The Circassian (closed)

He tried not to look. But the way she was twisting her legs with each step, forcing her hips to sway to some sultry tune that Henri couldn't hear, but want to dance to. He wondered about what lay beneath the horribly concealing clothes that Katirah wore, and for the briefest moment entertained the thought of reaching out to find out for himself.

Henri would never be able to say what stayed his hand, the potential wrath of his wife, or Marcel's controlled disappointment, none the less, with a twitch it lay still against the side of his leg.

Inside the small shop, Henri watched the transaction closely, trying to follow along with the conversation. What was easy to tell was the glint in the merchant's eyes when Katirah said something like travel, or trip. The shopkeeper prepared Katirah's order, and Henri was surprised at the relative diminutive size of the package.

As they left the store, Henri glances back at the shopkeeper catching the look of unabashed craven desire in the older man's eyes. Narrowing his eyes menacingly, Henri banged through the doorway as they entered the street. "what is next?" he asked.
 
Katirah tensed at the bang of the door. She looked at Henri and wondered why he suddenly seemed so angry.

"I need scarves--silken scarves." She again felt a frisson of anticipation thinking of the Comte and the scarves. She thought about his body. How it felt under her hands as she massaged him. His hands on her. His scent. She blinked at Henri and pulled the veil tighter across her face.

"I must see the silk merchant or one who sells fabrics. Once I have purchased the scarves, we may return to the inn." Katirah realized that what she said sounded like she was telling Henri what to do. That was not her place. She tried to rephrase. "A thousand pardons, Effendi." Her cheeks colored, "I only meant that these are the only things I must get on this outing. I did not mean...that is, I..." She didn't know what to say that would not make things worse. Her green eyes looked up at him. "I am sorry, my French is very bad, n'est pas?"

They walked further down the street. The silk merchant and other selling more valuable good would in more in the middle of the marketplace where it was harder for thieves to steal something and run.

Katirah looked around wishing she could linger and look over more of the wares. Not that she needed to buy anything more. But it was enjoyable to examine the pottery and the small rugs, the wood carvings and...the jewelry. A shop caught her eye, on display were bracelets and necklaces, beaded earrings. Her steps slowed so she could look at the things before she passed by. The silk merchant could not be far now.
 
((I apologize for the delay, been a week from hell. Fun but hectic))

Henri watched crowd with more diligence than he had showed on the way to the spice merchant. If he had his way, he would shuttle Katirah off to the inn, and completely skip the silk merchant. He almost missed it when Katirah slowed down in front of a jeweler.

His wry smile creased his face as he affirmed once again, women were virtually the same all across the world. Shiny things mattered on some level.

He slowed down a little slower than she was, his eyes on the crowd. A shadow flitted across the street between the guards ahead and Henri, his eyes darting in the direction of the movement. A sigh of relief escaping him as he spotted the young child that was running along the road.

"There, Karirah, the silk merchant is a handful of doors along yet."
 
((No problem, RL takes precedence.))

Katirah tore her eyes from the baubles, smooth cabochons of turquoise and agate, quartz of many different colors polished to look like diamonds. Thin bracelets of brass and copper. Anklets with bells on them that tinkled lightly as the wearer walked. She smiled a little. The Pasha liked his women to wear nothing but their jewelry when he took them to his bed so the sounds of the bells added accompaniment to their voices. She had ankle bracelets and a few belts with tiny bells herself that she wore when dancing. Hers were much finer than these.

She moved along with swaying hips to the silk merchant. "I am sorry, effendi. This must be exceedingly boring for you, unless the Comte had wanted me to purchase a dagger for him or some such." She gave Henri a smile through her veil.

She walked past the tables outside laden with bolts of silk of all colors of the rainbow. She had heard a tale that silk came from magical spiders who wove their webs in the moonlight, and another story that the silk came from the cocoons of certain butterflies. There were other stories too. The silk merchants kept their secrets well. But the idea of cloth made by magical spiders or caterpillars made it all the more desirable to her. She went inside. It was much better lit with open awnings on the sides to let more light in. Lamps were lit as well to show off the sheen of the fabric.

