baron. Although the Comte had spoken of puchasing another slave for the Baron...

She must force these thoughts from her mind. It would drive her mad. She was a slave, the Comte had bought her whether for himself or his Baron made no difference to her. He was her master for now and she must do as he bid her.

She slowly relaxed against his body shifting to put her leg over his. She wondered if he would take her again tonight. It was clear he was not sending her from his bed. She and Samara would have to strip the bed in the morning. Both she and the Comte would need to wash, or bathe. She breathed in his scent and adjusted her head. She would let tommorrow worry about itself. She felt herself drifting into sleep.
 
The last thought that seeped into his brain as sleep claimed him was the heat between Katirah's legs was still there as she draped her leg across his thighs.

The morning came soon enough, Marcel woke to find Katriah still at his side, her body pressed against his. Sometime in the night she had flipped over and now her ass was pressed against him.

Marcel rolled onto his side, his morning hardness settling between her ass cheeks. His hands roamed across her body, teasing moans from her. As her sex warmed, Marcel grabbed the shaft of his manhood and ran it along the slit, "Good morning, Katirah," he whispered huskily.
 
Katirah was having a dream. In it, she was with the Comte again singing for him. The scene changed and they were sharing a bath like the one in the Pasha's palace. The scene changed again and this time he was standing behind her kissing her neck, running his hands over her body, caressing her breasts, sliding his hand down to finger her sex. She moaned and pressed her back against him. "Good morning, Katirah," he whispered huskily.

Katirah opened her eyes and realized that reality had superimposed itself upon her dream. "Sir?" She breathed out. She opened her legs further to allow him better access. She moaned again as he teased her sliding his cock back and forth. She was already hot and wet. Because of her dream? Or because the Comte had already been priming her while she slept. From his actions she was not sure where he planned to put his cock. Whether they would have congress as a man and a woman, or if he would take her in the Greek fashion. It had been some time since she had taken her that way, she would prefer if he used one of the unguents to ease his passing, but it was not for her to say. The Comte had given her so much pleasure the night before, she would suffer anything for him. In fact she found the idea arousing and imagined herself on her hands and knees while he pounded her ass. She moaned again and circled her ass against him.
 
Marcel continued rubbing his cock up and down her slit, her quim flowing freely down the head. Rolling her flat onto her stomach, Marcel continued to spread her juices along his cock. Spitting into his free hand, he rubbed it up the crack of her ass, slowly fingering his saliva into her anus.

Starting with his ring finger, he added saliva while pressing into her deeper and deeper. Her tight anus clenching around his finger at first fighting his intrusion, then clutching at it, trying to prevent its removal. Slowly, patiently, Marcel worked one finger after another into her, adding saliva with each stroke.

Sliding his cock into her vagina, Marcel pressed deeply into her, holding his position. His balls slid easily across her clit, as Katirah gyrated her hips, driving his thumb and cock deeper into her.
 
Katirah rolled onto her stomach at the Comte gently prodding. She spread her legs wide. She tensed when he began working on her anus with saliva slicked fingers. She willed herself to relax. The Comte was being gentle. She was sure she had nothing to fear.

She pushed one of the bed pillows down down down until it was under her hips. It helped boost her ass up a little presenting him with easier access.

Katirah was already moaning into the bedclothes before the Comte entered her. Her arms stretched out above her head plucked at the sheets. She pushed back rhythmically. She could feel every inch of him as he thrust deep. The added stimulation of his thumb in her anus urged her toward her bliss. Her muscles clenched and unclenched in an erotic massage. She spread her legs as far as she could. She had never actually done this position of the frog and the scorpion. It lent itself to slow deep thrusts.

She gasped with each push. "Soon, my Comte. You will bring me very soon." She clenched the bedclothes in her fists.
 
Marcel continued his slow assault on her pussy. His thumb moving in time with his hips and cock, each plunging deep into her, filling Katirah, only to pull slowly back out. Long slow even pace, Marcel intent on enjoying each moment that he was buried in her.

Katirah's breath was gasping "Soon, my Comte. You will bring me very soon." It was a sound that was every bit as erotic as any sound he had heard. Not changing his pace, Marcel ground his cock into her harder, driving his thumb into her ass, which pressed his cock down against her top wall.

The length of his cock drug against her G-Spot as he pulled out and pressed back into her. Her knuckles turned white as her body shook as Marcel whispered, "Come for me Katirah, come for your Comte."
 
Katirah cried into the bedclothes. The position she was in, prostrate on the bed, made it difficult but she pushed back against the Comte as well as she was able. She lifted herself up onto her forearms so she could push back harder. The sheets were wadded in her hands. She quivered as she felt her approaching orgasm. Her legs tensed. She stretched her arms out in front of her again. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. Her muscles contracted as the wave rolled over her dragging her under. She was tempest tossed. Adrift in the rush of feelings. The Comte had done it to her again. Yet he did not reach his own peak. How could he keep control when she was overflowing? She pounded on the bed as she felt herself reaching the brink again.
 
Marcel felt Katirah getting closer and closer to an orgasm, her obvious enjoyment painting a grin on his face. His cock sluiced into her as he ground his hips against her ass. His pace picked up faster and faster, keeping up with the staccato of her fists beating against the bed.

His balls began to tighten, his breathing course as her ass and hips fired up at him in her release. The pressure of her mons pressing against his balls, forcing them up against his ass, caused him to arch his back as he came with her.

