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Charmbrights
09-28-2008, 09:01 AM
Just a note before the story. it is part of my series of "Delights" novels (for sale) and short stories (free) about Kobekistan. Those of you who are familiar with that country can skip the prologue.


Tamsin’s Delight
By Charmbrights
The author has asserted moral rights under sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between any of the characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead is wholly a matter of Nature imitating Art.

Author’s Note: It is difficult to portray multi-lingual conversation in works such as this. Since some of my readers may not be fully fluent both in French and in the Kobekistani dialect of Arabic, the convention used is that, where the distinction matters, all direct speech in English quotation marks is in English, thus “This is English”; Kobekistani Arabic is in italics between tildes, thus ~ This is Arabic ~.

Prologue
The Emirate of Kobekistan in the early part of the twenty-first century is one of those wonderful places where a visitor feels that they have stepped back into a more leisurely, more dignified era of history, but without sacrificing any of the more useful gadgets of modern civilisation. Air-conditioning protects the inhabitants from the rigours of a sub-tropical climate. Motor cars whisk them from one building to another. Desalination provides ample water. The most modern medical advances are practised in the hospitals. Television shows umpteen channels. Education utilises the most modern computer-aided systems. Childbirth is no longer as dangerous as it used to be, even though eunuch doctors are the only ones available to the women of the harems. Becoming a eunuch is very rarely a fatal operation since it is carried out by experts in surgical conditions second to none. A girl being cut and sewn to make her incapable of sexual pleasure and virtually unusable by a man (except for sodomy) now has a less than one in a thousand chance of contracting a dangerous infection. Moderation in all things is the watchword. Toleration extends to allowing alcohol to be sold to foreign workers in the country, though only within their company compounds. Women are taught to read and write, at least in some harems.
Of course, these facilities are not all available to all the population, but for all those who matter, the better families, they are taken for granted. A field slave might not benefit from all of them, but the medical services ensure that a slave no longer has to be put down if an over-enthusiastic owner damages it somewhat while administering discipline.
The disadvantages of civilisation as it is understood in the West are nevertheless kept at bay. Advertising is negligible. Tourists are not permitted to enter the country. Women are not allowed to show their faces on the streets. Marriages are arranged by parents, who are wiser in their choices than the impulses of youth would be. There is none of the political brouhaha so frequent in democracies since the country is ruled by the Emir whom Allah has appointed. His word is law, literally; were he to say “Off with his head,” the miscreant would be executed in public within the hour.
All of this is made possible by the oil on which the Emirate rests. When all the oil reserves have been extracted, in some centuries time, the level of the land will have been lowered by an average of ten feet. The oil is a ‘heavy crude’ which is dug out of the ground in lumps, looking for all the world like treacle toffee. There is none of the messy liquid to process and no unsightly wells.
The Emir, His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, and his heir Crown Prince Gamel were travelling together, which was unusual, in one of the Emir’s private 747s on the way back from a trip to Monte Carlo. The chauffeur delegated to collect them at the Kobek International Airport was a little over-enthusiastic and raced along the runway after the aeroplane. Air Traffic Control spotted it and panicked. The military also panicked and ordered the pilot to take off again, fearing an assassination attempt. The pilot did his best, but was short of room and as the aeroplane tried to take off, it hit the lights at the end of the runway and cart-wheeled into an expensive shambles of broken and burning metal.
Some days later the new Emir, His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah (known in England as David Ransome), may he live for ever, arrived in Kobekistan from Oxford, England where he had been studying advanced mathematics. None of the more important personages in Kobekistan knew him, since it had always been assumed that Crown Prince Gamel would succeed his father or, if necessary, some other son would be selected and trained for the throne. Now, because of the odd succession laws in force and the unfortunate accident of their dying together, the Emir was succeeded by his grandson. The boy was the son of the late Prince Abdullah and his English first wife. Soon after her husband had died playing polo, the mother had left Kobekistan taking her son with her back to England, where he had lived from the age of four until his accession at 23.
