The Circassian (closed)

[haremfaery]

The gesture of the Comte kissing Katirah's nose was unexpected. He was acting like a lover again. Or treating her like a child. She frowned when he talked about the guards not living long. "You expect so much trouble on our journey? Is it so dangerous?"

She nodded her head to let him know she understood him. The eunuchs in the harem had never bothered her, but they were like old women. They did not leer the way the guards did. She would have to adopt her queenly manner when she dealt with them.

The Comte whispered, "I promise I will cherish and protect you."

Oh when he whispered to her...There was something about his voice that made her melt. All thoughts of his earlier threats, of the Baron, floated away like the smoke from a hookah.

She put her hand to his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. A somewhat awkward kiss since they were sitting side by side. But she did her best. She darted her tongue between his lips.

--

Samara made a little bow and worked straightening the room. It wasn't nearly so bad this time. She put the now cold lamb on a tray to take down to the kitchen. She sent someone up with the tub and hot water, ordering more hot food, and then brought up a bucket of hot water herself.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel paid no attention to Samara or the other servants as they brought bath and hot water. He held his slave close to him, the feel of her flesh under his intoxicated him, forced the universe to the small space that was her.

After a while, he heard Samara say something which he interpreted as "The bath is ready." Marcel walked to the bath, pulling Katirah along behind him, only letting go to slip into the hot water.

Closing his eyes, Marcel leaned back against the tub and said, "When you are ready Katirah, I would hear you sing to me."

 

[haremfaery]

At first Katirah thought the Comte was going to try and fit her in the small tub with him. It made her smile a little. She made ready to bathe him, but he asked her to sing. First she fetched wine and poured it for both of them. She gave the Comte his goblet and set her on on a small table near a seat by the latticed window.

She took up her oud and tuned it turning even that into a little melody as she pondered what she should sing. She chose a folk song from Turkey. It had the stuttering beat of 8/9 which most Westerners had trouble with because it seemed to hiccup. It was normally sung at a faster tempo and people danced to it with turns and spins and stomps to mimic the frustration of the lover. She decided to sing it slower. That would help the Comte understand the words since he did not seem to like it when she tried to sing a translation.

She finished her tuning and began the song. She sang:

The River is overflowing, spreading like sand.
O river, take me with you to where my beloved stands.

O mercy, O time. When will our meeting be?

The field cannot be harvested young.
The dishwater cannot be drunk.
They say to me to surpass my pain
But time does not pass sweetly.

O mercy, O time. When will our meeting be?

Water flows like a reed and settles down like gold.
I am a slave to Love, the first fruit is as sweet as dried.

O mercy, O time. When will our meeting be?

The top of the water glides and passes
On the side of the stream, I make my evening prayer.
He is my passion, he is my master.
O river, take me with you to where my beloved stands.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel sipped his wine as Katirah sang. He could care less what she was singing about. In fact if it were some bawdy song about how she was going to kill him, his expression would have been the same as it was even though he could piece together the song somewhat.

It was the sound of her voice, the way she hit the high notes, massaged the low notes. It was like she was making love to him through his ears, in front of an audience. "Tell me Katirah, no, sing to me your favorite song."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah kept plucking the oud when the song was over. The Comte wanted to hear her favorite song. "That is very difficult...I like so many and it depends upon my mood. But I think tonight is for love songs." She felt her cheeks go a little hot. She set down her oud and picked up her Kemenche, strange sort of violin with a round body and long neck. She crossed her legs on the cishion of the large chair and set the spike at the bottom of the instrument between her legs. She set her bow to the strings and played a plaintive song full of trills and drones and other embellishments. She sang a song of lost love.

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnU7UYL8VjE I thought this was a lovely version of this song because I could only find Tarkan, the hot Turkish singer singing it.))

Again without you, the sun is setting
Again without you it is becoming night.
My grief is waiting for me
Again my night smells of sadness.

Everywhere, everywhere are signs of you
Everything tells me of oyu
All the songs reminds me of you.
How will the nights pass without you.

Where are you? Who are you with?
Return, my love, my heart aches for you.