She went to a rack where scarves and veils of varying lengths and widths hung. She fingered the material. It flowed like water. She wished she knew exactly what the Comte wanted with the silk. She had some ideas, but if she knew specifically, she could purchase exactly what his needs required. Instead, she chose silks in various lengths and not very wide. He had said scarves and not veils.

She made a few selections and spoke to the merchant. She picked up a few more. She laughed when he made a counter offer and the dance of barter had begun. At one point she put all the scarves down on a table and turned to go. He stepped up to stop her and he gave her a new price. She let her face veil drop. It appeared to be an accident. She picked up a few more scarves and gave another price. They went back and forth until they finally reached an agreement.

Katirah turned to Henri with a triumphant smile and told him the price. An assistant came to take the scarves away to package them for her. "The man says he can have my things delivered to the inn if we wish. Or it will be but a moment while the scarves are wrapped." She could see that Henri was anxious to leave.
 
Henri almost laughed as the veil slipped from Katirah's face, revealing her astonishing beauty to the silk merchant. He wondered a moment at the nature of the silk merchant's clientèle, for it only took him a moment or two before he regained his composure, though it was obvious some of the fight had traveled to his loins from his head. His patience at this 'dance' as they called it was wearing thin, it too so long to do that he was about to stomp on the older man when Katirah flashed him a smile that immediately jolted his own cock awake.

A hard on in armor is excruciatingly painful. "We can wait for them," he croaked out before turning to look back onto the street.

Out on the street his men were spread out properly, each with an eye on the shop and an eye on the street in different directions. Henri was confident in the ability of his men, after all, they were armed knights of the realm of France.
 
((Poor Henri. And all this time I thought Katirah wasn't his type.))

A line formed between Katirah's eyebrows briefly at the sound of Henri's voice. What was wrong with him? Perhaps the heat was affecting him in that armour. "Do you need some water, Effendi?" She asked with concern. She tucked her veil back into place.

The merchants assistant or servant or slave, or most likely, his son learning the trade, brought out a small bundle and presented it to Katirah. She waited while Henri paid the man and they walked back onto the dusty street.

"I have made my purchases. Is there something else from the market that you think would please the Comte?" There were many things to be the market. But she would be spending the Comte's own money. "I am sorry, I overstep my bounds. It is silly of me to think to get something for the Comte with his own gold.
 
Henri turned back to Katirah, images of what he would do with the scarves flitting across his mind. He hadn't imagined that Marcel would have such tastes, but then the bedroom was one place that Marcel was inordinately private.

After all, what sort of man didn't brag of his conquests, in both battlefields. He certainly didn't lack pride when it came to blade and mace.

He gave the beautiful slave a wane smile, "I am sure that if you purchased something for the Comte, he would appreciate the thought."

The exited the shop and turned onto the tight street. The flash of steel met Henri as he closed the shops door behind him. Catching just enough of a glimpse of the attack, Henri turned causing the blade to deflect of the breast piece, narrowly missing the seam in the armor.

Henri spun, kicked the door in and shoved Katirah inside, herbs and scarves flying from her hands. Henri's attacker pressed his attack slicing in a tight arc toward Henri's unprotected head.

As he ducked, Henri cursed his own arrogance in leaving the helmet behind. His mind noted that his escort were engaged in their own combat. Drawing his sword, Henri muttered, "Now, you die."
 
Katirah really didn't have any idea of what to get for the Comte. She didn't know his tastes well enough. She sighed. Perhaps something would strike her eye as they walked back to the inn. She did have somethings in her things that the Comte might find interesting. She wondered if they had them in France.

They had barely left the shop when--Katirah didn't know what happened. Henri pushed her back into the shop. Her things went flying and she crashed into one of the tables stacked with bolts of fabric. The merchant dashed toward her shouting. She was dazed for a moment trying to make sense of what had just happened. She let the merchant help her up.

