The Circassian (closed)

[a_libertine]

Marcel laughed and said, "If Henri saw he would have said something. He was told by one of the men that sat outside your tent while the flap was open during your bath."

Marcel's amusement was quite evident at her reaction and he leaned in whispering, "Perhaps next time we give them a better show, you and I together."

 

[haremfaery]

The Comte thought this was amusing? Katirah frowned again, and huffed. She would never understand this man. But did she really want him angry at her over this? No.

"But I tied the flap before I began undressing." Katirah said a little petulantly.

He cheeks flamed and her heart pounded when the Comte suggested they give the men something better to watch. It had taken her a long time to no longer be embarrassed knowing that the guards outside the doors to her rooms at the inn could hear the moans, cries and screams that the Comte drew from her when they coupled.

"Is my Comte ready to eat?" She said changing the subject.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel's amusement spread across his face with his smile as he pat Katirah's derrière. "They didn't do it justice," he said as he headed to where everyone was gathering for dinner.

Sitting near the fire that had been started for warmth in the high altitude, Marcel watched her as Katirah served him his food. Patting the ground next to him, "It was bound to happen sooner or later, worry not."

 

[haremfaery]

"My Comte is in a jolly mood." Katirah said smiling a little in spite of herself. She was still surprised. She would have thought the Comte would be angry. Perhaps he was simply enjoying the fact that the men could look all they wanted, but it was he who took her to bed and made her scream.

Katirah was not accustomed to the cold. She had lived a pampered life for as long as she could remember. The palace was built to keep it cool during the day and comfortable at night. She knew it could get very cold in the desert at night, but had never experienced it.

Samara looked at the bare ground that the Comte patted. She said something to Samara about a pillow. The girl left. "I am happy the Comte was not displeased."

Samara and came back shortly with a large leather rectangular pillow of sorts. It was stuffed with linens so it served two functions, as something to sit on and storage. Samara placed it on the ground.

"There is room for two." Katirah said holding her hands to the fire. They would have to sit close, which suited Katirah just fine since she felt cold and was sure the Comte would keep her warm. Earlier, he said he would sleep with his men. ((The wagon or tent?)) Her bed would be cold tonight and many others.

((Or if the Comte isn't happy about Katirah being so prissy about needing a pillow, just write your post and I can edit that bit out and just have her not be happy about sitting directly on the ground.))

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel wondered what Katirah was waiting for as she stood next to him. A few minutes later Samara returned with a pillow upon which Katirah sat. "It appears we need to toughen your derrière somewhat," he quipped.

The dinner was trail food, which at its best was merely filling. This fare was far from the best. Marcel groaned inwardly, thinking that it would be a terribly long journey if the food was this bad every night.

"Does Samara cook?" Marcel asked after the second disgusted bite.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah raised an eyebrow at the Comte as she settled herself. "I thought the Comte liked my skin soft." She gave him a sultry smile. But her thoughts went to being tied on the table when he used the jade dildo in her most delicate of places. She looked at him to see if she could see if he was thinking along the same lines. She shivered a little. Wold she ever understand this man? She pulled her abaya around her tighter.

"Traveling is dusty enough, I do not wish to sit in the dirt."

Katirah hadn't tried the food yet, but from the look on the Comte's face she could see that it was far from palatable.

"Yes, Samara cooks. Shall I have her make my Comte something else? Or, I have some fruit and some other things in my wagon. Shall I fetch you some?" Katirah had packed food enough for her to eat in the wagon for a few days, maybe a week.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel considered it a moment then shook his head, "No, thank you. I will adjut to the gruel eventually."

His eyes traveled down the length of her torso and said, "Oh yes, I like you skin soft, but that which it contains is more important."

They ate dinner chatting about the trail so far and what to expect in the days ahead.

Leaving his mostly uneaten meal aside, he said, "Sing to them, sing for me."

 

[haremfaery]

"Perhaps Samara can help the cook make my Comte something more palatable tomorrow." Katirah said with a smile. Or perhaps she or Samara could speak to one of the merchants about sharing their fare. She had smelled some appetizing scents coming from their cook fires.

She tilted her head and looked sideways at the Comte. That which her skin contained? Her mind? Her heart? Her soul? Or was he simply referring to her sex with him inside her?

((Are they eating with The Comte's men? Or a variety of people from this area of the caravan?))

"It is my pleasure to sing for my Comte. I have practiced a few songs in French. I should like to find someone to teach me more French to improve my accent and vocabulary. I see the faces that are made when I attempt to speak, I know I have much to learn."

Katirah called for Samara to bring her oud, and when the girl came closer told her to bring some fruit and nuts as well. The Comte could at least eat something more.