You won't Return to me, I understand.
Without you, I am without love.
How do I live?
I wait with tears in my eyes.
Give me one hope.

Where are you? Who are you with?
Return, my love, my heart aches for you.

When she finished, she had tears in her eyes. So many of these songs had just been words before, but now, she was beginning to understand the emotions that made someone write those words. She looked at the Comte relaxing in his tub.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel listened to Katirah sing could feel her heart in it as she sang, and wondered if it were for him. Finishing the bath, he stood before Katirah as he dried off before slipping a night shirt on.

"Tell me, Katirah, last week when you were waiting for a new master, what did you envision?"

Marcel moved to a chair next to her, sipping his wine,his eyes locked on hers, searching them for the truths he needed to get from her.

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah watched the Comte stand and dry himself. Not for the first time she thought he was a very well put together man. Which led her thoughts to what he did to her with his hands, his lips, his body. How he could make her tremble with fear or arousal with a whisper.

Katirah kept bowing the Kemenche to keep her hands busy. She played a simple melody. She didn't stop when the Comte asked,

"Tell me, Katirah, last week when you were waiting for a new master, what did you envision?"

That was a very good question. What did she envision?

"I do not know..." She continuing playing. "I suppose what I wished for in a new master was one like the pasha...who appreciated my talents, who did not make too many demands of me for which I have not been trained." Unlike you, my Comte. She kept her eyes focused on the strings. "In a harem where the top wives did not hate me. Who afforded me a little freedom and time to pursue my studies into music and learning more tales."

She paused and played a little more. "What I prayed I would not get was a new master who was cruel. Or only bought me as one buys another jewel to be locked away and looked at occasionally. Or simply to say, 'Look at what I have.'" She shook her head and stopped playing. "I never thought I would be purchased by proxy for a man on the other side of the world. I never thought I would meet someone like you." She looked at him. "I do not think I understand men of the West. Or. At least, I do not understand you." There. She said it. "Sir." She added hastily.

 

[a_libertine]

There were at least two points there that Marcel wanted to pursue and choose the one that he figured would get the most emotive reaction from her. He watched her face very carefully as he asked, "Is it your desire that I no longer use you for the activities which you have not been trained? Should I find another to give my attention to?"

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah looked like a startled deer. How could she possibly answer this question? It was not a simple yes or no. "I..." Her cheeks flamed again. She would have to tread carefully so as not to rouse the Comte's anger. "No. But..." What would he do to her if she said she did not want him to touch her again? She took a breath. Her heart was pounding again. She looked straight ahead. "The Comte has taught me much. I... have never felt such things before. But the Comte has also hurt me. And made threats. And sometimes I am very much afraid." She hoped she had chosen the correct words. Even more, she hoped she had not made the Comte angry with her somewhat candid speech. She held the Kemenche close and rested her cheek against the inlaid neck.

What would happen if the Comte left her alone? She was for the Baron after all. She was afraid no good could come of this no matter what happened.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel smiled kindly at Katirah and took the instrument from her, laying it to the side. Taking her hands in his, Marcel massaged the back of her hands with his thumb, saying nothing until her eyes turned toward him.

"There are many things we will learn together," he began. "Not least of which is how to be together. We will, I am sure do each other much harm at one time or another. The Baron may do us even more, if I do not find a replacement to give him, which is unlikely."

He saw the pain light her eyes momentarily and whispered, "He also may leave you to me, if he sees great love between us."

The thought of the scandal that would cause gave Marcel a reason to smile ruefully. Turning his eyes back to her, he whispered, "We have today, tonight, tomorrow and the months that it takes us to get to France. I will want more from you than I have asked of anyone else."

He leaned forward placing his forehead against hers and whispered, "And in return will give you more than you ever imagined."

 

[haremfaery]

The Comte took her hands in his calloused large ones. Her hands were cool in his. She looked at their hands together and finally looked at him. His dark eyes were soft. How those eyes made her melt.

She listened to him and it was confirmed just how uncertain her life, their lives were to be. Wasn't that the way of being a slave? But this was different. Uncharted territory in so many ways.