Someone had attacked Henri. Why? Did someone really want to steal her? Or did someone simply hate foreigners? "We were attacked. Is there a place I can hide? In case the soldiers are defeated? I am sure the Comte will reward you for keeping me safe."

The merchant took her by the elbow and led Katirah to the back of the shop to a small storeroom. "Stay in here. If any come looking, I will tell them you went out the back."
 
Henri watched as the man whirled and danced about like a dervish. His sword flicking left and right blocking the test strokes of his opponent. His eyes never left the man's hips. His opponent had a habit of setting his hips in a certain manner before swinging at Henri.

He also fell into a routine when it came to his dance steps. Henri could see where against a less experienced man, that it would be effective, but now that he had seen it twice through, Henri could predict what the next move would be.

Flashing his sword twice, Henri sliced the man's right then left thigh. Blood sprayed Henri's arm and sword with each slice. The man screamed in pain as his weight settled onto his feet again. Henri said, "Too bad for you I suspect who sent you already."

With a mighty whirl and swing of the sword, Henri lopped the man's head off, a spray of blood geysering from the stub of his neck.
 
Katirah cowered in the little storeroom. She went as far back as she could and pulled some of the bolts of fabric out to add to her cover. She was shaking and tried to swallow her panic. She was suddenly a child again hiding from the raiders. Hearing the men shouting and fighting, women screaming, children crying. She pulled her knees up and buried her face in her hands as if that would help if Henri and the guards were defeated and whoever it was came for her.

She let the fear take her. She did not know for how long. She wiped her tears and tried to think of what she should do next. How long should she wait for Henri? Should she try and make her way back to the inn on her own. What if others were lying in wait for her. She wondered if the silk merchant had a dagger she could take with her. She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. She saw a pair of shears the merchant must use to cut the fabric. They would do. She held them so her sleeve hid them. If she let a man get close enough she might be able to stab him in the neck before he could do her harm.

It seemed very quiet. She stood and went slowly to the opening of the room. She peeked out.
 
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Henri turned to his men to see them chasing off their assailants for a step or two before falling back to him. The forced bystanders back from the doorway as Henri stepped inside looking for Katirah.

Finding her, he held a hand out to her, pulling her from the hiding spot she had been in. "Come, let's get you back before your admirer's try again to curry your favor."
 
Katirah was shaken. She was still holding the shears when Henri pulled her out of her hiding place. She let them clatter to the floor as she clutched him and pressed her cheek against his armour. She had to regain her composure so they could return to the inn and safety. She wondered if the Comte would be angry about this. If he would be angry with her. Had she done something to draw attention to herself? Would the Comte punish her? It was all her fault. This would never have happened if she had been content to stay at the inn.

The merchant had gathered up Katirah's things. "I hid her for you, sir." He said holding the parcels. The merchant knew the woman was beautiful, but wasn't sure why anyone would want to kidnap her. He stood expectantly. A monetary expression of gratitude was in order as far as the merchant was concerned.
 
Henri scowled at the merchant a moment then turned his eyes toward Katirah, instantly assessing she was indeed alright and no harm had come to her physically. He could see her fear and surprise radiating from her eyes; her body shivering slightly as adrenaline flooded her veins.

Something primal about Katirah worked its way into Henri's blood as his hand reached out for her. Pulling her close he said, "We must get you back to the inn now."

Henri handed the merchant a small sum of money, muttered "Thanks" and started herding her through the door.
 
Katirah nodded at Henri's words. She felt safe in his arms. But she would feel safer once she was back at the inn and in the arms of the Comte. What if the Comte decided she was too much trouble and returned her to the slave merchant. She shivered again and pushed those thoughts away.

She pulled her veil over her head and tucked the end so it would cover her face. She returned the scissors to the merchant in trade for her parcels. She let Henri escort her to the door and into the street. She looked around for the other guards.