Katirah took the oud and began tuning it turning it into a little melody of its own. She began her song. Some around the fire began to clap in time or drum on their legs. She noted more gathering around the longer she played.

She smiled at the Comte often as she sang. He was the only one she really cared about impressing with her music. She gave him smoldering looks on some of the lyrics. As the Comte had said. She was singing _for_ the others, but _to_ him.

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vemBJ1VYmuA Loreena McKennitt Caravanserai, you can look up the lyrics of you want.))

She sipped some wine between songs and then began the next. Some men had joined the fire and brought dumbeks and instruments of their own. She smiled. This would be very entertaining. She had not played with a group since she left the pasha.

When the song went from the Taksim to the actual verse, one of the Eastern men called for Katirah to dance. She looked at the Comte for his approval. She would love to dance. She had spent the day in the wagon and was feeling confined. Being out around the fire was a welcome change. "The Comte has yet to see me dance." She said hopefully.

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3hf812WpVQ&feature=related Natacha Atlas Mon Amie La Rose I don't speak French, so I have very little idea of what she is saying. The dancer on this is very similar to my style.))

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel watched as Katirah began to dance. Her body undulating erotically, her eyes glued on him. Sex smouldered in her look, stoking a fire in his loins. The strains of notes from the various instruments barely registered in his mind.

Bit by bit, layer by layer, Marcel's mind stripped the clothing off Katirah' until she was dancing before him naked.

His eyes began burning, lust overtaking his body. His mouth went dry in need, his arms shaking slightly. Briefly he wondered if he could resist her for a night or two.

The answer was evident as the song came to an end and Katirah flourished coming to a stop with her head ans feet on the ground, her body arched up, hips, and tits, thrust up into the sky a wanton invitatiom for her Comte.

 

[haremfaery]

((My that was a quick reply, Katirah will have to dance for the Comte more often.))

Katirah beamed when the Comte gave his permission for her to dance. She shed her abaya. She would have liked to return to the wagon and put on her belt with the bells and her ankle bracelets, but she had her zagats and put them on her fingers. She clicked out the rhythm as she danced around the fire, but mostly she stayed right in front of the Comte watching him watching her. She well knew what went through most men's minds when watching this dance. The movements spoke of birth and death or love and lust, but mostly, men saw the movements as sex.

She felt free when she danced. The look on the Comte's face told her all she needed ot know about what was in his mind. He was very easy to read right now. She wondered if she would finish her dance or if he would carry her off to her wagon or his tent to take her in whatever and every way that pleased him.

She felt a heat rise in her that was not from her dancing. She knew she was wet. If the Comte did not spend some time with her tonight, she would be forced to open her box and use the jade column on herself to get relief.

She finished in a provocative backbend on the ground. The song stopped. The drummer took up a slow sensuous beat while a flute player improvised. She rolled her stomach and vibrated her hips. Finally she sat up and made large circles with her hips, then small ones. The same sort of thing she had done when riding the Comte's cock. Her hair had come undone with her dancing. She lifted it off her shoulders with her hands and rolled her hips in a figure eight.

The drums played faster and she stood and mimicked the beat with her body, hips flicking, breasts twitching. The drums played faster and she spun and spun like a gypsy. Whirling her body, her hair whipped around until finally she collapsed on her hands and knees, head bowed, in front of the Comte. Her breathing was heavy from her exertion. Finally she looked up at him through the curtain of her hair.

 

[a_libertine]

It took all the control Marcel had to not ram his hard cock down Katirah's throat as she knelt on the ground looking up at him.

As it was, he stood his hard member bulged his tunic as he snatched her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of grain.

He atpped into the first tent he saw, and recognized the gear as Henri's. His hand that was on her ass massaged the cheek, spreading it, jamming fabric against both openings.

He tossed he onto the cot, and said, "Tonight, you will howl like you never have before."

Her eyes burned with the same feelings as he had, and he was sure that he couod smell her heat. "Strip me," he commanded.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah saw something in the Comte's eyes she had never seen before. It was far beyond lust. It frightened her and made her heart pound in fear and anticipation. Her nipples, already erect from her exertions contracted to painful pinpoints chafing against her clothing.

She yelped in surprise as he scooped her up and carried her off as if she were spoils of war.

Some men in the camp yelled vulgar encouragements but it was all background noise to Katirah as she bounced on the Comte's shoulder. She held on to his belt with both hands. His fingers sought her openings even through her clothes. She let out another yelp and wondered if her could feel her wetness.

((I'm assuming the Comte doesn't have any armour or mail on at this point. Just his sword.))

