The Circassian (closed)

[a_libertine]

Stepping out of the tub, Marcel shook his head, "No, I do not have a plan yet. By the time we get to France, I will have been gone nearly a year and a half, many things could change in that time."

Marcel stood as Katirah dried him, and smiled gently as she patted softly around the wounded shoulder. "I am sure, while sometimes unreasonable, the Marquis can be convinced to allow you to stay with me."

Though his voice carried conviction, Marcel wasn't entirely sure how they would work things out, but knew that he would somehow keep Katirah.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah could not imagine being on the road for so long. "Does the Comte miss his home?" She certainly missed the comforts of the Pasha's palace, but after spending time waiting to be sold, the caravan was far more pleasant. She supposed everything was relative.

She nearly harrumphed when the Comte said the Marquis was sometimes unreasonable. She thought the same of the Comte. Perhaps all Frenchmen were like that.

She fussed over the Comte getting him comfortable using pillows to prop him up and cushion his shoulder. She poured him wine and brought the tajine over to where they both could reach it.

"Does the Comte's shoulder pain him overmuch? The chirugeon left powder to add to wine to help." Katirah settled herself next to the Comte. "If the Comte has any discomfort in the night, he must wake me." She fed him a piece of chicken.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel sighed as he settled into place and Katirah scooted close. "I am sure that I have suffered worse wounds than this."

He wrapped his uninjured arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes a moment. "France is unlike anywhere else I have been. Nothing compares to her. Spain is too hot, Germany too cold, the Lowlands too wet."

Even speaking about France seemed to puff him up, made him feel as if a part of him that were missing had found him again. "Everything for France," he said softly.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah traced one of the Comte's nastier scars with a finger. "I hope the Comte will not suffer at all." She smiled.

Katirah laughed lightly to hear the Comte's opinion of various places some of which she had heard of and some not at all. "Tbilisi is too dry and dusty and the sun burns too brightly." She added.

"The Comte speaks of France like a woman. I see I have a rival." She held his goblet so he could drink.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel resisted the urge to spit as he said, "This land is hell, Katirah. It's best feature pales against the worst of France's features." He sat a moment in fond nostalgia then said, "And no, not even you are competition for France."

He leaned against her slightly as he sipped from the goblet that she offered. "You will like France, and as much as you will miss this forsaken land, France will fill your heart with a gladness only it can bring."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah was a little surprised at the Comte's vehemence in his dislike of this part of the world. Katirah huffed. "I think there are some things in which I can surpass France." She pouted prettily.

"I will not miss this country at all. But sometimes I miss the comforts of the palace." Katirah said. "I cannot imagine a land as lush and green as you describe. Since the Comte loves France so much, I am sure that I will love it too." She smiled. "Only my Comte fills my heart with gladness, no bit of ground could ever do more."

She fed the Comte more food.

 

[a_libertine]

His eyes watched her as Katirah brought a morsel of food to his lips. He took the bite and chewed it slowly, his eyes never leaving her eyes. He could see her love for him, her concern for him, and her happiness in them. He caressed her face with the hand on his wounded arm and whispered, "You will see, Katirah. France will make this place seem like a horrible night mare."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah leaned into the Comte's hand. "If I am with the Comte, there are no nightmares." She gave him more wine. She was happy to see his appetite had not been adversely affected by his injury.

She could think of one nightmare in France: the Marquis. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. The France and the Marquis were miles and months away.

"Shall I sing for the Comte? Then the Comte should sleep since he will be riding tomorrow."

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel nodded, and closed his eyes and listened as Katirah sang to him. He nestled a hand in her lap, and allowed his fingers to unfurl until her could gently play along the slit to her sex.

As he laid down fully he smiled up at her and said, "Don't think I have forgotten Katirah, you owe me pleasure with nothing but your mouth."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah found it a little difficult to concentrate on her song with the Comte playing with sex. It became obvious to her that his injury had not affected his libido at all. She set her oud aside.

