The Circassian (closed)

((Let me know if you want more drama here with kidnappers or if we want to move along.))

Katirah thought that if he who wanted her could see the Compte's face at this moment. he would reconsider. "i have no plans to venture out today. perhaps another day for exercise." she did not think henri would be happy about it, but he would follow his orders.

she got up from the bed and took care of her toilette. then she joined the comte in the outer room to break her fast. she spoke to samara in rapid turkish asking for a bath.

she poured juice of pomegranates for the comte and offered it to him.

Marcel watched as Katirah poured the juice for him and handed it over. The swell of her breasts as she moved about gently swayed with her. They ate in relative yet comfortable silence. The roasted meat and fruits washed down by a juice Marcel had not had before. "This is good, any idea how long it keeps?" he asked.

Receiving a noncommittal answer from both Samara and Katirah, he filed the thought away in the back of his mind to look into. Perhaps he could bring several barrels of it back. Almost immediately he dismissed the idea as too laborious and costly.

The day wore on after breakfast, Henri tried to follow leads on who attempted to kidnap Katirah with little result. Marcel made the final business arrangements necessary before leaving, and could not turn his attention completely to the business of gathering everything together and preparing to leave.

By the time dinner arrived, his thoughts turned back toward Katirah, and dinner. Or more specifically: Dessert.

"Perhaps cutting from the shrub or a shrub itself could be brought with us? I shall look into it. Has the Comte eaten the seeds? They may travel easier." Katirah would tell Samara to include the juice with all their meals if it pleased the Comte so. And to have prepared chicken with a pomegranate sauce.

Katirah wished the Comte a good day and prepared for her bath. Samara finished cleaning up from breakfast while Katirah bathed. Then the two women had their own private henna party.

Samara teased Katirah about the Comte. Katirah confided a few things to her. They both spoke of their hopes and fears about the voyage and what would befall them when they arrived in France. Their moods swung from giggling to near tearful as they thought of their possible fates.

Katirah worked on the tops of her feet and worked up her shins while Samara worked on her back. Her damp hair was braided and twisted on top of her head. Katirah sang songs as they worked. Light happy, songs. She rolled on her stomach and worked on her left hand while Samara did the backs of her legs, up her thighs and onto her finely shaped bottom. The giggles and bawdy talk began again. If the guards at the door could hear them, they didn't care. Besides, they would not be able to understand much since they were speaking Turkish.

They ate a light lunch and returned to the henna. Samara began working on Katirah's torso starting with her mons. She created tendrils and arabesques, paisleys and swirls, the designs followed the contours of Katirah's body enhancing them. She hennaed Katirah's nipples and drew arabesques that looked like they were cupping them. When she finished, Katirah put on a loose robe. She sat by her lattice window and played her oud and sang while Samara took the linens away to be washed and returned not long after with fresh ones.

Katirah was ready and waiting for the Comte. There were cold salads and fruit. The hot food would come up when he was ready for it.

Katirah was dressed in an opaque robe that covered her from neck to ankles. She wanted her body to be a surprise for him. She wore kohl on her eyes and carmine on her lips. She had scented herself with sandalwood. It seemed an age since she had seen the Comte now that she was finally ready. She hoped his duties did not keep him away longer than usual.

While she waited she sang how seeing one's lover makes your breath 'hup.' That was the Turkish word. 'Hitch' was what they said in French.

((http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=henna+nude#/d1p17qc check out the pomegranate design! Let's say Katirah has something like this on her fron and back only more intricate.))

Marcel heard her singing from the main room. Her voice carried something more than it had the day before, her song was heartfelt, and he knew that she felt whatever it was she was singing about.

Walking up the stairs slowly he relished the sound of her voice. With each step his cock hardened a little more. By the time he opened the door to the room his cock was standing on end, pushing his tunic out impressively. Opening the door, he could smell the sandalwood oil she wore as it permeated the air fragrantly.