Her face was still flushed from her dancing and her want of him. She knelt on the cot as her fingers fumbled at his buckles finally dropping his sword to the ground. She next attacked his laces to pull his tunic from him. She spared no time to admire the hard muscles of his chest. He tugged the tunic off impatiently and tossed it aside.

The Comte toed off his boots as Katirah worked on the ties of his codpiece. His member, hard as marble, made it more difficult.

The more clothes she removed the more her heart pounded. She had never wanted him more than she did right now. Now! She pushed his breeches off his ass and down his thighs. His cock smacked her face as she leaned to push them down his legs. She placed a kiss where his leg met his torso and took his hot shaft into her hand.

 

[a_libertine]

His need was so great that Marcel nearly came all over Katirah's face and hair as she kissed his hip while stroking his manhood lovingly. A moan escaped him as Katirah's head turned, kissing him delicately up the length of his shaft. Her lips pursed like a fish as she kissed the tip, running her tongue along his piss slit, coaxing the pre-cum out and onto her tongue.

A roar of frustrated arousal erupted from him as he yanked her onto her feet and spun he around and bent her over the cot. Grabbing the fabric of her pantaloons on either side of the seam, Marcel yanked his hands outward, causing the fabric to tear at the seam, leaving her ass and pussy exposed.

He grabbed the base of his engorged manhood and pressed it against her hot slick pussy opening. Katirah's hips fired back as Marcel rammed his forward, his balls slapping her clit.

"Now, Katirah," Marvel groaned im a voice he couldn't recognize. "Now fuck me like you did out there."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah thought she was pleasing the Comte until he bellowed like a bull and spun her around. He pressed her shoulder down onto the cot and ripped her clothes. She trembled in anticipation. her sex dripped in anticipation of having him inside her. This raging bull.

She raised her head and cried out when he plunged inside her. She pushed back against him hard meeting his thrusts. She was already making the desperate cries that signaled she would come very soon. Her hands twisted in the blanket that covered the cot. Its roughness chafed her breasts. The cot bounced with each thrust inching its way towards the canvas wall of the tent. Katirah was reduced to incoherent cries. If she had thought about it, there was no doubt that those around the fire could hear everything the two were doing.

((I'm around for the rest of the night, puttering online.))

 

[a_libertine]

It was animalistic rutting.

It was not making love.

It was not caring.

It was an all out assault on her pussy. Marcel's balls swung wildly slapping Katirah, slapping his legs.

The lamp that glowed at the end of the tent cast their shadows against the front wall of the tent. Each person of the camp watching as .arcel pushed Katirah away by her ass cheeks, only to yank her back by hwr hips.

Marcel's grunt, Katirah's gasp, after each thunderous stroke sounded less and less human, and more and more primal.

Marcel reached forward and grabbed a handful of hair and twist it around his fist as he yanked her head back so far they could stare into one another's eyes.

Instinctively, Marcel know that Katirah's tits were swinging wildly with each thrust. He also knew the shadows had to be one hell of a show.

He didn't care. Let them watch. Let them know how their Comte claimed his woman passionately.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah let out a cry when the Comte pulled her hair more from surprise than pain. She was far beyond pain at this point. Her entire universe was comprised of the Comte cock slamming into her, of the slap of his skin against her. The scent of them both filled her nostrils.

She stared into the Comte's eyes for a moment but she was past seeing. A feeling overwhelmed her and she shut her eyes as she howled, as he said she would. A vixen in heat, she screamed as she came pushing harder still against him. Her muscles milked the Comte with a death grip as if she would suck him entirely into her being. Her screams continued as orgasms rolled over her again and again.

 

[a_libertine]

Katirah began howling as her orgasms over took her, each seemingly more potent than the last. Marcel could feel his meat expanding, harder than it ever had been before. The dance, the cool night air, the assorted voyeurs that he knew had to be watching and listening outside the tent flap, all excited him. His cock was hard enough that it was painful.

Katirah began milking him with her pussy as the kept colliding like two massive galaxies, neither to be the same again.

Marcel's roar banged into Katirah's ululating cries in a symcopated beat as his balls churned and spewed as if his cock were Vesuvius.

 

[haremfaery]

Somewhere in the fog of her climax that knew no bounds, Katirah heard the Comte yell out his own triumph. She could not stop moving to take every last sensation of him. She wanted her bliss to last forever, or for as long as it could.

She pressed the heel of her hand against her clit as she continued to grind her backside into the Comte. She made a loud squeak of sorts as she came again. Her breath rasped. She was already receiving signals from her body that she would be very sore after this. She wanted to flop down on the cot, but the Comte still held her hair.

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. "Mon coeur, thou art no stallion, but a bull. A Minotaur."