"Then I shall wish that we never reach France. But the Djinn twist wishes for their own gains..." She looked at their hands again. "So I shall wish for nothing." As better befits a slave. Why wish for what cannot be?

The effendi Henri had said something similar to Katirah about the Comte asking much, but giving much in return. Was this what love was? Was this love she was feeling? Or had her beauty cursed both of them?

Their foreheads touched and that sweet gesture nearly brought her to tears. "I shall try very hard not to disappoint my Comte." Her heart fluttered in her chest again. Was it to bold for her to kiss him? Instead, she waited not knowing what to do. Her body suddenly ached for him to hold her. She raised his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

 

[a_libertine]

Bit by bit, little by little, Marcel knew that he was getting through to Katirah, her haughty nature when she arrived a mere shadow of what it was before. This vulnerable creature kissing his knuckles in love and appreciation was a perfect one. How could any person ask for more than what she was giving him right there, at that very moment.

Not much, he thought.

Marcel twisted his head slightly, kissing the single tear that had formed in her eye and whispered, "You are mine, Katirah. Forever, will I have a place in your heart, and you in mine."

 

[haremfaery]

Katirah's heart pounded again. She slid off her chair to the floor facing the Comte so she could kiss him properly and not at the awkward angle as they sat side by side. She knelt up on her knees and twined her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Love...Forever...She didn't understand those words. She understood now and she understood that the Comte made her feel more alive than she ever had.

Her kiss changed from tender to fierce as she assaulted his mouth with her tongue. If they had a limited time together, she would take advantage of it. Especially since, right now, this was the Comte who had won her heart. The strong but gentle Comte. Not the imposing man with the quick temper and frightening threats.

 

[a_libertine]

It was way too soon for Marcel to bed her again, but then in the times they have spent together, they haven't really seduced each other. It was more bombastic, more animalistic at times. Now soft, gentle, loving Katirah knelt before him and offered her lips to him, driving her tongue into his mouth, giving herself to him desperately.

Marcel Stood and lift her easily, cradling her in his arms as he stepped toward the bed and laid her upon it. Kneeling above her, his eyes roamed over her body, awe and appreciation in them.

"It is never my intention to hurt you, Katirah, but I will cause you pain sometimes, but I hope that pain will give you a greater pleasure than you have ever known."

 

[haremfaery]

((Just a reminder, Katirah has a chemise on and an open robe over top and her hair is wrapped up in a scarf.))

"My Comte has already proven that. I have never known such feelings." She whispered. But his mention of pain had made her apprehensive again.

Samara entered the outer room with the hot food the Comte had wanted. She set up the food on the table making some noise. Perhaps the two were asleep in the bed chamber. She did not want to look into the room to find out.

Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke up. "The Comte's dinner is here. Please let me know when you wish it taken away."

Samara suspected she would be sleeping with the scullery maids again tonight.

 

[a_libertine]

((Like that hides anything))

He had heard Samara rattling stuff around to get their attentions and for a split second thought about having her flogged for interrupting. Sighing, Marcel said, "You clean up and get that scarf off your head, your hair is far too beautiful to hide."

With one move long look along her body he stepped to the side and off the bed. Grabbing the tray of food he brought it back to the bed and sat, watching as Katirah began getting off the bed.

 

[haremfaery]

((Heehee, looks like we both have nothing to do tonight. I'm drinking mead and eating apples and Irish cheese.))

Samara bowed to the Comte and scurried out.

--

"But..." Katirah trailed off. She had already cleaned herself up. She supposed she could wash her hair with the bath water. She would not make Samara bring more hot water upstairs. She would have a proper bath in the morning. Oh, how she missed the baths in the harem.

She took off her robe and chose a shampoo. She knelt by the side of the tub and unwrapped her headscarf. She dunked her hair in the water and proceeded to wash it. She used her fingers to massage her scalp then rinsed her hair again and again to get the soap out.

She took a towel laying by the side of the tub and dried her hair. When she was done it was no longer dripping wet, but still very damp.

