The Harem...... All Welcome!!!

Please if you have not added your stats to the OOC thread please do so before joining us. All are welcome if you find that you are not able to continue with your char in the thread. Please contact me so that we may write your part out, leaving it open for you to re-enter at a later date if you so wish to.

ALL ARE WELCOME TO JOIN... WE WILL ALWAYS NEED NEW PLAYERS FOR THIS THREAD... PLEASE COME IN AND ENJOY YOUR STAY WITH US!!!

Sorry forgot to mention the time frame is 1800's.... Thank you to those who have changed their posts do to my mess up... *smiles*

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The great hall had been polished earlier to a fantastic sight. Gold gleamed in the leaf pattern on the floor along with the gem inlaid flowers. The throne had been brushed so the velvet gleamed with shine. All were in a rush, this morning was to be a great fuss. The slavers were do in and the Sultan would set forth those he thought should be kept as treats for those who had pleased him. Extra guards were placed about the palace awaiting the first of their distinguished guests to arrive.

“Awaken My Lord the dawn is breaking, and you have a full schedule.” The voice was soft and insistent a woman’s voice though older then the girls laying upon the bed. One full of assurance with her position in the Harem. Gingerly withdrawing the girls from the man in the middle pulling their entwined bodies from the Sultan. Ignoring their complaints as she sends them back to the Harem for the day.

“My Lord your baths have been prepared, there are already several guests awaiting your appearance. I have set your breakfast upon the table for you when you are done. Please My Lord the day can not begin until you are there to start it.” The woman walks quietly over to the wardrobe pulling forth a silken robe. Moving back to the bed holding the garment for the Sultan to step into. Tying the garment at the waist she follows him to the baths, caring for his every need.

The bath attendants carefully begin by scrapping the skin clean of the sweat and dirt from the previous nights activity. Then rising his body thoroughly with clean warm water, before helping him to rest within the warmth of the next pool of water. Giving him but only a few short minutes of peace before moving him to the masseuse so that they may rub his fine body with oils of scented beauty. The woman then moved away long enough to bring the Sultan his garments for the noon hour. Long and flowing a snow white garment of silk. Belted at the waist softly with a tie of gold, there were no shoes nor slippers.

Finally prepared the man moved quietly through his rooms, into the main room of the Palace the one where his guests would come to pay their respects and give him his gifts. The treasures of such rare proportions that only a king or royalty had ever seen. But this was his dues, his right to receive from those who came to his kingdom. Several women of exquisite beauty all from all parts of the world sit quietly awaiting their Lord as he takes his place upon the throne. Giving a slight nod of his head the doors are opened and the crowd of people outside are given their first sight of the glorious Sultan and his Harem.

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OOC::: We are awaiting the final decision on the Sultan... He should be with us shortly... *smiles* Bare with me all I am trying honest.. I realize that it is a short beginning but as I would like the Sultan and our guests to see what they believe would fit our Sultan I have left more for others to add... *smiles*

Crown Prince Akbar Khalim

Name: Akbar Khalim
Hair: Black
Eyes: Black
Height: 6'2"
Weight 200lbs
Age: 28

Crown Prince Akbar is the sultans younger brother. A rich powerful man in his own right. He enjoys the finer things of life women riches and power not someone to be trifled with not as cruel as the sultan his older brother but still not a man to be crossed

As Crown Prince Akbar enters the Great Hall and takes his place at the right hand of the Sultans throne he surveys the crowds that are assembled the dignitaries from far lands the traders who have business with the sultan and of course the dancing girls. Smiling he takes his seat at the Sultans right hand and awaits the start of the festivites

removed

Yussef the trader entered the Sultan's grand all. Every time he entered the hall he marvelled at the Sultan's oppulance. He had so much gold... so many gems... Oh yes, and so very many women. Every time he visited, the Sultan seemed to have aquired another one

Of course, Yussef knew where he was getting all those women from. Slavers. He himself traded not only in gems, coins and goods, but also in flesh. Supple female flesh. In fact, that was why he was here. His caravan, parked outside, had some special merchandise that Yussef knew the Sultan would pay handsomly to sample...

OOC
Name: Radu the Wolfbrother
Age: 29
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 140 lbs
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

Description: Radu is a very peculiar figure. He is a strong, quiet man from the mountains, where superstition reigns and the night is not to be trusted. Very few outside of the Sultan's inner circle are aware of his true purpose at the palace. The fact is that he is an incredibly skilled hunter and assassin. He moves about the palace as well as the kingdom freely, ferreting out traitors and other threats to the Sultan's power.

In exchange for his services, Radu is rewarded with monetary pay, room and board at the palace, and access to the harem.

