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The Damascus Road: part five

The Damascus Road: part five

A close encounter.

Just as I was allowing myself to be carried away by my passion for Princess Damila, the distraction in the corner of the room brought me back to the real world. Oblivious to it, the Princess was sucking on my stiff, aching nipple, and she was easing me out of my harem pants, a process I was happily aiding. The feel of her fingers as they slid between my swollen lips made me gasp. But my eyes were still on the mysterious figure in the shadows.

I lost sight of the figure for a moment under the impress of her fingers entering me. As she encountered my intact hymen, she pulled back, concentrating on my bud.

'You are a virgin, little one? How can that be when you are wife to the Padishah?'

'It is a long story, and one for,' I moaned as she rubbed me just the right way, 'another time and place. That is so good.'

Her bright eyes shone with joy and mischief.

Deciding that whoever it was, was no immediate threat, I made my choice. Pleasure was my priority.

Pushing aside her robe, I applied my lips to the Princess' nipple, and sucked it, firmly. Already stiff, it responded to my ministrations, as did she. I sucked her other nipple in the same manner.

The figure had stopped moving.

My hand slipped into the Princess' pants. She was, as I had expected, sticky. It was not her woman's juices which were making her so sticky. The Sultan had clearly expended himself in her. With my thumb strumming on her bud, I curled three fingers inside her open slit. It occurred to me to wonder whether she could feel them after what she had just experienced, but as she seemed to like the combination of my fingering, strumming and sucking, the thought was a fleeting one.

The effect of my counter-assault was to lessen the vigour of her own attack. Her fingers continue to play with my bud, but increasingly, she was yielding to me.

'Bite me,' she whispered.

I grazed her nipple with my teeth, plunging my fingers deeper into her messy wetness, with my thumb rubbing rhythmically. She was moaning loudly. I could feel her begin to stiffen. I bit her nipple.

She moaned loudly.

I bit the second nipple.

I felt her sex clench on my fingers as she bucked, breathing heavily. She shuddered, shaking as she yielded to me. I held her tight, loving the warm softness of her flesh against mine. We seemed, on our journey, to have discarded our clothing, of which there had not been a great deal, to begin with.

We hugged. No longer a Princess and a little Vizier, but just two women lost in the pleasures of Sapphic love; the rite complete.

Her fingers began again.

'It is good, my darling, Damila. I want only to lie with you in love.'

She smiled.

'I would bring you completeness, Rahab.'

'You do, my darling, just to be with you like this is all I need.'

She held me close. I snuggled up between her beautiful breasts, nestling there and taking my comfort.

In truth, whilst I would like to have completed my part of the rite, my attention was still partly on the mysterious figure, and I did not want to lose control of myself. There was no further movement, and the shadows in the far part of the chamber were deep enough to conceal whoever was there.

'Did you mind?'

'No, darling, I expected that he would have had you. Did you enjoy it?'

'Yes, he is a skilful lover, but he cannot give me what you gave me just now, little one.'

That, I thought, was Sappho's secret. Men imagined that what gave them their release also gave women what they needed. As I knew from my conversations in the Seraglio, this belief was widespread; it was also inaccurate.

For me, as for others, it was the journey, and not its conclusion which mattered. Making love was, in itself, a joy. It was its own reward. Yes, if the rite concluded in ecstasy, that was a great joy, but even then, it need not be ended. Men spent themselves and needed recuperation time.

If we conducted Sappho's rite with care, then the pleasure could be prolonged. But it was always the journey itself which mattered. The pleasures of the other, her body responding to what gave your own body pleasure, and the learning of the variety of ways in which Sappho had gifted her devotees. These things, and the emotions that grew with the performing of the rite, these were ends in themselves.

As her breathing became more even, I whispered:

'When must you go?'

'I cannot be found here, little Rahab.'

'I fear that may already have happened.'

She started.


'Quiet my love.'

I told her about the figure, but cautioned her to make no sudden move. I told her that I would leave as though I was going to use the latrine, but would double back. She should keep an eye open.

I was nervous as I walked away.

There had already been an assassination attempt, and this figure could have been the precursor of a second; but in that case, why had it not struck? It could have been Jess, but why would she sneak around? I needed to know, and that need surmounted my fear.

I circled round, instead of heading for the latrines.

I came around the back, and as I reached the third arch, I could see the figure, crouched in the corner.

The Princess was moving on the divan, and the figure was focussing on her, rather than wondering where I had gone. It struck me that I might have a problem if the figure was armed, but I needed to know.

'You seem to be taking a great interest in her. Don't run, I will call for the guards.'

The figure turned.

It was a woman, dark-complexioned, wrapped in a cloak.

'What are you going to do?'

There was no attempt to fight or fly. I was relieved. I did not really want the guard walking in and seeing the Princess in my chamber. For that matter, nor did I want Jess coming in.

