The Turkish Ransom (closed for Monique_Minx)

[Tio_Narratore]

Dionysiac was enraptured by Nehir’s second dance - the dance on his verga. He sighed and moaned with pleasure at every undulation, every twist, every turn, every lift and descent of his rhythmic slave. He reached - more so, she brought him to - his climax at the same time as Nehir reached hers. His back tautened as she lie on his chest, and it pressed them even closer together, her full, soft breasts tight against his firm muscles.

They lay that way, the slave girl atop her master, her palms resting on his broad chest, her petite form dwarfed by his massive torso, and his arms enfolding her. He began massaging her back in slow strokes as their orgasms subsided, and she sighed at the firm passes of his hands over her flesh.

“Did I please you, Master?” she asked softly.

“Very much so,” Miramond answered with a broad smile, and then smacked her sharply on her ass.

Nehir was surprised, and instantly sat up with a look of concern in her eyes. Her concern quickly turned to a smile as she realized what he meant by the slap. She had told him how much a spanking meant, and he was showing his appreciation of her dance.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said with a giggle; “did you like it a lot?”

“Yes, Nehir,” he replied as he gave her ass two more smacks, one on each cheek.

His eyes were on her tetas as well as her face, and had been from when she rose at the first smack. They were attractively large, even a bit too much for his large hand and long fingers. And the way they bounced and jiggled when she sat up with a start was delightful. After his second bit of spanking, he reached to her chest and fondled a breast in each hand. Nehir closed her eyes and sighed as he kneaded her tetas.

“Hold them, girl,” he commanded. “Show me how you’d like them treated.”

 

[monique_minx]

The last servant left the room after hanging additional oil lamps and Safiye was starting to wonder if Constantia was some kind of mind reader. The light was adequate enough to see by in the evening now. Aylin had returned to her bed opposite Safiye and was facing away from them which told Safiye she was probably mulling over whatever recipe she was considering cooking for Miramond. Roksana, however, sat cross legged in the centre of the floor folding a scrap of linen over in her hands again and again.

"You're quiet," Safiye said gently, not looking up from the bowl of broth cooling in her lap where she was propped up in her bed, "that worries me more than talk."

Roksana huffed shortly, it could have been a laugh, "Talking never did a woman much good where I come from."

"And where's that?"

"Near the border." Roksana answered, "We followed the army, my father fought and my mother stitched the wounded. I learned both trades before I learned how to speak sweetly."

She looked up, directly at Safiye, "Not that sweet words help much here, do they, Hanim?"

Oh that word was loaded as she spat it at Safiye but she took it in her stride, her lips curved faintly, "Perhaps, perhaps not. This-" Safiye gestured to the room, "-isn't what makes you who you are, it's what you do with it."

Roksana studied her for a long moment and then, "The others follow you."

"They follow because they're afraid and they know I'll speak first." Safiye tried to shrug it off.

"Men don't like women who speak first." Roksana pointed out.

"No," Safiye agreed, "But they prefer it over a woman who refuses to speak at all."

They both knew the 'first' they referred to meant more than merely who took their turn at speaking but Roksana did consider her words and nodded while Safiye took up her spoon and ate some of her broth.

"You talk and I'll listen." Roksana said with a stiff nod in a gruff tone, "For now."

Safiye smiled at her, "I want nothing of your respect and loyalty without having earned it Roksana, I like that you challenge me and you notice the others don't. You're smart, you hide it but you are so much more than you appear."

***
​

Nehir looked down at herself and cupped her breasts in each hand as best as she could and thumbed gently over her own nipples. Then she looked up at Miramond and squeezed them each just a little harder. Her fingers crawled inwards and pinched each of her nipples, rolling them between each hand's thumb and forefinger. She got a little tighter, a little rougher and she pulled a little on them, emitting a soft moan.

"Just like this Master," She said softly, "with a...firmness."

She didn't really know how to describe it and settled on that word while she showed him. The wetness between her legs started to leak out and leave its own thin sheen against his thigh. She rubbed herself against him somewhat as she played with her breasts which caused them to jiggle in her hands.

"Do you enjoy watching this more Master or would you prefer to take over?" She asked rather considerately given the circumstances.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

Miramond laughed. “It’s very hard to choose,” he declared.

He’d certainly been enjoying Nehir’s performance, but was sorely tempted to take things into his own hands. A few more minutes of watching her play with her own breasts, and he did just that. In an unexpected way.

He reached for her breasts, and before she could remove her hands, he covered them with his own hands, twice the size of hers, and held them to her breasts.

“Let’s see if I have it right,” he said as he began to play with her breasts using her own hands.

He squeezed and kneaded and pulled on them just as she had, and then released her hands.