IC

Radu stood among the assembled guests, a truly bizarre sight to behold among the silk-clad Arabian nobles with their copper skin and jewelry. He was a sturdy European man with wavy dark hair that hung past his shoulders and a goatee. His sharp nose looked like it could chop wood and his brows furrowed and canted like that of a dog's. His dark, piercing eyes were analytical and calculating. His movements were slow and graceful. Everything about him spoke of a deadly strength, speed, and intelligence. The man was a natural-born predator. One of the Sultan's favorite assassins.

Unseen by anyone in the crowd, he produced a small wooden tube from his sleeve. He removed the tiny cork and poured the pale powder within into the goblet of one nobleman as he passed by while the man was distracted. The tube vanished back into Radu's sleeve as he continued walking about the hall as if nothing had happened. That man had been embezzling money from several merchants whom the palace often patronized. The poison in his goblet would kill him in his sleep this evening and neither he nor anyone outside of the Sultan's inner circle would be any the wiser.

That was how Radu lived. He kept his work regulated to the shadows. The greatest assassin is one who can work in plain sight. His success and cutthroat efficiency had earned him the title Wolfbrother, a pitiless killer who was everywhere and seemed to be one with the shadows, just like the wolf packs from the Carpathian Mountains he was born and raised in.

His piercing gaze swept the room once more, going through volumes of mental notes on everyone his eyes landed on. He went to a servant and took a goblet of fine wine for himself. Being able to partake in the bounties of the palace was only part of the benefits of his work.

Idrial O’Brian was 18yrs of age, with long blonde hair pulled back in a tight braid, and amber colored eyes much like liquid gold. She stood 5ft 4in and weighed 120lbs; she was slender of frame with a slight hour glass figure and breast's that were slightly more than a hand full.

She was dressed in a black pair of boots, a white pesent blouse with a long dark blue skirt that hugged her hips but flowed freely around her legs giving her room to walk or run if need be, Idrial stayed with her father to help work the land, and even tho it was summer it was a little chilly down by the shore so she had grabed a light waight woolen cloak to wear over her clothing.

She had left the house after an argument with her father, and run towards the ocean shore line to try and calm down, and give her temper time to cool as she watched the wave's, before heading home. How could her father demand she marry a man she had never met, or wanted to meet?

Idrial new she shouldn’t have let her temper get the better of her and stormed from the house especially with reports of people coming up missing, but at the time her anger had clouded her judgment.

Now walking home she was suddenly surrounded and taken captive. When she awoke she didn’t know where she was her hands were bound with irons and from the sounds she heard above and the rocking motion she guessed she was on some sort of ship heading some where.

Idrial could hear crying around her and new that she was not alone in her captivity that there were others with her as well and suddenly regretted her argument with her father, but it was too late for second thoughts now.

OOC:

Miranda (no last name needed-she's just a slave)
28 years old
6'0"
long red curly hair that when let down will rest mid thigh.
She is slim, and long legged. Her breasts are firm, and just barely overflowing a man with large hands. A narrow waist and curvy hips, add appeal to her lovely ass.

An experienced slave that has learned many tricks to bring pleasure to her lover. She is often given out to those that are favored by the Sultan. She has been a slave for many years, and has no desire to leave her status as one of the favored female slaves. Her skin is soft, and kept free of all unwanted hair. Her body is limber, and she knows the seductive dance of the seven veils.

She has been one to slip additives to her lover's meals, if her Sultan requires it, as well as distract them if the Sultan wishes to end their lives. Her willingness to serve her Sultan is her only desire, and she is sought after by many. The Sultan can trust her, for she seeks no other desire but to be at his feet, and give him what he wishes.

A jealous bone runs deep and she will do what is necessary to remain on top.. ... pun intended...

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IC:

Miranda's body had been treated to a scented bath of lavender before she had been shaved, and oiled. The soft scent radiated from her being, as did the rich perfume that was placed at each pressure point behind her knees. Her body hummed from the anticipation of the days activities.

Last night had been very pleasureable, for her, many nights were. She enjoyed the nights with the Sultan the most, his body was one she took great delight in. Rarely were the men she was given to able to bring her to the greatest rise of desire and passion, but her Sultan often did. Her body felt as if it were the most precious thing beneath him, even when he only watched her perform for his eyes.

Her long red hair was pulled from her face, and left to hang in curls down her back, where it glided across the backs of her thighs. Miranda had just this morning been allowed to have the mass of tumbling curls trimmed slightly, only 1/8th inch was allowed to be taken from the ends. Any more would have met several lashes to the slave that had taken shears to her head. Little did one realize that if the slave had taken more, Miranda herself would have killed the spoiler of her beauty, and she would have relished it.

With the gleam of hungry lust, and the willingness to serve her Master once more, she waited proudly, as her Sultan stood infront of her and his women. Her eyes roamed the crowd and rested on Radu for a moment, a spark of need assualted her, and a smile rose from her lips. Many others were here that she knew, the Sultan's brother rested upon his throan next to the Sultan's place, and the steamy nights she had shared with him, soon brought a dampness to her freshly shavened mound. Her eyes went back to the fine figure of her Leader and she waited to hear him speak.