He saw her sitting as he entered, her body completely covered by a thicker robe than he would have preferred. Samara stood near by as he entered, and with out looking at her, "Leave us. You will know when to bring us dinner."

Samara nodded, then bowed and scampered out not missing the impressive tent in the Comte's tunic. She grinned at the guards as she went past. How was she to know when the Comte wanted dinner? Wait a little bit after Katirah stopped screaming? She giggled again. She wondered what the Comte would think when he saw Katirah's hennaed body.

Katirah smiled when the Comte entered the room. She finished her song keeping her eyes on him. It pleased her to know that the Comte desired her. That he had entered the room primed and ready flattered her greatly.

She set her oud down and did not actually run to him, but she moved swiftly in that graceful way of a trained dancer. "Mon cher," She said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed her body against him. "I see you have missed me." She kissed him and slid her hands under his tunic.

The smell of sandalwood filled his nostrils as her delicate hands reached under his tunic, one moving up along his chest the other reaching lower. "It is your voice," Marcel whispered, "that quickens my blood. You are singing differently today."

His hands reached around and clasped onto her ass, spreading the cheeks wide beneath the heavy robe. "Though I find you quite over dressed."

Katirah smiled. "Because I sing only for thee, mon coeur." The familiar form just came right out. She had taken a liberty without really meaning to. This was the first time she had referred to the Comte in such a way. It didn't even register to her. They were alone and this was bedroom talk.

Her breath hupped--hitched when he grabbed her ass. "I thought we would have dinner first and I did not want you to see until the time had come." Although the henna on her hands and feet were visible, if the Comte had even noticed. She worked to untie his codpiece teasing his hardened shaft. "Samara and I spent the day preparing my body for this evening. For my Comte."

Katirah's hands worked at a hurried pace, freeing his cock from its confines, and wrapped her delicate hand around it. A low moan rumbled from Marcel as his hips gyrated back and forth slightly. "Dinner will wait until we take care of more immediate needs," he whispered hoarsely.

His large strong hands massaged her ass wantonly as he pulled her closer, the head of his engorged member pressing against her stomach. "Perhaps," he whispered suggestively, "my slave can think of a way to take the edge off her master's needs with out ruining the surprise."

Katirah smirked a little at her power over the Comte. She let go of his cock as he pulled her closer. She traced her fingernail around the curve of his ear as he whispered to her.

"The only question, is if my Comte prefers to stand or sit?" She whispered back. Her lips parted and the tip of her pointed tongue moistened the center of her lower lip. She was ready to drop on her knees right there if the Comte's wished it. But she thought he may prefer to be more comfortable. There was still so much she had to learn about the Comte's likes and dislikes.

Marcel didn't say a word, figuring his actions would speak clearly enough.

Stepping out of his pants, he walked to the pillows that lay on the floor and sat on them, his legs spread wide as his cock bobbed slightly left and right. A drop of pre-cum collected in the slit as she knelt between his legs, her hand wrapping around his staff delicately.

His voice was full of power and lust as he said, "I am going to fuck the smirk off that beautiful face of yours tonight."

Katirah saw that the wine was within easy reach of the Comte should he want it. She knelt gracefully between his legs glad that she had done her hair up. It would keep it out of her face. She could not keep her eyes off of his magnificent cock.

When the Comte spoke, she wasn't sure if he was teasing or serious. He didn't seem angry. Still she found the situation amusing and her smirk grew. She glanced up at him before bending her head to lick his cock getting it wet and enjoying the taste before taking the head in her mouth.

Katirah played with the head of his cock for several minutes it seemed; enjoying the taste or the power or both. Then she slowly began swallowing it. A slow progression down the steely shaft, her tongue flicking along the ridge that protruded from the bottom.

Marcel leaned back into the cushions relaxing his body, intent on enjoying her attentions to his manhood. The hot wet orifice rose and fell, each time taking more of him into her. One hand toyed with a nipple the other with his balls, tugging them slightly, as she lavished him with her attentions.

