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The Damascus Road: Part One
By
Pixie_Hoffmann

The Damascus Road: Part One

The Sultan goes south...

That was our last night at the Topkapi Palace for months. The morning following our night of passion, the Sultan marched south - on the Damascus road.

We said a tearful farewell to the ladies of the Seraglio. Calliope, the mother of the Sultan and my lover and protector, wept, and pulled me to her generous bosom. For a moment, I just wanted to climb in there and stay. But my Master was the Sultan, and he wanted me with him as he marched to sort out a rebellion in Mount Lebanon, and so there was no choice.

I was allowed to take my slave, the English girl called Jess, with me, but that was it. I kissed my beloved Svetlana goodbye, and hugged my other friends, even Alexandra, the Circassian. An exception was her friend, Irene, who was heavy with child by the Sultan, and she was as glad to be rid of me, as I was of her.

Calliope and I had discussed the situation over our breaking of the fast.

It was a symptom of what she feared was happening to the Ottoman Empire that the local authorities had been unable to contain a rebellion. Mehmet had dispatched a messenger to Damascus, ordering the death of the Governor, and he was travelling south to enforce his will. But in the great days of Suleiman, who took Constantinople from the Romans, such revolt would either not have happened, or have been slapped down at once. But the Sultans who had succeeded him preferred luxury and pleasures of the Seraglio, to the hardships and rigours of a military campaign. Mehmet seemed determined to change that.

We boarded the galleys at the Golden Horn, and, on a sunlit June morning, the armies of the Sultan boarded ship and sailed to the Straits, and thence south to Beirut.

I cannot say that I made a natural sailor. Land, except when the earth shakes, is stable, but ships are not. I spent much of the time feeling, and sometimes being, ill. The Sultan was amused, and as long as I could tell him a story every evening, he was not much bothered. Jess was wonderful, and mopped my fevered brow, and other things. The galley allowed no privacy, and so we refrained from our Sapphic activity; that I was on my menses helped soften that blow.

Beirut came as a relief in all sorts of ways. Finally, there was firm, solid earth beneath my feet; I had never before realised how important that was. There would also be a chance, at the Palace, for Jess and myself to resume the physical side of our love. There was also the chance to see places about which I had only read in the Torah. Being so close to the land of my Jewish ancestors held a thrill for me.

After the glories and splendours of the Topkapi, I had thought that its Beirut equivalent would be small beer, but the Grand Serail was a magnificent building, which much resembled its Istanbul counterpart.

Of the joys of the bathhouse after a long sea-voyage, what words could suffice? I lounged in the pool a whole hour, letting the Sudanese girls bathe me in warm, scented water, washing away the dirt of the past week. Jess assumed the post of mistress of my tiny household, and was able, as such, to sleep in my quarters. But first, there was the formal reception.

Beirut had turned out to see its Sultan. Mehmet, who loved to be loved, had been delighted, and was received by the acting governor. While I bathed away my afternoon, the Sultan and his generals talked of power and force.

That evening, the leaders of the local tribes came to present themselves to the Sultan, minus the Druze, who were in rebellion. It was puzzling, and seemed as though every tribe was a religious denomination. I was delighted to see the chief Rabbi, and hoped I would have a chance to talk with him at some point.

I did, however, wonder whether a pleasant period of relaxation was going to be ruined when I received a summons to the Sultan's chamber? Jess wish me well, and hugged me.

I had been sure that the Sultan had wanted me with him for the amusement value of my story-telling, but as one of the few wives he had brought with him, I began to fear that, at last, he intended to take my virginity. Well, nothing for it, my girl, I thought, but to prepare for battle myself.

I was relieved to find that he had two Arab maidens in his chamber. Whatever it portended, it seemed unlikely that he intended to deflower me.

'Rahab, you have done me a certain service, and I should like you to do the same with Yasmin and Fatima.'

The two Arab women were extremely comely. They both looked at me with some surprise, wondering what manner of child this was that the Sultan had introduced into their play? But theirs was not to reason why.

They both sat on the divan, and the Sultan watched as I approached them, falling to my knees in front of their open legs. I urged them to rise a moment so I could ease their harem pants over their peach-like bottoms. They complied. The scent of their vaginas was strong.

Kneeling first in front of Yasmin, I lapped her sex from bottom to top with my tongue at its broadest. She gasped, her hands gripping my head. I used my tongue to part her petals, and push through to her opening. Sliding my tongue in, I licked her gooey juices. She moaned. She was not the only one.

Judging her ready. I moved on to Fatima.

My tongue began in that soft spot between her anus and her wetness, and I drew my tongue along each lip, sucking it, nibbling at her long labia. My fingers worked on her anus, while my tongue pushed in on her bud.

'Present!' It was the Sultan who spoke.

As one, Yasmin and Fatima knelt upon the divan, presenting their backsides to the Sultan. It was, I thought, time for me to make myself scarce. Who knows what ideas he could get if I stayed.

Looking around before leaving, I saw him ploughing into Fatima, and then Yasmin, moving from one to the other at will. They seemed to be enjoying it. For my own part, I just wanted out, so left, to the sound of much moaning.

The corridor was quiet, except for some noise from the kitchens. My exercises had left me with a need for a drink. Rather than go back to my quarters and order one, I thought I'd save some poor soul a job by getting it myself. I stopped just short of the room; some instinct counselled caution. I heard voices.

'When the heretic has finished with those whores of Zhaitan, he will want a drink. Slip this into his wine, and he will sin no more. How can the Caliph consume wine? It is wrong, he is the servant of the Lord of this World, and it would be better if he died. We can give out that it was his exertions in the chamber which caused his heart to cease.'

My blood ran cold. I ran back, pushing aside the curtain, and slid myself onto the couch just in time to see both women taken fully.

The Sultan was a man of some vigour, but even he took a moment to recover. He rang for food and wine.

'Little one, it is not like you to still be here, do you perhaps long to try me?'

There was only one possible answer, and it would not have been the truth, but before I could give it, the servant arrived with the wine and sweetbreads.

'Highness,' I said, 'you do not have your official taster here.'

'Little one,' he said, 'would you do even that for me?'

'Highness,' I gushed, 'I would do whatever it took to please you and keep you safe, but as you know, I do not consume wine. Perhaps this fellow can try some first?'

The man looked at me with eyes narrowed by hatred.

'Drink it, fellow.'

'Highness, as a good Muslim I cannot.'

'As Caliph, I give you a dispensation.'

The man looked at me, and then at the Sultan. He drank.

Within moments he began to shudder, and his body began to shut down.

'Treason!' The Sultan cried, and his guard ran in.

'Highness, there is another fellow in the scullery, and if the men go quickly they may yet catch him.' They did.

'Little Rahab, you have saved my life. Ask for it and it will be yours.'

'Highness, I ask only to be yours, but to be spared from the sword you possess.'

'Child, you have your wish, and I shall give you more besides. How did you know?'

I explained the circumstances. He embraced me and called me his precious one.

When I reached my own quarters, the Palace was in disarray, and Jess looked anxious. I told her what had happened.

'But Pixie, imagine if you had not stumbled on the conspiracy like that?'

'I do not care to my darling. It does not bear contemplating.'

Exhausted, in mind and body, my spirit sought refuge in her arms, and we slept.

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