Symra

OOC:
Character Profile:

Name: Symra
Age: 27
Hair: Flaming red, wavy
Eyes: green
Figure: Tall and willowy; a dancer's body
Complexion: Very fair
One of the sultan's favored concubines

Brief bio: Symra became a slave when she was 18. At the time of her capture she was nothing more than two big eyes, tousled hair, and baggy knees; no one predicted she would grow into such a beauty. But even then, there was something captivating about her. She was a stowaway on a merchant trading ship from the north, hence her Nordic appearance. From the first, she displayed a passionate and tender nature--she is one who enjoys both the art of giving and receiving pleasure.

A skilled dancer, she is often employed to entertain the sultan's guests and dignitaries, tailoring her manners and performance to the individual needs of those she serves. Her penchant for picking up languages has almost made her something of an ambassador, although she uses this ability with discretion.

She has a warm temperament and there is always a twinkle in her eyes. She has a merry, open nature and is usually smiling. The sultan trusts her but sometimes wonders if she would betray him or flee from his service if she were to fall in love. Because of this, she is carefully watched.

Her name is pronounced "SIM-ruh."

IC:

Symra applied a touch of oil behind each earlobe. Her perfume of choice was
sandalwood and musk, a sweet but earthy scent and never overpowering. She rarely called upon attendants to help her bathe and dress. She enjoyed these few solitary moments for quiet and meditation before the demands of the day set in. She did have a young girl, Maya, come in to help her with her hair. Her vivid red hair fell loosely over her shoulders with a few strands from each side pulled back with tiny gold clips shaped like butterflies.

She wore a turquoise colored costume inlaid with tiny pearls. She was swathed in flimsy veils and silks, her flat tummy and slender arms were visible only when she moved a certain way. Her feet were bare except for a gold anklet with carefully carved seashells, a piece of jewlery which she always wore. It jingled ever so softly with each step.

Symra saw many eager faces in the great hall--some familiar, like the English nobleman. Yes, she recognized him and flashed him a playful smile beneath her veil, the dimple on her left cheek showing.

Miranda was there, looking poised and beautiful as ever. "Lovely," Symra mouthed to her.

But there were many faces there that she did not know. Soon the room would be filled with those eager for the sultan's attention. Symra generally liked and welcomed the newcomers, although there might be a tinge of envy toward any whom the sultan particularly favored. She was wise enough to know that her postion was a precarious one.

It had been a while since she had shared the Sultan's bed. Symra was often called upon to serve some of the shyer men whom the sultan wanted to see be entertained. She was good at coaxing their desires and secret fantasies and at putting them at ease. She herself enjoyed the Sultan's masterful command of her body.

Today would be an exciting day and Symra's head swam with a sensual tapestry of varied and intoxicating fantasies. She sighed with anticipation, her lips softly parting. Mmmm. It should be a pleasant night to come.

Kitriana

Curvy, yet very attractive. Dark hair and eyes.

A young, bronze skinned harem girl, newly boughten by the sultan only a day before. She had been dressed in rich purple cloth and had golden trinkets around her neck, wrists, and ankles. She had not yet been called in for service from the sultan or any other man and was awaiting for her first experience.

IC: Kitriana sat on the floor with the rest of the harem girls, nervous and afraid. She didn't really know what to do or what was going on. She looked around at all of the experienced women around her. They had been doing this for months, if not years. She felt so unattractive compared to their beauty and wondered why she was boughten. She merely did as she was told and kept her eyes down. But she couldn't help but notice the sultan's younger brother. She began fantasies in her head, but tried to shake them away.

Zaynab

OOC::
Name: Zaynab (Pleasure Slave)

Age: 19
Height: 5'7
Weight: 137lbs
Hair: Pale white Blonde, past her hips worn mainly in long war braid.
Eyes: Pale Blue, the color of a winters snow storm.
Body: Luscious curves, well rounded hips and rear, slim waist, long toned legs, more then average bust size.

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At the young age of 16 Zaynab knew she was to go to a nunnery being the twin of a heiress but the youngest of the two her father had no use for her other then to keep her incase her twin sister past away. At the age of 19 Zaynab had lived with the nuns learning all that she could from them and now she was to go and give her vows at the resigning church.

Along the way to the church from the abbey the caravan was over taken. Several of the older nuns left for dead only those of fair skin, nice features, beautiful body were kept. This included Zaynab, the slaver who had taken her knew her to be of special stock. With her long flowing white blonde hair and striking blue eyes, he kept her safe from all harm including his own men. Placing her on the first ship to the far Eastern Region, towards the Sultan he knew would appreciate such as one of her beauty.

Being placed on a boat Zaynab faught with the men, striking out to hit as often as she could. The smell of the galley was enough to let her know she was not alone and soon she found herself chained with several others. Her own tears joining theres as they were shipped off to start their own new lives.