"Was anyone else hurt?" She would feel awful if harm came to someone on her account. She was still puzzled as to why someone would want her. There were other slaves to be purchased. It would cause far less trouble. It was not vain of her to admit that she was a prize, but she was not the only slave who had been schooled in the arts of music and dance.

Her heart still pounded a little. Would they be attacked again?
 
Henri wasted not one second of time as he and the escort plowed their way back to the inn. Each and every distraction that arose, swept away from them not unlike an irate master, a sharp angry action resulting in the scurrying of his servants. Whenever someone did not move quickly enough a sharp crack could be heard as the guards used their shields to forcibly move the interloper from their path.

Henri maintained his hand on Katirah's elbow, guiding her inexorably toward the inn. "When we arrive, please go to your chambers as I report into the Comte, I am sure his displeasure at my near failure will be audible to you as well."
 
((I missed you :) so glad you are back!))

Katirah flinched at some of the blows that the guards laid upon some of the people who did not get out of their way quickly enough. But she understood Henri's need to return her to the inn as soon as possible. She was still shaken by the fact that someone would go to this trouble to kidnap her. Surely there were things worth more and far easier to steal.

She looked at Henri while he hustled her a long. "But you did _not_ fail. I am safe and unharmed. It was I who wished to go out. None of this would have happened had I stayed inside. I was the one who wanted to go out. I could have sent Samara. The Comte himself could have denied me. The fault is no one's but the people who attacked us."

Katirah drew herself up when they reached the inn. She would not allow the Comte to reprimand Henri. Henri was not at fault. She entered with Henri and did not go to her rooms.
 
Marcel's eyes snapped up from the paper he was reading when the door banged open and shut, Henri and Katirah stepping in before their escort. He almost turned back when he saw the apprehension in both of their eyes.

Apprehension turned to exasperation in Henri's eyes as Katirah held her ground. Quickly Henri reported all that had happened, mute testimony coming from the blood spatters on Henri and the escort behind them.

Henri's report completed, Marcel began peppering him with questions, a rapid fire exchange not too unlike two crossbowmen firing at each other from behind walls.

Abruptly Marcel said to Henri, "Go to the vendor, see who else tried buying her lately and could not. I doubt a simple spice merchant could afford all of the hired help you told me of. Some one has been waiting for their chance at Katirah, we must find out who and stop them."

Marcel looked back and forth between slightly embarrassed Henri and a pensive Katirah, and finally asked, "Did Henri not ask you to go up stairs while he gave his report? It would be very unlike him to not have asked that of you."
 
((Katirah wants to say that Henri isn't the boss of her :) ))

It had seemed much easier in theory to say what she had to say to the Comte. Their French had been far too fast for Katirah to understand all of of it, but the Comte's tone was unmistakable.

"I...a thousand pardons, my Comte, but..." Katirah swallowed. "He did, sir. But..." She decided to just say it and hope her French wasn't too badly misunderstood. "I was afraid you would punish the effendi for what happened. I am here to say that this was not his fault. The effendi and his men did everything to protect me. We are returned with all that I set out to purchase, and I am safe." Katirah stood straight backed, firm in her resolve. The Comte would not intimidate her. Besides, he had given his permission. As she had said to Henri, there was plenty of blame to go around.

Katirah gave the Comte a bow, "With your leave, I shall take my things to my rooms. I have not had my tea today. Would you like to see the scarves now, or wait until you come upstairs?" She gave him her coy smile.
 
(Maybe not yet, but soon)

Marcel waved a hand at the man he had been talking to before Henri and Katirah arrived, dismissing him. Standing he stood close to Katirah and with his voice low and ominous, Marcel leaned in, his eyes flashing dangerously, "Why? Would you like me to tie you down to a table top and allow Henri and all the men a turn with you?"

Marcel saw the shock in her eyes and continued, "You will show me the respect and discretion that you gave your former master, for I am more worthy than he. You will obey Henri as if I gave you the order, for, though G*d took her away years ago, he is my brother, and my loyal servant for far longer than that."