 

[a_libertine]

"It is a pity that I am but a one horned Minotaur," Marcel replied as he collapsed on to Katirah's back.

Thay laid across the cot a couple minutes, the cool night air almost freezing the beads of sweat hat covered their bodies.

"Perhaps next time, when you dance like that for me, I will take you then and there."

 

[haremfaery]

"I am more than satisfied with my Minotaur's single horn." Katirah murmured. She shivered even with the Comte's weight and warmth on top of her, the night had gotten much colder.

"Did you not see any of the street dancers when we were in the town? This is the style of dance for this wide area. There are some differences, but all have the same fundamentals. You in the West think only of sex when you see a woman move her hips." She smiled a little as he rolled off of her and she could breathe fully.

"The Comte teases me with these threats." She hoped he was teasing. It was bad enough that the known world could hear their coupling, they did not need to watch as well. It had not occurred to her that with the lamp on in the tent their shadows would be very clear to any who wished to look.

She stood and pulled off the tatters that had been her selwars. She used the fabric to wipe their essences from between her legs and thighs. She straightened her robes. "The Comte still has not seen me dance in a proper costume for it." She knelt by the cot and wiped the Comte as she spoke.

 

[a_libertine]

"The difference is you dance for me, they do not."

Marcel leaned back as Katirah used the silky cloth to wipe between his legs. As her hand wrapped around his semi flaccid cock, it hardened slightly at her touch.

"Dancing for me makes all the difference in the world."

Marcel leaned forward and tilted her face up and kissed her passionately. "Now, let us go to your tent and start again."

 

[haremfaery]

"The girls in the marketplace will dance for any man who has the coin. I daresay there are women in the camp who would do the same." She smirked. "The Comte know that all I do is for him alone."

Katirah was surprised to feel his cock harden again so soon. Truly the man was a bull.

She returned his kiss matching his passion. She felt breathless and lightheaded when he finally allowed her to break away.

"My abaya is back at the fire..." She said, but she was sure Samara would take care of it for her. She felt her nipples grow hard at the thought of continuing what they had started. She rubbed her forearms against her chest to ease her breasts. She followed him out of the tent as she said, "Mon coeur, le Minotaur...I shall have to write a song about it."

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel chuckled, asking, "How the Minotaur gored the woman on her abaya by the fire?" They walked passed the fire, and he knew the men of the camp were looking at the two of them and he smirked, show his general disregard for their thoughts of his private, as public as it was at times, actions.

They entered his tent, and Marcel leaned back against the cushions, the one thing he truly like about this land, that made the floor of his tent and looked at Katirah.

"Dance for me again, and dance on me," Marcel said, his voice burning. "Fuck me like your dance, hips flailing, grinding."

 

[haremfaery]

((I thought we were going to Katirah's tent, but now matter. I did have an idea that some night she might come creeping to the Comte's tent. I thought it would be funny if she got mixed up and it was Henri's tent instead. Just a thought for later in the trip.))

Katirah laughed. "Something more poetical than that, I think. Unless my Comte prefers I create something bawdy. I did not think my Comte liked it when I sang the bawdy song."

She slipped her arm through his knowing it was a forward thin for her to do, but the Comte seemed happy. She did not think he would mind that she took the libery. Besides she was cold. She had no selwars and her abaya was still back at the fire.

---

"As my Conte wishes." But Katirah poured some wine for them both first and set it near the Comte.

She put on her zagats and began a rhythm. She slowly swayed her hips and undulated her arms. She slowly increased the tempo, the exertion warmed her body. She paused to take off her outer robe and was left in her chemise.

She locked eyes with the Comte as she sank to the floor and putting her foot flat on the floor then rolling forward to her knee, then stepping with the other foot and doing the same, she made her way to him.

She had a faint smirk on her face as she watched his reactions. She removed her zagats and set them aside. She continued to move her hips as her hands went to the Comte's codpiece to free his manhood.

She straddled his legs while hiking her chemise up above her thighs. She circled her hips and rolled her stomach. She undulated like a serpent. She made large circles getting up on her knees for the front half and then sitting for the back half. She could feel his manhood pressing against her. She lowered herself against his bulge and made tight circles.

She moaned. Katirah arched her back and did a slow backbend, chest pointing up, hips thrust out. She rocked against his cock. She was wet and ready for him.

 

[a_libertine]

There it was again. That damned look on her face that roiled his stomach, almost deflating his cock.

On and on she danced, his cock quivered despite his mixed, if momentary, emotions. Her pussy ground against his cock as she oscillated her hips over him. Thrusting upward, the thick heavy ridge on the underside of his cock slid along her slit.

Her quim flowed down his cock and collected in the sack that held his balls. "Do you feel powerful, Katirah?" he asked.