Madeline groaned slightly as the caravan came to a halt. Every inch of her body was sore. Her neck chafed under a heavy iron collar, her arms were stiff and knotted from her wrists being manacled behind her back for days. Her hip was still bruised from the fall from her horse, what seemed years ago.

A frightful amount of sweat was still crusted on her. They had swaddled her in a massive black haik that had covered every inch of her fair skin, to protect it from the sun. She had been grateful to be covered, but the heat of the heavy fabric and the march under the desert sun had left her scorched and listless.

Madeline paused, breathing raggedly as she tried to settle herself. She looked around. The caravan had halted in front of a massive, opulent palace of marble and tile. It had fountains. That sight alone nearly made Madeline weep after days of marching.

Some of the girls were weeping, she realized. There was a large group of women, some coffled in the caravan with her, others from a different group. All different races and colors, but all very pretty if very haggard.

"What sort of place is this?" Madeline muttered to herself as she swayed on her feet, feeling faint.

Buthayna Khalim

Name: Buthayna Khalim
Age: 19
Height: 5'6
Weight: 126 lbs
Eyes: Light Blue
Hair: Dark black
Build: Slender
Occupation: None.

Buthayna is the Sultan's daughter. She has been listful and unsatisfied with her life but has been allowed to use her father's Harem freely. She is quite interested and intrigued by the chance to meet her father's women. Though her father hopes it will give her the drive and energy to finally take a suitor.

She is absolutely lovely, a vision of royalty. She holds herself with dignity and grace, and with a body that a man would kill to touch, she is the ideal of the princess. No wonder she has so many suitors vying for her. Few men or women, in fact, could deny that her name rings true. Buthayna: Of beautiful and tender body.

IC:

Buthayna quietly entered the main room and took her father's, the Sultan's, hand, gently kissed it, "Good morning, my father, I hope the day finds you well," Her light eyes traveled over her Father's women, that pink tongue running over her lips. She sat beside her father after a moment, intertwining her fingers with his while she watched the goings-on.

Her father had recently given her access to his harem and though she had yet to savor the tastes of his beautiful women. Her eyes wandered to Miranda, her father's most beloved, and she found the core of herself growing warm with excitement and arousal. Buthayna shivered, calming herself and looking up at her father.

Her eyes then found the men, oh, the lovely men. Radu and the Englishman made her wet. But she felt her father's gaze upon her and she looked away. Father would kill either of them if they even dared touch her, he would choose who was worthy of his daughter's bed and no foreigner would ever be worthy of such an extravagant and perfect gift.

Buthayna continued to be her peaceful, elegant, and royal safe. Even as she felt all these things, she kept such a perfected face of regal calm. She had perfected this trait with time and practice, something her father was very proud of. A woman of her dignity and grace should never let on to her feelings. She slipped out of her thoughts and smiled to her father, "I think I shall visit the Harem later on this day, if you would let me, dear Father?"

He nodded, and Buthayna let a small smile creep onto her lips.

Yasmeen kept her thoughts on the man Radu. He interested her. She looked up occasionally to watch his movements among the guests, careful that he not notice her eyes upon him. He was very self assured in his business, moving easily among the guests. She looked about the room to the others, no-one noticed him, nor had they any reason to suspect the man's dark misssion. The guests were too busy enjoying themselves, ogling the dancing girls as they swirled about the room in their finery and the other beauties who paraded themselves in front of the men, seeking their favours.
Yasmeen, the compliant one, sat demurely and unobtrusively with another slave girl on the divan. She would whisper to the other to keep still, so that she might peek over the other girls shoulder now and again, but the other girl was so restless in her heat. It was from this position that Yasmeen continued to keep watch over the menacing form as it slipped in and out of the shadows.
There was nothing and no-one else that interested her this night, so absorbed was she in her vigil. Occasionally she would adjust her veil to cover her nose, pretending to be shy or unworthy, praying that no man would seek her out as his partner for the evening. It was at that moment that she caught Radu in his murderous act, watched as the contents of the vial he so carefully kept hidden in his sleeve, found it's way into the nobleman's goblet. Pity the poor bastard who was the recipient of the Sultans wrath, for his death would be a slow agonizing one.

Idrial watched as another woman was brought down into the galley, and chained along side her. She held her tongue not wanting to draw to much attention to herself, but refused to lower her eyes. When she didn’t do so one of the slaver's raised his hand to strike her for her disobedience and was stopped by his leader.

Hold... ye will not touch ether of these two... They will fetch a fine price with their coloring... They will be saved for the sultan and will learn their place soon enough. Once I’ve turned them over to their trainer. Releasing his man's arm he looked the two of them over apparently liking what he saw and seeming to have made some decision or another.

