The Circassian (closed)

Katirah's breathing was already becoming heavy. She looked at the Comte with lust-glazed eyes. She blinked a few times so she could answer coherently.

"Whatever my Comte wishes," she said still rocking her hips against him. "But I need to be able to reach the knot to untie it.

Marcel took hold of Katirah's hips and rolled pulling her on top of him. "Now you can reach it," he moaned out as she settled fully onto his turgid mass.

As her hands reached down between them, Marcel arched his back, thrusting his hips up into the air.

Katirah made a startled cry when the Comte moved her on top of him. He was so strong. She settled down and moaned along with him.

She moved a little to get better access to the knot but the Comte pushed up making her groan again. "I think the Comte is teasing me and does not really want the scarf removed." She tried again to work at the knot which was made more difficult by their movements.

Marcel kept his back arched, holding Katirah high in the air while she fumbled with the silken scarf that was wrapped around his cock and balls. ,

He lowered his hips as Katirah carefully unwraped the scarf.

As she settled back down Marcel said, "Turn around and face my feet." As she complied he whispered "Now lay down."

When she did, Marcel's hands roamed her torso from her heavy tits down to he vagina.

The knot was difficult at first having tightened up with their activity, but once Katirah got it started it came off easily.

Katirah frowned a little at the new instructions from the Comte. She wondered what he was planning next.

She laid down and put one arm under her head. She moaned a little and spread her legs for him as he touched her sex.

Katirah lay on Marcel hee back against his chest as he slowly drove his cock into her from behind. One hand settled on her clit, massaging it gently while the other played with her magnificent breasts.

"Relax" he whispered, " This will be slow easy and pleasurable.

((I'm having a hard time picturing this...she's stretched out on top of his legs, not up on her knees, he's sitting up behind her so he can reach her body.))



Katirah moaned and wriggled a little. "'Tis difficult to relax when my Comte touches me like" her breath hitched a little, "Like that."

((Close, but laying down. That is what I get for trying to post via cell))

Marcel continued massaging her body, not to relax it but to stimulate her. Her movements on his cock were slick and wet, her quim running down his shaft, collecting around his balls.

"I have yet to begin touching you, mon cher." Marcel whispered.

((I hate my cell phone, I make a post and then it gets lost, not to mention trying to get the caps to work. Blah. I can't wait till it's time for an upgrade so I can get something different.))

((OK, I think I can picture it--*goes to consult the Kama Sutra online* I just still can't see how he can reach her to touch anything.))

((I thought the were doing something like this but with her legs straight. http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/positions/arc-de-triomph-sex-position))

Katirah signed and trembled. "But, I thought to spend this night pleasing my Comte not---." She gasped as he massaged her most sensitive spot.

He had called her 'mon cher.' That the was first time she could remember him calling her anything but her name. It warmed her heart in a way she could not have anticipated.

((I can't see the link at the moment will look later and will also see if I can find a photo of what I mean))

It was languid, no hurried actions on either of their parts as her ass squirmed across his stomach. Her .ovements caused the head of his manhood to flail away at the inside of Katirah's sex.

Slowly, like the span of time that defines a life they made love
Each of them moaning, their hearts beating with, for, each other. As their climax flowed through them, Marcel whispered, "Stay like this until morning."

Their coupling was slow again. Katirah liked the relaxed way they moved together. This must be what was meant by making love. It certainly was not fucking.

Katirah thought it was a strange that the Comte wanted to stay in this position. Surely he would shrink and fall out fo her sooner or later. They would have to move at some point. She did not think she could stay like this all night but she would try.

"My weight will not make my Comte uncomfortable?" She turned her head to kiss his leg ((or foot or whatever she can reach in this position)).

(( Here it is. ))

Marcel smiled into Katirah's ear, and said, "I am sure once we sleep we'll change positions. For now, stay, as long as is comfortable."

His hands trailed up and down her torso, a light touch, his fingers memorizing her body, the feel of her skin. She had a softness that he would not be able to explain fully.

Under the callused fingertips of his hand, she felt soft, her skin silky and smooth. Softer than the hands of some French women he knew. Her ass flush against his lower abdomen felt better than anything he could recall.

The small demon of what happened when they returned to France crept up again, and he quashed it ruthlessly.

He could not change what would be, and worrying about it over much would be useless to he and her alike.

"Besides," he whispered, "There is nothing quite so uplifting as you in my arms."