"I was not sure that the Comte had the energy for such a thing." She smiled back. "I will endeavor not to disappoint this time." She kissed his jaw. "But...if may ask, why? I was taught that hands and mouth together make it more pleasurable." The Comte had told her that she should ask questions if she did not understand. She was not accustomed to asking, but she would have to learn.

Katirah lips trailed down the Comte's neck. She placed a gentle kiss on his good shoulder. She fixed the pillows under the Comte to ensure his comfort and also so that he would be able to have the best view possible of what she was doing to him.

She slid lower and kissed along a rib and then kissed his hipbone. She stroked her nails lightly down his thigh. By now his cock was nearly at it's full potential. She moved between his legs and licked the head of his magnificent cock.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel leaned into the cushioning of the furs as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. A low moan escaped him as he responded, "Because it makes you focus on my cock."

As Katriah's tongue flicked along his piss slit his hands wrapped themselves in her hair, guiding her movements. "Slower, Katirah, love my cock in a manner like you did Samara."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah did not think that using only her mouth made the Comte's cock her sole focus, but the Comte seemed to think that were so. As long as the Comte kept his fingers to himself, she was perfectly able to concentrate her sole attentions on his cock. "As the Comte wishes." She would learn to pleasure him the way that aroused him most regardless of what she thought about it.

She followed the Comte's instructions and moved her tongue more slowly round and round the ridge of his head. She flicked her tongue in featherlight touches as she would upon a woman's sensitive nub. She took the knob of his cock into her mouth and sucked gently. She cast her eyes up to watch the Comte's face.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel rolled his eyes back into his head, and moaned softly. Each slight movement of Katirah's mouth and tongue reverberated through him, each wave of pleasure crashing in on the next.

His body tensed under her ministrations, while his mind let loose the world and its concerns. Thicker and longer his cock grew with each lick and suck. His hands loosed their grip in her hair and he caressed her as he arched his back slightly.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah had not had much of a chance to simply pleasure the Comte and note his reactions. She tried to read what made him moan louder, or gasp in pleasure. He came to full erection, warm and hard. She ran her tongue along the vein that went down the underside. Then she took his length into her mouth. Or rather, half of his length. That she could take easily. The rest was much more difficult, especially without using a hand at the base.

Katirah adjusted her head lengthening her neck and took more of the cock into her mouth, her throat. Taking her time and relaxing she took all of him. Her nose brushed the soft nest of his pubic hair. She slowly began to pump up and down trying not to gag. Her hands gripped his hips. It would keep her from forgetting and wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. She wondered if the Comte's instructions included touching his globes.

 

[a_libertine]

Her hands on his hips jolted Marcel bringing him half up. Her tongue swirling around the head of his cock settled him back in place, and his hips fired up, driving his cock deep down her throat.

The feel of her nose pressed against his stomach, and her chin against his balls sent currents of pleasure roaring through him. His cock was completely encased by her mouth, her tongue pressing against the hard back bone of his member.

Katirah squeezed his hips, and almost on command his balls contracted and then expanded as they violently expelled his seed into her mouth and throat.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah gripped the Comte's hips. He sat forward a little. She thought she had done something wrong. She paused for a moment. Perhaps she was not supposed to touch him with her hands at all. But he settled back with a groan thrusting deep into her mouth.

She liked hearing him groan. She wanted to hear him beg. But he was too far gone for her to back off. She would not deny him his pleasure. In truth, she feared if she tried to delay his bliss, he would be angry with her.

She tightened her fingers and without any real warning, the Comte exploded into her mouth and down her throat. She tried not to choke. Tears sprang to her eyes as she swallowed. She pulled her head back to suck on the head of his cock and take the last few jolts of his essence. She lowered her mouth again to clean off his clock. She licked the last vestiges off and then looked up at him with a smile.

Katirah moved up the Comte's body and rested her head on his good shoulder.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel luxuriated in the quiet of the tent as Katirah leaned against him, her breasts pressing against his side. The low murmur of the camp in the background lulled him into a relaxed state.