Marcel pointed to a table near the corner, close to some of the animal handlers and lower merchants that were forming the caravan and said, "Sit there and talk to no one until I saw otherwise."
 
((Sometimes Katirah in my head is rather petulant. I think the pasha spoiled her. I also looked up words of rank in the Middle East and it goes Pasha, Bey and Effendi. So The Comte would be more like a Bey and the Baron would be a Pasha. Her calling Henri Effendi is appropriate.))

The high color in Katirah's face drained in an instant. She froze for a moment and lowered her head. She couldn't look into his eyes that drove daggers into her. A shiver ran through her at the thought that the Comte was not making an idle threat.

"Yes, my Comte. A thousand pardons." She was going to try and explain again, but that would do no good. "I...I have no excuse. I have used bad judgment and spoken out of turn." She looked at Henri briefly before casting her eye down again. "Effendi, I also beg your pardon."

"Yes, my Comte." Katirah moved quickly but gracefully to the designated spot. He wanted her to sit on the table? A tremor went through her again. He would not make good his threat. He couldn't. She was supposed to be for the Baron. She carefully set her packages on the table then sat on it. She could feel everyone in the room looking at her. She straightened her posture and sat like a queen on her throne.

((Is is a table with chairs? because I can edit it. But the way you wrote it I was taking it literally, because I don't think Katirah wants to get in any deeper than she already is.))
 
It wasn't long after Katirah sat at the table in the corner that Marcel had the packages taken away, leaving her at the table alone, nothing to do.

Each time someone made the appearance of looking in her direction, or heaven help them to talk to her, Marcel intercepted them and tersely sent them away; ensuring her isolation.

Katirah maintained her stoic pose for a couple of hours before her shoulders began to slump. At first a little, then with each passing quarter hour seemingly more and more.

It wasn't until he heard a snuffle coming from the corner that Marcel went to her. Cupping her cheek gently he said softly, "You must learn your place, Katirah."
 
At first Katirah sat there like a queen. The Comte made it clear no was was to even look at her. That was fine with her. She could do without men gawking at her.

She didn't need to think long to decide that if she began singing or reciting poetry that she would bring down more of the Comte's ire. Instead, she mentally recited a long poem about a man wrongly accused of a crime and how a female servant of his house, through her wit and cleverness was able to save him.

The story took up a great deal of her time and made it pass quickly. But she was accustomed to sitting upon cushions, reclining, shifting, stretching, moving. She didn't think if she stretched it would be in violation of the Comte's instructions, but she wasn't sure. And so she sat. She tried mentaly reciting a poem in French that she was trying to learn about a knight and his lady, but it frustrated her and only made her feel more uncomfortable.

How long was she meant to sit here? She could be studying, she could be practicing, she could be doing any number of more useful things. To add to her indignity, tears filled her eyes. She sniffed to try and hold them back.

The Comte came to her then and spoke softly. His anger must have melted away in the time she sat there. She looked into his face, "But--" she stopped herself. Excuses would gain her nothing. "My Comte, I beg your forgiveness." She looked down at her hands. "I put my concern for the effendi before you." She sat up straighter, "The pasha was far too lenient with me and I have many bad habits. I thank, my Comte for his patience." She looked into his face again, "What would the Comte have me do now?" For herself, she would dearly love a bath, or at least have Samara wash her feet. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. She wondered if the Comte had eaten before they returned. She briefly wondered if he would have softened sooner had she cried sooner. She would remember that.
 
The smell of her was intoxicating; her aroma filled his nostrils as she asked what he wanted of her now, almost he said, "Open wide."

The thought of the reaction of every man in the room as he rammed his cock down her throat almost gave rise to a chuckle, but he managed to hold it back. "I want you to go to the rooms and prepare for tonight. A meal, a bath, and then the scarves."

He watched as she muttered something and then headed up stairs.

Calling the inn keeper aside, Marcel made some arrangements with him and then returned to his day, which fortunately was coming to an end.

An end of the tedium of the day, and a beginning of a night he hoped would live up to its promise.
 