Aye that will do two for the price of one I believe. One a servant and the other the lady. Walking over he looked both women over a little closer and grinned. Ye will be the servant ye need lesson's in obedience I am thinking Looking over at the other girl he said And ye pretty will be our lady... trained in pleasure. With a laugh he made his way up the stairs with his men behind him. The one who had raised his fist sending a glair in her direction as he followed his leader.

Looking at the girl next to her, her golden eyes meeting those of a wintry sky blue she was amazed, and smiled having never met another person with as strange an eye coloring as her own, and said. my name is Idrial... What is yours?

The Sultan

Jalal bin Khalim, (the Great One), was sleeping soundly midst the soft supple bodies of female flesh. They were his pillows and his warmth and his pleasure during his nightly slumber in the desert palace.

He woke instantly at the soft cooing voice that whispered to him to awaken. Opening his eyes, they set on the beauty that waited to assist him, to help prepare him for the new day and grand ceremony that was scheduled. Today was important, for many reasons; a holiday in the family-name's honor, arriving special guests and clandestine deeds that will culminate in the removal of certain thorns in his side.

He let the slavegirl lead him to his daily baths and she expertly and efficiently tended to her duties. Dried and dressed in the rarest of silken fineries, he was a man that was in need or want of nothing. The world was his oyster and the multitude of slaves in his possession were his pearls. As full as his treasury was it is the human commodity of slaves and concubines that truly made him rich. Male and female, they all were the most superb specimens in the world and he prided himself for his taste in flesh. Men and women of high status and importance came to his palace to nibble on the fruit he hand picked. This brought him strong commercial, political and military alliances but also bitter enemies that dreamed of and plotted for his, his family's demise and the ruin of their name.

He ate the fruit of dates, grapes, figs and pomegranates, dried meat and cheeses that were his typical morning fare, washed down with strong black bitter coffee as he quietly spoke to the most deadly viper in all of the Empire, Radu. The man was a pure weapon and as silent as a shadow, though to look at him one would never suspect death was his trade. Not only did he do the Sultan's dirty work, he took as much pride in his craft as the Sultan did his slaves. Enemies feared the name of Wolfbrother and his mark had been left countless times, proving time and time again his skill at the deadly art. Very few people had as much freedom in the Sultan's kingdom and Radu was one of them. After he had declared the next task for the assassin, the man bowed and left,

The Sultan was not alone for very long when his brother, the prince, Akbar Khalim stopped in briefly to discuss the planned events and guests for the next four days and nights of holiday. They were tight. Maybe even tighter than blood. Together they had risen from an impoverished nomadic tribe to become leaders of the gathered horsemen liberators in union with Fath Ali's army, freeing the people that suffered under the murderous tyrannical rule of the now disposed Shah. Together they had both placed the decapitated head of the usurped leader on the pike amid cheers of jubilation and celebration. Now the Khalim family answered to only one, the true proper ruler of the empire, Fath Ali Shah. It could have easily been Akbar on the throne in their palace today, only age brought it to be Jalal instead. As much as he loved his people, place and his possessions, it paled in his love of his younger sibling. The Sultan was strict, demanding, uncompromising and sometimes severe while his brother was almost the exact opposite and together they complimented and balanced each other perfectly. With all the advisors in his staff it was Akbar that he trusted the most when needed.

Almost too soon his beautiful servant was ushering him to the Great Hall to take his place on the throne where a multitude of guests were patiently waiting. He saw his daughter enter the main room and she tenderly took his hand and placed her soft fragile lips to it.

"Good morning, my father, I hope the day finds you well." She was the pride of his kingdom, his little desert flower. It seemed she was growing more into a woman every time he set his eyes on her and he knew the task of keeping those who came to court her at bay will be difficult if not impossible.

"It certainly does my little dove and now you are with me the sun has risen to shine on me", as he gave her small hand a loving squeeze. Together they peeked out to view the crowd. Guests lined the hall as faces of familiar friends and traders mixed with new unfamiliar ones. And the women, oh yes the women. As extravagant as the Great Halls was and how lavishly decorated it was, the women were the crowning touch, the oasis the guests had come to slate their thirst, if even just by casting their eyes on them.

"Our guests have come from afar, let us not keep them waiting any longer."

Together with his daughter he broke through the curtain to take his place and all guests bowed and his girls fell to their knees placing their forehead to the tiled floor.

His Grand Vizier shouted the announcement, " The Master of the House of Khalim, The Sultan Jalal bin Khalim!"

His daughter took her seat just behind and off the left of her father as the Sultan addressed the throng.

"Welcome! Welcome to the House of Khalim! You honor the name of my family with your presence! What is mine is your's as is tradition to guests!"

Seating himself the Grand Vizier took over again and began to announce the names of the guests while they filed up and greeted the Sultan and presented their gifts.

Miranda had been patiently waiting behind him, studying him, and when he had been ready to make his presence known she had slipped in with the others, and slid obediantely to the floor, where she had studied the others.