His chest rose and fell in a smooth easy rhythm. Draping his arm around her shoulders, Marcel slid quietly into an easy sleep until he was abruptly awakened deep in the night.

The cry, "TO ARMS!" reverberated through the camp chased closely by the sound of thundering hooves. Pausing long enough to don pants, Marcel grabbed a sword and shield, rushing out of the tent.

 

[haremfaery]

((I'm assuming that the Comte would normally waken, being a military man, but his wound has exhausted him and so he'll sleep through all of this, or register on some level that is it Katirah and no danger is present.))

Katirah quietly slipped from under the Comte's arm after he was asleep. She poured herself some wine and saw to the brazier. The Comte needed to stay warm to heal and the nights were cold. She tidied the remnants of dinner, then took care of nature's call. She washed quickly then looked at the Comte's shoulder. It seemed fine by candlelight. She would insist the doctor check it again in the morning and she would re-bandage it.

She slipped under the furs carefully so as not to wake the Comte. His body was warm but not feverish. Another good sign. She snuggled against his good side.

---

The Comte was up and in his pants while Katirah was only just sitting up wondering what was the matter. She heard the cries of "To arms!" and the noises of horses.

"The bandits!" She cried, but the Comte was already gone. She remembered what had happened before. The Comte had told her to stay hidden and she did not. This time she would heed those words even though she wanted to dress and find something with which to defend herself in case the guard outside the tent failed to protect her.

She burrowed down into the furs and pulled one over her head with only a little space for her to peek out at the tent opening. She sent prayers to all the gods she knew to keep the Comte safe. She could not believe the bandits would dare to strike the camp again. How many of them were there that they could attack again and again?

 

[a_libertine]

The camp was in a defensible position, sitting atop a hill with steep slopes there were only two ways to get into it easily. Both of those paths were heavily garrisoned by knights and mercenaries. Nonetheless, fighting was fierce.

Marcel joined the group closest to his tent and waded straight into the fray barking orders as he did so. The wound on his shoulder opened again with the first swing that impacted a man. The jarring thud of metal on bone ricocheted up his arm in a satisfying, if painful, jarring motion.

"Keep at least one alive," he ordered over the din of battle. It appeared there were at least twenty bandits on this side to his fifteen men. Training would carry the day he knew, but Marcel was aware that for a few minutes it would be touch and go, all depending on the whether or not his men could hold the initial barrage back.

The world quickly faded to a hazy shade of red as instinct and training took over. his sword arm rising and falling in a measured tempo, his shield being thrust out to counter any attack he could see.

A giant of a man rose before Marcel, murder in his eyes. The giant swung what appeared to be the stump of a tree in a long arc toward Marcel, who ducked below the wood. At the last moment, the giant flicked his wrists changing the path of the trunk and smashed into Marcel's shield sending it, and Marcel, flying.

Landing with a jarring thud that clattered his teeth, Marcel looked up and rolled just in time before the giant slammed the trunk into the space where Marcel's head had been. Like a dervish, the giant belied his size as he nimbly chased a tumbling Marcel around the battlefield, trying to spill the Comte's brains over the sight. The giant slashed out with his foot, catching Marcel in the side of the thigh, pain making the world flash white, then black, then back to normal.

Marcel lashed out with his sword, clipping the giant across the left shin. With a howl the giant tumbled down on top of Marcel, pinning the tree trunk between them. The air rushed from Marcel's lungs with the impact of the enormous man.

The giant grabbed Marcel's head, one hand on each side and began twisting it left and right. Marcel frantically reached around trying to find anything he could use as a weapon. With his eyes becoming dark with pain, Marcel finally grasped a rock about the size of his fist and slammed it into the giant's temple.

The giant howled as Marcel hit him again and again. Sickening sounds of impact as the rock began caving the giant's head in.

 

[haremfaery]

((is Katirah being taken this time around? Or are we just beating up the Comte?))

Katirah could hear the ebb and flow of fighting outside. How had the bandits gotten so close? She was afraid the Comte would be punishing some of the soldiers for allowing the bandits to break through the defenses.