“You like it firm,” he said. “Perhaps even firmer?”

He squeezed and kneaded again, much harder this time, and he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers to pull and twist them. While his hands were on her tetas, his eyes were on her face, studying her reactions to his rough play. He could feel her fluids running down his thigh, and he could feel himself become aroused again, stiffening inside her cunny.

A sharp tug on her nipples brought her torso down to lay atop him. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, his hips against hers and her legs around him. He nuzzled into her hair, kissing her neck, and then kissed her full on the lips, thrusting his tongue insistently into her mouth. She was still virginally tight around his verga and he could feel every spasm of her sheath. He wondered if she could feel the throbbing of his cock as he drove up and down inside her.

He came again, with a long satisfied sigh, and stayed holding her until they both relaxed. He lie next to her, then, her head resting on his muscular arm, and contemplated this second virgin slave.

He didn’t know much about her; there’d be time enough for that, but he did know she was delightful entertainment, a concubine who would enjoy the physical pleasures of intercourse.

Intercourse. His mind wandered. There was much still to be done about the slaves; he’d have to meet again on the morrow with his deputies. And then there was need to report to the archbishop in Arles. A week away, but time was needed for planning, for receiving reports of what was going on at the ecclesiastical court. He knew there were those in Arles who begrudged him his position; who felt they should have had the title and the land, though they did nothing to earn it. Still, they were there, having the Archbishop’s ear, and that of the Duc. Gifts from the ransom were in order, and the Marqués himself would choose, selecting what he thought would best touch the ego of the recipient.

Tomorrow. For tonight he would turn his mind back to the playful dancing girl beside him. A hug and a kiss, and he pulled on the cord to summon Constansia.

The head servant knew what she was called for, and arrived with her basket of remedies. Her master was first, and she carefully cleansed Nehir’s virgin blood from his cock. Then Nehir herself. Cleansed outside and in. A poultice to prevent pregnancy. Finished, she asked if she should take the slave back to her chamber.

“No, Constansia,” he said as he took Nehir into his arms again. “I am pleased by her presence. She shall stay the night.”

As the servant left, Dionysiac pondered what further pleasures he might find with the girl..

 

[monique_minx]

Nehir gasped as he gripped her hands to press against her flesh, it was odd to experience her own touch but not her own ministrations. He then released her hands and took her breasts in his own grip, she moaned as he pulled her nipples.

"Oh yes Master, just like that." She groaned as she felt him harden inside of her at the same time.

She squeaked as he suddenly pulled her nipples and fell atop his chest in a flurry of motion. Before she knew what was happening, he had rolled them both and he was above her. His lips grazed her throat and she arched, offering it to him. He brought his mouth to hers and she twined her tongue with his as he started to thrust his hips, driving himself in and out of her. Her pelvis lifted to meet him as she moaned into his mouth, her orgasm already building steadily with his.

She let go of his mouth when she finally came, her sheath clutching him tightly as her hands gripped the sheets beneath her. Her moans reached a crescendo just as his seed spilled into her depths.

She panted gently as she came down from her high, he held her a long while and then he finally rolled off of her to lie at her side. He was quiet for a long moment which she didn't mind as she needed the time to recover. His quick kiss was the only alert she got before he summoned Constantia and like Safiye, Nehir had to spread her legs and endure being washed clean before a small muslin sack was pushed inside of her to prevent pregnancy.

Nehir's blood warmed and she blushed as he snuggled into her and told Constantia he would like her to stay.

"I am glad to have pleased you so, Master." She beamed at him and enjoyed his embrace as she drifted into slumber.

The next morning, Nehir woke gently and blinked several times, rubbing her eyes before she smiled at the sight of Dionysiac beside her.

"Good morning Master, did you sleep well?" She asked softly.

***
​

Safiye woke when Sileta entered her chambers to collect Aylin for their trip to the market and another servant delivered breakfast to Safiye. Roksana ambled out to join the other slaves for theirs, Safiye was still taking her meals in bed as she was unable to walk. Soon enough, she was all alone in the room.

"This will surely drive me mad," Safiye contemplated her bedridden state mournfully, "They could have attacked any other part of my body but they had to take my mobility."

'You brought it on yourself...' the little voice in the back of her head whispered.

She scoffed in response to herself, "If I'd been a man, they'd have laughed. Hypocrites."

It was then that she realised she was alone - Nehir had not returned.

"Perhaps I was right after all, My Lord has found interest elsewhere. Good. I hope he is sated with her..." Safiye tried to speak with conviction she didn't feel.

In the back of her mind, there was a small burning that she refused to acknowledge - was it jealousy? Anger? Self loathing? Or all three? She wasn't entirely sure, all she knew was that she felt unsettled and conflicted...and in turmoil.