Her body was humming in response to his aura. He radiated power, and prestige, more then any man in the room would ever hope to possess. She had felt that power many times as a young girl, and even more as a young woman. Now as his favored woman, she was in awe of his phyiscal and mental stamina. He dealt with his foes swiftly, and his friends and lovers were handled with care and respect.

The richness of his clothing and the scent of his oiled skin, and natural essence intoxicated her, and she felt her sex become more heated with the moistness that he enjoyed dining upon. She stayed on the floor after he announced for the guest to be led in. Her feet remained under her, back straight, and her head lifted, but not high enough to show disrespect, only high enough to show her status as his favored female.

The others knew this, and they knew that to remove her from her lofty place would take cunning, and talent. There was one in the group, perhaps two that she knew would be her greatest trouble, and her fingers itched to deal with them now, but she knew the punishment, and she would allow the Sultan to handle them if they acted unwisely toward her.

Her face showed no signs of her thoughts as she watched her Master, being sure to be ready when he signaled for her. She also kept one ear to the guests arrival, wanting to see who would be attending, and who she would have to serve if she were not with her Master this evening. Thoughts of her Master, and the possiblilty of taking others with him this evening, or having him watch her for his pleasure thrilled Miranda and she longed for the long introductions to finish themselves.

Zaynab

“I shall be nothing of the sort,” muttering softly under her breath to the mans back. Zaynab turns to look upon the woman who has the same fire as herself. Smiling softly at the woman saying, “I am.... I am no one now, please just call me Zaynab, it is a nick name my mother gave to me before she died. It means ‘The Beautiful One’ though I do not believe myself as such it is all that I have left to me.” Thinking of her home, her sister and the father that she had left behind. Was she scared yes, but did it bother her not to see them again? No..

Several days past and then a month and still they were on the boat, during the duration the men would make regular trips below to mess with the girls. During the night the screams could be heard ringing keeping all those around awake. Though they tried their hardest to block out the sounds, each praying that they would not be the next. Then there would be mornings where a girl would come up missing from the night before. Even though the girls knew they would no longer see the girl, they were thankful that it had not been them.

During one such evening one of the men made an appearance to the girls smelling of drink. His eyes bloodshot his smile cruel his breath stinking of to much foul food and ale. When Zaynab woke to find his hands upon her person she set to screaming as the others had done. This was the first time she had ever known that she wished to be home safe within the nunnery. The mans hands were nothing close to gentle as he began stripping her clothing from her. Slapping her to keep her from screaming, just as she thought he was going to succeed at raping her.

“What are you doing? She is not to be touched I have told you all that her and the woman with her shall not carry your stench on them. They will be as pure as the day they were born when I take them to the Sultan.” The Slaver who had taken her was suddenly there, removing the man’s body from on top of her. Covering her body as best that she could Zaynab felt shame. Was this what it was to be like with each man who came to her, trying to destroy her virtues?

From then on the girls were handled with care no more came up missing, none were accosted during the night. The screams and cries no more to be heard coming in the dark from an unwilling girl. Their measly meals were brought to them by the cook himself under guard. The Slaver must have decided that he wanted the gold they could bring instead of appeasing his men.

Three long months down in that dark grimy galley, and then the girls were taken into the sun for the first time. The light blinding them tearing their eyes, which made them blink rapidly several times. About them the men moved not even casting eyes their way, for the first time in three months their feet were to touch the solid soil once more. Half way to the Sultan they had made their stop. Both to learn their perspective jobs, to be taught what they would need to know to survive within the Harem of the Sultan.

Zaynab’s days consisted of dressing in finery such that she would normally never have seen in her lifetime. Jewels of such brilliance to match her beautiful expressive blue eyes, her hair tended and cared for making it shine to a fine sheen of glorious health. She learned how to sit, answer, eat, sleep, walk, talk, act like a Lady. But not without her trails at stubbornness, she was unwilling to give in until the very end. When she decided that her life would be better if the Sultan liked what he seen. Hers and Adrial, for if the Sultan accepted her then her Lady servant would surely be safe. Together the girls were inseparable staying close to each other and learning.

Soon Zaynab was taught the pleasure toys that Sultans would be pleased with. How to use them upon herself for pleasure, hers as well as the Sultan’s. She was taught about love cloths, pleasure beads, how to place decorations upon her body small jewels that would hang from her large rose nipples, as well as her womanly clit to move against her softly when she walked. She was also taught that pain could itself be considered pleasure this she learned by her ass being hit several times until she cried out in pleasure as well as pain. The trainers soothing hands caressing her body with gentle touches bringing her to a swelling need of arousal before stopping the lesson. Never giving her the release she came to so desire, with the promise that soon she would be given to her Sultan and with that she would be allowed her release.