She could see little from where was, but there was little to see unless someone came through the tent flap. Sometimes the sounds seemed very close and other times it seemed like the fighting was dying down or at least moving further away. She hated not knowing what was happening.

 

[a_libertine]

Blood and bits of bone covered Marcel's hands and forearms. He looked down and saw the face of the giant was pulverized, a pulpy mass of gray, flesh and white.

The bandits around Marcel began falling back as soon as they realized the mini-war had concluded, and not in their favor. "Grab your bows, shoot them down as long as you can see them," Marcel ordered.

Marcel tried to straighten up, pain flared through his arms, and left leg. His thigh was already begining to swell from the kick the giant connected with.

With a groan of pain, MArcel picked up his shield and eyed the caved in side of it. Using it as a cane, he began hobbling to the other side of the camp to the other choke point.

He could see that the side Henri was on buckled allowing some bandits in, but slowly, methodically, Henri was cleaning them out.

Continuing on, Marcel found Henri giving orders to some men. When Henri noticed him, Henri said, "Wish I could have seen that fight."

Marcel shook his head and asked, "Why is that?"

Henri smiled crookedly and quipped, "Well, if he kicked your ass that hard, and you walked away, it must have been one hell of a fight, my Comte."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah huddled in the furs. She stuck her out out to listen better. She had not heard much in awhile. Did she dare get out of the furs? She was deperate to know what was going on.She hoped Samara was safe.

((Shall I have Katirah come out? Curiosity killed the cat...))

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel glanced at Henri, and said, "Yeah well, let's just say I hope he was their biggest and toughest warrior. If not we maybe in trouble."

They toured the camp enduring everyone was okay, and seeing to those that were not. "Remind me next time to bring as many dogs as I can stomach."

Henri smiled, "What? Two?"

Marcel snorted and replied, "Good point, all of that baying and barking would drive me English."

They found Samara who was huddled over someone wailing; her ululating voice piercing Marcel's ears like a dagger. Marcel could see a man beneath her and a great deal of blood surrounding the body. From the color of the skin, Marcel gathered it was her brother.

Marcel could hear the heavy, hesitant stride of a booted person behind him. Turning his head he saw Luc standing uncertainly. Marcel eyed him a moment then nodded, "Go ahead, she needs you more than your post, Henri will see to it that you are relieved for the night."

After resting a few minutes, Marcel headed back to his tent to see Katirah poking her head out. Still using the shield as a cane, he worked his way to the tent, "You might check on Samara, her brother died."

 

[haremfaery]

(('Drive me English.' I love it. LOL.))

Katirah heard the ululation of grief that pierced the camp. Her blood ran cold. She could no longer stay hidden. She threw back the furs and dashed to the tent entrance. She stuck her head out and looked in the direction of the wailing. It had to be one of the women from her part of the world, a slave or one of the merchant's wives.

She saw a man naked to the waist, covered in blood and limping using a shield for help. At first it did not register that this was the Comte. She ran out to him not caring about her own nakedness and who might see her. She put an arm around him to help him the rest of the way to the tent. This was so much worse than when his shoulder was wounded.

"I can see to Samara later." That explained the wailing. "But look at you!" She saw a soldier, "Fetch the chirugeon for the Comte now." She sat the Comte on a chair and fetched the basin of water. She would need much more. And bandages, as well.

She fretted and spoke in her own language her tone changing from berating him to extreme concern and back again. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She didn't know where to begin. She poured wine for the Comte then brought the basin over and daubed a cloth in it. She began cleaning him. She would not leave his side unless he ordered her to.

((I wasn't sure if you had something in mind with making her go to Samara or not.))

 

[a_libertine]

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, his heart and muscles pulsed and flexed involuntarily. His voice was harsher than he intended as he hissed, "Katirah, I will live; Samara's brother will not."

He cupped her chin his voice still carrying the hard edge he tried to control as he whispered, "Go to her."

He could see the confusion in her eyes, the hesitance that held her. "Go Katirah, I will survive. If you see Henri or William, send them to me."