A moan filled the room as it seemed like she began humming or singing around his cock, the vibrations sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body. His hands clasped across the top of her shoulders, white knuckled as his body squirmed reflexively.

"Have you been thinking of me all day?" he asked.

Katirah hummed more when she saw the reaction the Comte gave her. She would have smirked again if her mouth was not so full of him. He held her shoulders. Hard. She knew his intent was not to hurt her.

"Have you been thinking of me all day?" he asked.

She nodded a little. Then she was not sure that the Comte would even recognize that she had given him an answer. She pulled her lips away from his cock with a loud pop of released suction. She looked into the Comte's eyes as she continued to fondle his orbs and slide her other hand up and down his shaft.

"My thoughts have been of nothing but my Comte. If the Comte cannot see it on my face, he will see it upon my body...later." She could not help but smirk again thinking of the henna designs and how they coiled around her body. She thought of the Comte tracing the designs with his large hands.

Katirah sighed and turned her attention back to his fine cock. She took the head into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it, then she took him as far into her mouth as she could.

The pressure between his legs built even more as she swallowed his cock, her tongue massaging him within her mouth. His hips started bucking up, driving his cock deeper into her mouth until she gagged on it slightly.

He wanted to feel her nakedness against him. He could feel her soft breasts pressing against his legs. Her hair tied up seductively, allowed him a good view of what her mouth was doing to him, and Marcel could not keep his eyes off the scene.

Katirah backed off a little when she gagged. She continued to pump up and down on the Comte's shaft and used her hand at the base to help. She looked up at him and took his hand and placed it on her head so he could direct her better. She trusted him and wanted to learn how to please him all the more for it.

She moaned. It was arousing knowing how aroused the Comte was. She had been priming herself all day as she thought of him and prepared herself for him. She could not wait until it was her turn, but for now, she wanted to taste his cum. She sped up her movements.

Katirah's head and hand began pumping up and down on his cock faster and faster. Her saliva coated his cock and her palm, making a near frictionless surface. Her fingers alternated pressure each digit applying pressure on his dick in turn.

He could feel the swell of balls as they tightened, his orgasm imminent. Raising her head, Katirah held onto the tip of his cock with her teeth, her tongue flicking along the slit of his cock.

With one hard suction from Katirah, and his balls exploded, pumping her mouth full of his nacreous white seed.

Katirah had nearly gagged again, but stayed in control. She kept her mouth on the Comte's cock sucking gently until he was finished. She pulled her mouth away and swallowed. She licked the Comte's now softening cock clean then sat back on her heels She looked at the Comte and used her thumb to wipe her lower lip. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked the cum from it. Katirah smirked.

"My Comte is better now? Shall I call for dinner?" She leaned forward and rested her arms on his thighs.

She had that cocky look on her face again as she leaned forward resting herself on his thighs. Marcel mentally made a note that he would need to continue to work on that emotion of hers. At least she was keeping it in the bedroom, but then she hadn't had many opportunities outside the bedroom.

"Yes," he said, "You may feed me dinner now." His eyes bored into hers, his possessive lust radiating from them.

Ah, the way the Comte looked at Katirah made her heart pound in her chest. She lost her smirk as she inhaled. She could feel her sex throb as his eyes bore into hers.

She stood gracefully and went to wash her hands before going to the door to tell the guards to send word to Samara that the Comte was ready for his dinner.

She returned to him and took the brass washing bowl and pitcher ((http://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/middle-eastern-brass-washing-bowl-pitcher)) to wash his hands. She sat back at his feet and offered him some grapes while they waited for food. Her sleeve slipped back revealing more of the henna design on her forearm. She picked a grape fro herself and popped it into her mouth.

((So the Comte doesn't like Katirah's devilish smirk? What a pity. She does like knowing she can make him at least a little bit crazy. Esp. since he seems to know exactly what to do to make her lose her mind.))

Marcel sat back eating the grapes as Katirah offered them to him. His mind working on the best possible solution for Katirah's. He would have to admit it was a far more pleasant thing to think about over the damn caravan, provisions, guards and on and on. The seemed to be a never ending issue for him.