Six months has past, both girls knowing all they could be taught have now been brought to their soon to be Lord and Master, The Great Sultan Jalal bin Khalim. Both girls were dressed in the finest that gold could buy, Adrial had indeed learned well for she dressed Zaynab this day. Her presentation garments were chosen to entice. Zaynab wore a skirt fashioned from strands of tiny seed pearls attached to a wide gold and bejeweled band that rested just below her hipbones, leaving her navel open to view. Her tight short sleeved blouse was made of cloth-of-gold. It had a round neck with a charming keyhole bordered with pearls, cut to just below her breasts. She was barefoot, but a diaphanous veil of the softest blue made of blush silk covered her head, and another obscured her features.

Being placed in a litter she was instructed not to move until she was called forth, not even to open the curtains to look upon the Palace. Sitting quietly Zaynab took the time to calm her jangled nerves. What if this Sultan did not accept her and Adrial, separating them taking her only friend from her. She was unsure she would live through it, she couldn’t stand being separated from the only friend and family she now had.

Symra watched the Sultan through her veil. Their many intimacies flashed through her mind and her ivory cheeks flushed a soft rose at the memories. It was pride in her grand Master, rather than embarrassment. She took pride in her position at his feet. The first two years of her arrival had been unhappy and lonely; not deemed beautiful enough to serve as a pleasure slave, even for the court, she worked in the harem as a seamstress. But in her 20th year, Symra had blossomed. "Crimson butterfly," he had called her, and despite many objections from advisors, the sultan had taken her to his bed. She rose quicly in the ranks of the harem women and seemed to grow lovelier each passing year. The sultan protected his own. A visiting, very wealthy merchant had once lost a finger for daring to touch her without permission.

Symra turned her emerald green eyes to the sultan's daughter. How beautiful Buthayna had grown! Buthayna caught Symra's gaze and Symra bowed her head respectfully, as she smiled softly at her.

Soon the new slaves would be presented and the sultan would decide which ones to keep. The festivities would soon begin.

Aristotle, the Diplomat from Britain

Aristotle was glad he procured this position. Dancing girls... slaves... Europe's wealthier citizens demanded spices to make more palatable their rotting meat, his flesh demanded it be satisfied with touch of beautiful maidens. The sultan, indeed, had gold and jewels aplenty. But a sapphire cannot protect you from a knife, and he had more than just knives to trade to the sultan. He sat down with the other guest, eyeing the delights spread on the table, and the women and slaves gathering in front of them. He sized up, as best as he could, which were the sultan's favorites, and which were simply for pleasure. A sultan's favorite, he could use to bend the sultan's ear. One simply for pleasure... well, they were for pleasure, weren't they? He smiled and made contact with a particularly beautiful woman...


Scribe.

Miranda's thoughts on Smyra, Radu, and herself

Luna-fey said:

Symra saw many eager faces in the great hall--some familiar, like the English nobleman. Yes, she recognized him and flashed him a playful smile beneath her veil, the dimple on her left cheek showing.

Miranda was there, looking poised and beautiful as ever. "Lovely," Symra mouthed to her.

Click to expand...

Miranda had seen the young girl's mouth move and she knew what she had said. She had not thought of her again, until the Sultan entered, she had wanted to see the young girl's reaction to the Sultan before she thought of her once more. Her first and foremost thoughts were always on the Sultan and no one else, until he spoke, and his attention had been taken from his woman.

Now as he waited for the guests to be paraded in front of him, she looked at the woman that dared to place herself in a class of one such as Miranda. She looked at the red head and saw an eager face, one that hungered for more, and would attempt to capture the Sultan often. Miranda knew her own talent and she knew her own wealth, but most of all she knew Radu, and he next to the Sultan himself was a most important man to know.

The image of Radu flashed through her mind, and she knew that with the right persuasion, she could have his help in dealing with the young woman's lessons of place and standing. If the girl was not trying to replace Miranda then the foolish child would remained unharmed. If however, what Miranda felt were justifiable moves to oust her, then the silly wench would pay, and pay dearly. She knew what guest were the roughest ones, she knew which ones liked pain, and she knew the little delicate petals of this ones cunt would not handle the torture that they served on her.

"Careful little one. You know not what you attempt to do when you try and become me," she whispered to herself under her breath, knowing that Smyra could not hear her. "One must never assume where your place is, my foolish child." Miranda had no doubts, she had proven her worth several times.

I traveled from London to Venice first, stopping in Italy to have my last fill of Europe for what could be some while: A last taste of European food, music, of Opera, of the men and women of Europe ... and my first taste of the East. A young lovely girl from Araby who was the "companion" of a rival and friend.

de Blaise, a Belgian whose fortune had been made in the Congo shepherding goods up and down the river. he had gone into semi-retirement, now liivng in a villa that held the Arab girl in question and a small taste of what the Sultan's palace would hold.

"Jane. Or, should I say John. Monsieur, eh?"

He chortled at me, teasing me for my deception.