"I will get the wine." She walked with purposely swaying hips into the outer room to fetch the wine and goblets. She poured for both of the when she got back to the room.

"My Comte? Do the women in France have hair the color of mine? It is not common among those in the East." She tried making conversation. Was she overstepping herself again? She should have kept silent until spoken to? They were in private. The pasha had always allowed her to speak somewhat more freely when they were alone.

 

[a_libertine]

He watched as she washed her hair. His eyes recording each tiny movement. She had an undeniable grace that seemed even more enhanced with her lessenee haughtiness.

"No," he replied slowly, "Generally they are more fair than you. Not as red, not as dark, skin is fairer than yours just slightly."

Marcel drained his goblet of wine and waited until Katirah returned with more wine.

When she returned and filled his goblet again and sat on the floor at his feet. His heart swelled at the sight of her, even moreso when she acted with such deference toward him.

Taking the brush from her he started brushing her hair, starting at the ends and working his way slowly, patiently to the roots. "Tell me, Katirah, have I caused you physical pain loving you?"

 

[haremfaery]

"So, I will not look so different from other women in France. The women of the East are very dark. The Pasha called me the flame in the night of his harem."

Katirah refilled the Comte's goblet and sat on a cushion at his feet. She was sure if he wanted something from her, he would tell her.

She was surprised when he took her brush and began running it through her hair. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensual feel of it.

"Tell me, Katirah, have I caused you physical pain loving you?"

Katirah plucked at the fabric of her chemise. "Yes." She said quietly with a little nod. Her heart started pounding again as she thought of the table and what he had done to her. She tried to think about the other times he had taken her, but in terms of pain (and humiliation), all she could think of was the table and the jade pillar.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel kept brushing her hair slowly. He thought he might know when and how, but wanted her to say it. "When I hurt you, did I give you pleasure greater than the pain?"

 

[haremfaery]

"Yes. But..." This conversation made Katirah uncomfortable. Something told her she must answer truthfully, but she was afraid that no matter what she said she would anger the Comte.

She knew some men enjoyed giving pain, but she had no experience with that. The Pasha would never allow it. She was far too valuable. Some men enjoyed restraining their partners and some of those partners enjoyed it. She had books with pictures, but she had never experienced any of this.

Her face felt hot again. She reached for her wine and took a large sip.

 

[a_libertine]

Marcel continued brushing her hair, now in an easy rhythm from root to end, her hair spend across his lap like a auburn clam shell.

"But no man has taken or given so much? Or in such a way?"

 

[haremfaery]

"No. Never." Katirah said. Having her hair brushed this was was relaxing. Almost hypnotizing. "I was for the Pasha's entertainment. He rarely took me to his bed. Sometimes he would give me to an old and trusted friend, or to a son who had come of age. My experience in these ways is very small."

 

[a_libertine]

The brush continued its sedate movement throu her locks while Marcel chuckled. "So the Pasha gave you to old men, too tired in life, and you men too inexperienced in life, to make you scream in pleasure?"

Marcel wrapped his legs around Katirah's torso ask he asked, "Have I done anything hurt that you do not want me to do again?"

 

[haremfaery]

"Yes." Katirah agreed. "Even the Pasha himself--women are for his pleasure alone." While she sometimes pleasured herself or couched with one of the other women of the harem, she had never known such pleasure as she had with the Comte. He shattered her with ecstasy, put the pieces back only to shatter her again.

She smiled a little when he wrapped his legs around her. It was like a hug--something a lover would do. She rested her arms on top of his legs.

[/i]"Have I done anything hurt that you do not want me to do again?"[/i]

Now what should she answer? The Comte was being so kind. She didn't want to disappoint him, or make him angry. She still did not know him very well. If she told him what she didn't want him to do, what hurt her; would he use that against her? She had seen him go from gentle to angry.

"I..." She took a breath. She would be honest. If nothing else it would let her know who to handle future questions of this sort. "The jade pillar...No one had ever touched me thus." She squirmed a little where she sat thinking about it again. "It burned. It hurt. It was too big." Those were all the things she had whimpered to him at the time and he had ignored her pleas.