Katirah saw amusement on the Comte's face and wondered if she had said something incorrectly that caused his lips to curl in a slight smile. She wondered if there was someone who would have time to help her improve her French.

"I want you to go to the rooms and prepare for tonight. A meal, a bath, and then the scarves."

"I hear and obey." She muttered in Turkish as she stood and went to the stairs. Perhaps it was the scarves that made him smile. Her cheeks flushed at that.

Climbing the stairs after sitting so still for so long was a chore. She kept herself from groaning aloud as she went up them. She nodded hello to the guards at the door to her rooms and entered. She flung her veil off and slipped out of her overdress.

"Samara. I need food. Something you can bring me quickly. Cold food is fine. But I am famished. And then I need a bath. The Comte will be spending the night here again, I think. He surely is spending time with me later. he did not say he was joining me for dinner, but have enough cold food for him as well. I don't have to tell you what to bring." Katirah glanced around the room looking for her packages. "Go. Go! I do not know how much time I have to prepare."

She went into the bedchamber with the scarves. The bed was freshly made with clean sheets. That was good. She laid the scarves out across the bottom of the bed. Then looked through her clothes to decide what she should wear. The sheer chemise she had worn the night before? Or should she she brazen and await him naked on the bed? She supposed some of it would have to do with when the Comte arrived.

"Your food is here. And wine. And water for tea, should you wish it." Samara said as she entered the outer room. "I will fetch the bath water next. You can eat while you soak."

Katirah came back into the room and sank onto the cushions and ate the vegetable salad, scooping it up with the bread. She made her tea and drank it, then poured the wine.

She was feeling sated by the time her bath was ready. Samara helped her much as she had the day before. Even though the bath was relaxing and soothed her muscles from their prolonged disuse sitting, waiting for the Comte to release her, she felt the tension of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

How changeable the Comte was. She thought. He had been so angry, she could sense the danger in him when he said he would tie her to the table. He would never do such a thing. She was sure of it. She believed he was far too possessive to ever let another have her, now that he had plumbed her depths. Yet he was so gentle when he finally excused her.

She also wondered when or even if, she should show him the contents of the box near the bed. Not that the Comte needed aids of any kind. But she knew some men were fond of the novelty the provided.

She practically purred when Samara shampooed her hair and massaged her scalp.

((Yes, dildos/anal toys go back to ancient Egypt and perhaps earlier. So I expect she has a few of glass or ceramic/porcelain. Perhaps some other things. They also had cock rings of mental, ivory, carved jade or other stones. And leather-studded sheaths to go over the penis, but I'm sure the Comte doesn't need such a thing, unless he really wants to stay hard for a long time as a sort of punishment for her.))

((Here's an idea of what the bed looks like http://www.babs.com.au/gembrook/harem.htm plenty of places to tie off scarves.))
 
Marcel watched as a low table was taken to the room and stepped in as the man that delivered it left. His eyes strayed across the room until he found Samara whom he curtly dismissed with, "Leave."

Marcel walked into the back chamber and saw Katirah naked standing demurely, which Marcel found oddly mocking, though not entirely unpleasant. "In here," he said abruptly and turned back into the fore chamber after grabbing the scarves.

Marcel watched as Katirah's confidence melted ever so slightly as she saw the table sitting in the middle of the floor. Working swiftly, Marcel guided Katirah onto the table, her stomach pressed against her thighs which were spread far enough apart to allow her breasts to swing freely between her knees. Using four of the scarves her tied her lower leg to her upper leg and then across her back to the other leg. The position held her at an acute angle, her thighs apart, face and collar bones pressed against the table.

Marcel then took Katirah's hands and tied them together in the small of her back.

He looked down and saw her as exposed as he had ever seen a woman, her wetness welling up between her legs. "I trust you are both very excited, and uncomfortable."

Walking into the back room again Marcel picked up Katirah's box of toys and asked, "Care to guess at my surprise when I searched your stuff today, Katirah?"
 
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