'Come and talk with us.'

She stood up. She was at least as tall as the Princess.

She followed me into the chamber.

The Princess was startled when she saw her.

'Ayesha, what are you doing here?'

'I think an introduction might be in order,' I suggested.

‘Ayesha is one of my ladies in waiting.’ Turning, the Princess asked, ‘who seems to have become tired of waiting.’ 

She looked at Ayesha.

Eventually, Ayesha averted her gaze.

’How did you get past the guards?’ 

That seemed to me, a more relevant question. 

‘If you do not tell me,’ I threatened.’ I shall call them.’

I was bluffing. The last thing I wanted was the guards to find the Princess in my chamber. But I did want to know how she had got in. The harem was closely guarded, and there was something odd about the fact she was there at all. 

She seemed tongue-tied. Then stammered.

'I was keeping a watch on you, Highness, ensuring your safety.'

I looked hard at her.

'That may well be true, but how did you get in? The guards are under the strictest of orders not to allow anyone in, and I will have the fellows executed at sunrise if they have been as negligent as you suggest.'

A voice behind me said:

'No need for that, I have the answer.'

It was Jess.

She bowed to the Princess.

'Mistress,' she said, according me my rightful status, which pleased me in front of the Princess and her lady-in-waiting, 'I spoke to Ahmed the eunuch, and he said she showed him a paper. She must still have it about her person. I am happy to search her.'

I'd have been quite happy to have conducted a body search of Ayesha, so I could see there was an element of humour in Jess's suggestion, but exception was taken to it.

'I will not be searched.'

'In which case you will be taken to the dungeons, as you have broken the rules of the harem. The penalty for that is death.'

'You would not dare execute a lady of quality,' she protested indignantly.

'It would be the verdict of the Padishah, and Ottoman law is quite clear. You will die.'

She looked to the Princess.

'I am sorry, Ayesha, but Rahab is correct. You will die.'

She began to cry. I had no sympathy. There was a mystery here, and if she would not reveal it, it was better for her to die.

Slowly, she took a paper from her bosom. She handed it to me.

'Admit the bearer to any part of the palace she needs. Mufti al-Shibab.'

'The Mufti is the spiritual leader of the extremist Islamic groupings,' the Princess explained.

I looked at Ayesha menacingly.

'You were sent to spy on us, to report on out sapphic activity, yes?'

Ayesha blushed.

'The Imam had heard rumours, and wanted them verified. You are said to be a witch who has befuddled the senses of the Padisha, and who corrupts women to the ways of Sappho.'

Damn, and damn, was all I could think of. Then inspiration struck.

'Jess, check her sex.'

Jess grinned at me, and thrust her hand down Ayesha's pants. The latter gasped.

'Wet as a pool, my lady. She is turned on.'

I believed Jess, but the reaction of Ayesha to Jess cupping her sex confirmed it. She gasped.

'Her bud is hard, my lady, if I had to comment, I'd say she'd been masturbating while watching you two.'

The Princess smiled.

'So, Ayesha, has my little witch,' at which she pointed at me, 'corrupted you too?'

With Jess invading her wetness, Ayesha could only moan. Jess pushed her onto the couch, pulling down her pants and applying her lips to her exposed sex. She was not shaved, but had a luxuriant forest of hair. Jess tugged at it, parting her lips, and applied herself to licking Ayesha.

The Princess drew me to her.

'I want you, Rahab.'

She kissed me.

Watching as Jess sucked on Ayesha's sex made me wetter than I already was. But this was not the time to relax vigilance. I whispered to the Princess that there would be other times.

We watched, playing each with the other, and Jess made Ayesha gasp, grunt and tremble. It was clear she had been right, Ayesha has been playing with herself watching myself and Damila.

Jess was skilled, and Ayesha's resistance, already at a low ebb, gave into the pleasure that was beginning to consume her. Her surrender was complete and noisy - and wet. The Princess yielded to my fingers at the same time her lady gave in to Jess. 

When they had both recovered, I spoke.

'Well, Ayesha, by all means, tell the Mufti about our Sapphic rites, but if you forget to add your own participation, be sure I shall remedy the omission. Of course, you could just say that we spoke of politics, as I am the little Vizier, in which case no mention need be made of your own fall from grace. The choice is yours, make it now!'

'Lady,' she shivered, 'you are a witch, I need more of what I have just had. Grant it me and I shall report as you wish.'

I smiled at Jess.

'It seems you have your own lady from Lebanon, my dear.'

She smiled back. She kissed Ayesha.

'Will you be mine?'

Ayesha blushed, nodded, and said:

'Yes, Mistress.'

And so, there we were, Sappho and the Ottoman side had, for now, gained the night.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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