((OH! _Now_ I get it. Thanks for the picture. I should probably go back and edit some of my previous posts but I'm too tired to do it tonight.))

Katirah breathed out relaxing and closing her eyes. She put her hands over the Comte's as they roamed her body. "My Comte's hands will not let me sleep." She gave his hands a squeeze and clamped her sex muscles around his slowly softening cock. "I am happy my Comte is pleased."

It was strangely comfortable lying on top of the Comte. His body radiated heat. She felt surrounded by him. By his love. Could it be true? Did the Comte love her now? He had stolen her heart this night to be sure. She tilted her head so she could hear his heart beat as she drifted slowly off to sleep.

((Do we want to move them along to the caravan now? I don't have anything else that I need/want Katirah to do here at the inn. So unless you have something else, moving along is fine with me.))

(Crap, I am sorry! I posted via phone and apparently it didn't work correctly.)

The days were filled with the activities necessary to get a twent wagon caravan on the road. Hiring drivers, more guards, getting the merchants focused on procurring the goods they wanted to sell in France.

Marcel swore silently that never again would he do this manner of thing again. Leave merchant business to merchants. He would much rather worry about his own domain and holdings than the tedium of running a business. Related skill sets he knew, that was why he was good at it, but he didn't have the patience for teh pandering that was necessary to be highly successful at it.

Each day, he or Henri went to the market looking for a replacement for the Baron, not finding an acceptable female. After all whomever they bought would have to be superior to Katirah in some regard, if not most areas.

That of course was a nearly impossible thing to do.

The nights were filled with passion. Katirah and he opening up to each other more and more every day. Marcel walked a fine line with her, on one hand developing her sexually, exploring the edge of sexual madness, on the other hand, keeping her from forgetting her place.

Time to time, she would forget that she was owned, and though allowed greater liberties than any other slave would have, Katirah seemed to press the limits of those freedoms, subconsciously trying to ever expand those limits.

The morning of their departure finally arrived the wagons in line just outside the gates when Marcel and his knights rode up wearing half armor, to protect their chests primarily.

Pulling up next to the wagon that held Katirah and her stuff, Marcel asked, "Are you ready to leave this brown hell for the heaven that is France?"

((Yeah, I've had problems occasionally when I post from my phone. No worries. I've been busy lately.))

Katirah spent the days leading up to their departure mostly bored. She had unpacked little so there was little to repack. She practiced her music and danced accompanying herself with her zagats. She wondered if some in the caravan would play in the evenings so she could dance. Then she wondered if the Comte would allow her to dance in public.

She and Samara spent a day threading the hair from each other's bodies. The henna slowly faded from Katirah's body.

Ah, but the nights. She waited impatiently for the nights spent with the Comte. Some nights were quiet and gentle and caring. Intimate. Others were thunder and lightning. Passion. Still other nights, she knew she had displeased him and he was cold and brutal, and yet still he could make her scream as he drove her to her climax. Katirah still felt that she understood the Comte very little.

---

"I am anxious to see this heaven on earth." Katirah said with a laugh. "But truly, when I am with my Comte, I do not care where we are." She leaned out of the wagon a little to touch him. "Will we be sleeping in a tent tonight? Or in the wagon? Will the Comte join me?"

Marcel would have sworn he felt the heat of her touch as she gently laid her hand on the mail sleeve. Images of bending her over the side of a wagon and taking her while they moved along the road filled his mind, and uncomfortably, his cock.

"On the nights that we camp, no, I will stay with the men. Nights that we are in an inn, yes."

He could see the disappointment in her eyes as he smiled and whispered, "Worry not, Katirah, I will not allow your body to forget mine."

Katirah kept her voice low and answered, "The Comte knows my mind as well as my body." She looked at him through her lashes and smiled coyly. "I shall long to be at the next inn." She sighed. "May I come and sing for my Comte at night when we camp? Or dance? I should like to get some exercise. Sitting in the wagon all day is tedious." She had not performed for an audience in a long while now. "And I could wash the Comte's feet." Foot washing was a rather submissive ritual that Katirah thought the Comte would like, he seemed to like her best when she was on her knees at his feet. Not only would the foot washing be refreshing for him, it could also be an innocently intimate thing for her to do.

Katirah tried to think of other ways that they could be together in front of the Comte's men and the members of the caravan without sleeping together. Then she frowned a little. "Why must the Conte stay with his men?Surely the Effendi is competent enough to do so. The Comte is the leader here and the Comte should be able to do as he pleases."