Pulling his thumb from her ass, he clasped her hips and held her tight against him, as he pumped his seed.
 
Again Katirah thought she might faint. She couldn't get enough air. The Comte pushed faster. She pushed back against him as he came. She relished feeling his strong hands on her hips forcing her to stay pressed against him. She whimpered into the bedclothes as they came together. Could one die of pleasure?

((I can edit this if you had something else in mind. Just thought we could move this forward a little.))

Katirah's breathing became more even. She heard movement in the outer room and thought she could smell breakfast.
 
Marcel looked down at Katirah's ass and back as she and he recovered their breath. His softening cock barely staying within the warm confines of her sex. For a moment he thought about pressing his hips forward, to fuck his way into being hard.

He had begun to marshal the force of his ass to do just that when noises in the other room caught first Katirah's then his attention. Her hopeful look at the door gave him pause, his eyebrows arching slightly before he controlled his reactions.

With a wet plop, Marcel pulled out and headed for the door, barely pausing to grab a cloth to wrap around his waist.
 
Katirah let out a surprised cry when the Comte pulled out. She suddenly felt very empty. She stayed where she was sprawled for a few moments moments before rolling over. How could he move so quickly? A sensuous lethagy still possessed her. She knew she should get up, put something on and see about serving the Comte his breakfast. She would do that in a moment.

She stretched luxuriously then ran her fingers down her body. It was almost as if she could still feel the Comte on top of her, inside her. Her ass was a little sore, but it was a good feeling and reminded her of how hard she came. She trembled a little with the memory. One hand drifted down her body and she idly stroked her thigh.
 
Marcel dressed in the outer room as Samara was preparing the breakfast, presumably for Katirah and he. As he pulled his trousers on, he caught Samara glancing at his cock with a side long glance.

As he finished dressing, she asked, "Break your fast, sir?"

Marcel shook his head, "Non, food is not what I want," as he strode from the room.

Arriving downstairs, Henri gace him a knowing glance, "Could you be somewhat louder, Comte? I am not sure that quite every one heard you fucking the slave this morning."

Marcel gave him an irritated glance and then shook his head. "What was I thinking? She is to be the Baron's, not mine."

Henri gave his liege a sympathetic look, "I am sure the Baron would not deny you her pelasures during the trip."

Marcel snorted, "Perhaps, but with a little training she could be quite pleasing I think."

Marcel's tone, as much his words elicited wry laughter from Henri.
 
Samara looked away quickly when the Comte caught her looking at his nakedness. No wonder Katirah had cried out so. The girl would have blushed if she had the complexion for it.

She asked, "Break your fast, sir?"

Marcel shook his head, "Non, food is not what I want," as he strode from the room.

She would have thought he would turn and go back to Katirah. He did not seem happy and that puzzled her as well. She finished setting out the dishes then went into the bedchamber to see if Katirah needed help dressing.

"I have food ready. The Comte left rather abruptly without eating. Is something wrong? Should I have waited for him to call for food?" Samara had a basin of water for Katirah to wash herself.

Katirah stretched again. "I do not know.Perhaps he is sorry he could linger no longer. I am certainly sorry. Samara, I have never felt anything like this. The Comte transported me." She positively glowed with satisfaction. She got out of bed and went to the privy and returned. She washed herself and put on one of her many loose caftans.

She ate absently sitting on the cushions in the main room. Her thoughts were all of the Comte and the way he touched her. The way his cock filed her and brought her to completion. So much of her knowledge was intellectual. Finally, here was a real man who knew how to take a woman to the heights of pleasure as well as seek his own.

Samara stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets. She left the room to take them to the laundry.
 
Marcel was talking to some of the merchants in his caravan when Samara came downstairs carrying the soiled linens. His mind replayed briefly the hot slick sweat that had poured from them both.

Recalling the conversation with Henri earlier, he smiled and decided he had every intention of pushing the availability of linens to the limit.

He pulled Henri aside, "Do you think we can purchase another for the Baron?"

Henri looked at his friend, his liege, "Not like her. Giving the Baron a lesser woman than the one you kept could be..." his voice trailed off as he considered his words, "problematic."

Marcel looked at him and nodded. "Keep an eye out, as we get closer to leaving, perhaps we can find a woman of similar qualities."
 
Katirah took some herbs and made tea for herself. She thought if the Comte had no need of her that she would like to go to the market. It would be good to get out of the building and walk. It would also be a good idea to make sure she had enough herbs for the journey. The special herbs that would ensure none of the Comte's prodigious seed caused her to become with child.

She smiled as she thought of her night with the Comte. And the morning. She wondered what was in store later this evening.

She finished her meal. Should she wait for the Comte to return? He had been away from the room all day previously.

She went into the bedchamber and picked out clothing appropriately modest for the street. She went out the door and saw the guard there. She smiled shyly at him. "I would like to see the Comte and ask for permission to go to the market."
 
Henri laughed, "Oh, Comte, when did you become a dreamer? Similar to Katirah, ha!"

Marcel had an urge to deck his right hand at that moment, he really didn't need to be told that finding another woman like was unlikely, even if they did, would he be able to afford her?

A sharp retort died on his lips though as Katirah came down the stairs following her guard closely. The guard gave him a cautious look as they arrived. Marcel looked at Katirah, "Yes?"
 
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