"It will be the purest of luxuries for you, eh? What will you do when it comes to the ladies, eh? Oh, I know your tastes, but the Arabs, they all will think you ... how you say? Endowed?"

We got drunk and I spent several nights in his Italian Sultanate, before sailing across the Eastern Mediterrenian to Egypt. Land of the Pharoahs, and of Unique beauties, praised across the World.

And it is there that I met the lovely Cleopatra. Well-endowed, yet able to move with sinuous, erotic grace. Her voice, though trained in the tonalities and rhythms of the East and therefore not to my personal liking, was that of the Heavens. She was a true jewel, a treasure and blessing that the Sultan would praise Allah for in the days and years to come. She also had talent in training slaves ... what more perfect gift for a Ruler of Men ... and Women?

Why did I not keep her for my own? Slavery has never set well on my palate. Not that I was a Liberal by any means: Like my father, my livelihood would depend upon the system of slavery that persisted through the world regardless of what Liberal laws the West tried to impose. For my self, I preferred my men, and my women, to be equals.

For the first time, with Cleopatra at my side in a simple traveling dress of Egyptian cotton, I boarded one of my ships, a fine East Indiaman with many sails and a protective ring of cannon around its deck. She plied through the Red Sea and Indian Ocean, around the Yemen Penninsula, and to the Arabian Gulf.

We landed in the Sultan's lands, and commanded Cleopatra to adorn herself to please the Sultan. It was but a short journey from the port to the Sultan's palace, incence-scented, filled with the exotic sounds of Arabic and Indian musics, colorful mosaics in styles ranging from ancient Persian and Indian, to the more recent Muslim styles. It was a beautiful palace that reflected the power and heritage of the man.

With Cleopatra behind me to my left side, collar upon her neck, I awaited my turn to be recognized by the Sultan, to present my Gift. There would be time in the days to come to discuss and negotiate terms of trade. For now it was simply a matter of being a good guest, showing myself to be the "master" of the young one I was gifting to the Sultan, and accepting his good gracious hospitality ....

Buthayna

Buthayna kept close to her father, wrapping her arms around one of his. She watched the proceedings, a little bored, though the lovely new slaves were worth a moment's interest. Other than that, though, she found herself lacking focus on the Sultan's business. Buthayna, as she always did when she found herself in a lackluster situation, looked inward to her own thoughts.

The Sultan's daughter's thoughts turned back to the Harem, and she wondered which of his girls she might be able to enjoy. They were all incredibly lovely, and Miranda, by far the most skilled and beautiful of her father's servants, was the most obvious choice. But, should she have her just yet or save the best for last?

These thoughts, and the mental images they provoked, caused her body's arousal to increase. A blush came to her cheeks, and she kissed her father's hand, smiling up at him, "Forgive me, Father, but may I be excused so that I might breath the fresh air?" He nodded and she stood up, walking out of the room. Though, not before passing by the veil behind which several of the sultan's prized beauties waited.

She moved close to it, peering in at the lovely slaves of her Father, a soft whisper escaping her lips to the women inside, "My father, the Sultan, has allowed me to use his Harem. I look forward to spending more time with all of you, as I am sure you look forward to an opportunity to prove yourself to the Sultan by pleasing his daughter to the best of your abilities."

She turned and headed out to a balcony, holding the railings and breathing in the strong air. Her body shivered at the promise of making her fantisies flesh once the sun fell and the moon rose. 'Tonight,' She thought to herself, smiling and leaning against the entrance to the balcony, 'will be a very enjoyable night'.

.....

Sarah: CC post 3

Buthayna's piercing gaze made Sarah's skin tingle. She found herself admiring the elegance and grace of the Sultan's daughter as she inspected the harem. Sarah watched her move away. Her attention turned to the crowd gathered in the room.

Sarah had never seen anything like it. Merchants, dignitaries and slave traders filled the room, all dressed in their finest attire. The long wait for the Sultan's arrival had ended. Lifting the spirits of everyone. Laughter mingled with swift moving music of the minstrels. Dancers pounced, swayed, and spun in perfect harmony.

Cleopatra

I stayed at the master's side, briefly considering trying to escape. It was not to be, there were too many guards and people around the strange king's palace. I tugged at the collar around my neck.

Being a harem girl suited me at times; at others I loathed it. In Egypt, I had always been treated well; my talents in singing and dancing were pleasing to the king, and I was...his pet. Here I did not know the language, nor the king, and I would surely not be the highest up on the ladder. I was scared.

The English brute had all but kidnapped me from my home, dragging me onto her huge watercraft. For many days I was ill, until my body got used to the continous rocking motion. It was the first time I had been on a boat for such a long time.

And now, here we were. In a kingdom not my own, surrounded by people that were strange faces to me. I missed my land.

I waited to be accepted by the king of this new land, hoping that perhaps I would be treated as well here as I had been in my home. Only time would tell.