She nearly snorted to herself. It was not as if everyone in the inn knew nothing of their numerous and very loud liaisons. She was not so embarrassed by that now, but the Comte still had ways that made her blush.

Marcel nearly laughed as Katirah tried goading him into neglecting his duties as the leader of the caravan, and more importantly his knights. "No," he said with a smile. "While we are in the field, I will stay with the men, and you will stay with the others."

He reached over caressing her face gently, "Rest assured, we will spend much time together. So much so you will tire of me before we see the Alps."

Marcel was about to say something when Henri approached, "Sire, we are ready to depart."

Marcel nodded, "Give the signal, let's be off to home."

Katirah gave the Comte a teasing pout to show she was disappointed but understood. She took his gloved hand from her face and kissed it. he smelled of leather and horses. A virile scent.

"I will never tire of my Comte." She leaned further out of the wagon giving him a better view of her cleavage.

She looked over at Henri when he approached. "Good morning, effendi." She smiled. "Will I see the Comte later?" She called after them.

She flopped back into the wagon and began reciting one of the longest poems she knew. That should while away a few hours.

Marcel watched as Katirah leaned out precariously, and her tit swelled to the top of her dress, promising to spill out for his enjoyment. He decided then and there that one of these days he was going take her on horseback.

He wondered how much goading it would take to get her to participate willingly.

The day drug on and on. Marcel found his thoughts and eyes straying to Katirah's wagon more frequently than he should.

An hour before sunset, they reached th first designated stop. As the wagons were parked and horses, oxen and other animals were tended to, Marcel swung by Katirah, "I think, I would very much like to hear you sing this nigjt."

Katirah was out of the wagon walking around it, stretching her legs. She must ask the Comte about being able to walk some of the time. The caravan moved slowly enough she would not lag too far from the wagon. The Comte or someone else could always bring her back to the wagon on horseback. She found the large animals somewhat intimidating.

"'Twould be my pleasure to sing for the Comte. Do you have a request for the type of song? Something happy? Something to soothe?" She smiled up at him on his large horse. "Will my Comte dine with me or with his men?"

When the Comte left Katirah to oversee the camp, she went to the wagon and instructed Samara to bring her water so she could wash. She stripped naked and took a sponge bath not realizing that when the occasional breeze came through, the curtain at the back of the wagon fluttered offering any who happened to be looking the right way a fleeting glimpse of of her nacreous flesh as she knelt there with her back to the opening.

She put on fresh clothes and got her oud. Certain things, instruments, she had packed so they would be at hand. She thought about what she should sing for the Comte.

Marcel was discussing the trail ahead with the guides when Henri came along and told him of the view Katirah was inadvertently, or not, giving the men. In fact it seemed quite a crowd had gathered around to watch tye beauty bath. A wry smile crossed Marcel's face as he finished the discussions with the guides.

As the camp settled into dinner, Marcel walked over to Katirah and whispered, "I hear the henna is completely gone from your back."

Katirah frowned at the Comte, what an unusual thing to say. "My Comte knows it has been fading. Shall I have Samara use the henna again?" She said equally quietly.

If he preferred it she had no problem spending a day having it done again. It would help pass the time. Since the Comte was whispering perhaps he felt it was an intimate thing between them. There were a few men heading off to enjoy their dinners. She felt their eyes on her, but that was to be expected. By now the entire caravan must know about her. They probably also knew how the Comte had made her sit for hours that one day, the day of the attempted kidnapping.

"Yes, I know." Marvel continued, his voice low, "Henri came to me and described your derriere perfectly, but did not mention the henna. I assu.e that means it is quite gone by now."

Marcel had shifted to where he could face Katirah to watch her reaction.

Katirah's frown turned to a look of stunned surprise. The Comte could not think that she had done some with the effendi in her wagon. he would be angry. There would be steel in his voice. He would be dragging her off somewhere and do brutal things to her, in that calm cold way of his when he had deeply angered him.

Had the effendi come to her wagon when she was bathing and she hadn't hear him? Samara had been away from the wagon helping with the evening meal.

Katirah drew herself up and looked into the Comte's eyes. "I do not know how the effendi could know such a thing unless he learned it from Samara, or he came to my wagon when I was washing or dressing. But...He did not call out to me that he wished to speak with me." Her eyes flashed in anger as she thought of the effendi sneaking about her wagon like some prepubescent boy.