After a couple of minutes, Samara stepped into the room bringing a hot meal some chicken dish from the look of it. Setting it down on the low slung table Samara shuffled out of the room as quickly as she had entered.

"Smells good, what is it?"

The Comte seemed distracted by something. Katirah was sure his day had been full of decisions and other things that she could not begin to understand or even imagine. Her job was to soothe him and help him relax.

<i>Poulet à la grenade."</i> Katirah said. "You enjoyed the pomegranate juice at breakfast, I thought you might enjoy it another way." She placed a towel across his lap then pulled a piece of chicken from the breast and handed it to him. "Samara tells me this fruit grows warmer climes, you could introduce it to your baron or your king."

She took a piece for herself and leaned against his thigh. The sweet-tartness of the pomegranate syrup on the chicken was a good combination.She was happy to introduce the Comte to new things that pleased him. Part of her was a little sad that she had not received more training as a sex slave. She would spend some time reading and looking through her books to see if she could come up with something new for him.

((Although after tonight, we can skip along to getting them on the road. Unless you want another outing with attempted kidnap drama.))

They sat through the magnificently spiced dinner, Marcel allowing Katirah to feed him, then her, all the while she stayed kneeling between his knees. The view was lovely as he contrasted this woman with the two other women he had in some small measure shared his bed with.

The first, his long dead wife, was Katirah's opposite. Where Katirah was smug and haughty, much like Millicent, his wife was modest and meek. Though all three were beautiful, there was a thoroughbred sleekness to Katirah. It was as if she were a race horse made for sex and entertainment. Her hips were narrow, carrying a child would be problematic for her, Marcel thought. Aurore, his long dead spouse, was full of wide arching curves, much like the foothills leading to the Alps.

The biggest difference he knew was their attitude toward service and his pleasure. Aurore did it because it brought her great pleasure to do so, whereas Katirah does so because of the expectation of her. Marcel hoped that Katirah would change in time to being his because of the pleasure she derived from it instead of the mere legal fact of ownership.

His eyes settled on the swell of her breast as she leaned against his thigh, watching it move with each of her movements. "I gather that you spent the day decorating yourself? In the local fashion?"

The Comte seemed pensive. Katirah still could not tell what went on behind his eyes. She knew he watched her every move even when she did not look at him. She hoped that they would have more opportunity to spend time with each other once the caravan was on its way. Then perhaps she could learn to understand him better.

"Yes, with henna. Samara did most of it. I hope it pleases my Comte. Would he like to see now?"

She refilled his cup with wine and offered it to him running her free hand up his thigh as she leaned in.

She handed Marcel a goblet of wine asking if he wanted to see the henna artwork that they had done to her. "Yes," he responded.

The hair on his legs tickled him as her hand slid oh so slowly up his thigh. Katirah pressed against him slightly then rose, letting the robe fall the floor at her feet.

His eyes traveled across her body slowly taking in the swirls and designs. It was not at all unpleasant, in equal portions hiding and accenting her natural beauty.

He nodded slowly, then said, "Very beautiful."

Katirah turned around slowly so the Comte could see all of her, the arabesques, her mons fully opaque with the red brown dye, her nipples that radiated swirls drawing the eye in. She lifted her hair with her back to him so he could see the pomegranate that began at her tailbone and the designs that grew out of it.

She wasn't sure if The Comte was truly pleased or not. If not, the dye would fade over the next two to three weeks, faster if she used certain creams and lotions. She would not do it again if he did not like it. She thought he might enjoy how different it looked.

She turned around to face the Comte again still with her arms up and hair lifted. The pose accented the curve of her breasts and displayed her hard nipples. She rested her weight on one foot which raised her other hip making it curve more fully from her waist. She gave him a sultry look somewhere between a playful smirk and a lustful smile.

"Will my Comte come to bed?" Katirah asked. She had plans for him if he would let her. A silk scarf had more than one use.