England
Two years after the Emir’s accession, Tamsin was fourteen, and at school in England when her father announced that he had taken a new post as Master of His Magnificence, the Emir Mahmoud Abdullah’s royal yacht, the Imperial Voyager. The family were to travel to Kobekistan within a week for Henry to take up his post and the plan was for Janice, his second wife, only seven years older than his daughter to start house hunting.
Tamsin’s mother had died after a long illness two years earlier and Henry, who was second officer on a Cruise Liner had felt the need to provide a mother for her, as he was at sea for long periods. In the first couple of weeks after the accident the young blonde Entertainments Officer on his ship had provided first a shoulder to cry on and then later a body to cling to, and eventually couple with. In his grief, Henry mistook her cold calculation and his reaction to grief for true love, and married her. She, of course, immediately left the ship and settled down to be his wife, a rôle she relished. Unfortunately it implied also being a step-mother, which she regarded as a real chore. Tamsin was brought home from her grandmother’s house, where she had been quite happy, and a very uneasy relationship between her and her father’s new wife steadily became worse.
Tamsin didn’t know whether to treat Janice as an older sister or a mother. She bitterly resented Janice taking her mother’s place in her father’s bed, and yet felt the need for someone in whom to confide. Her grandmother had been perfect as a confidante, if a little indulgent, but Janice soon stopped any chance of friendship by showing her resentment of Tamsin.
The two had a flaming row when Tamsin discovered that every trace of her mother’s possessions had been thrown away, either in the dustbin, or to a charity shop. Janice insisted then that she was now in charge of the house while Henry was at sea, and Tamsin had better toe the line. When Henry next came home on leave, he too was surprised that his late wife’s influence on the home had been so thoroughly expunged, and so he decided to move the whole family to a new environment to see whether the relationship could be patched up by a fresh start.
The post of Master of a Royal Yacht was a big promotion for him and some of the perks were unusual, to say the least. He was told that he would have ample accommodation on board for his family to accompany him at all times and no shore base was needed. There was a handsome salary and all his uniforms, food, and so forth would be provided, including that for his family. A further shock was that when he went to get his uniform, from Gieves and Hawkes no less, it was almost ready for him. A final fitting was the first appointment.
“How did you know my size?” he asked.
“The Kobekistani embassy sent the details. I assume from your medical, Admiral,” replied the obsequious tailor.
Henry wondered at being called Admiral but did not ask, assuming that they merely flattered all their customers by adding a rank or two. Then he smiled as he wondered what they called a naval Admiral; perhaps they addressed him as though he were Second Sea Lord.
The great day came and the family waited for their taxi to London Airport, which the embassy had insisted on arranging. Spirits rose all round when a large Rolls-Royce, emblazoned on the doors with the Emir’s crest, drew up with a uniformed chauffeur driving. At the airport they were swiftly led to the VIP lounge and treated as though they were royalty. Henry was addressed as Excellency, Janice as Princess, and Tamsin as Highness.
“Daddy, why do they call me Highness?” she demanded.
As Henry tried to shush her, the reply from an embarrassed ground hostess was, “My apologies Princess. I had not realised you were the His Excellency’s daughter.”
Just as Henry was beginning to worry that the flight was delayed, because it was due to take off in five minutes and they had not been called to the departure gate, a uniformed young Arab stewardess came to their table and said, “Master, your flight is ready, if you would follow me.”
“But we haven’t been through passport control and customs?” he inquired.
“All taken care of, Master. Please come this way.”
On the aeroplane they were shown into the first class section of the aircraft which had been divided down the middle by a screen. There were few spare seats as they entered, but they were led on through the partition into a reserved area which was for their exclusive use. The three of them had enough floor space for twenty people and there was a table and some armchairs which had unobtrusive seat belts fitted, but nobody insisted on them fastening them. A large television was in one corner and Tamsin stared at the computer on a small side table.
“This is for us?” asked Henry.
“Master, you are the guests of the Emir,” said the stewardess, apparently assuming that this was a suitable explanation.
The airliner moved away from the terminal as soon as they were seated, and their journey into a new life began. None of them realised how different a life it was to be.
Kobekistan
When they landed at Kobek International Airport there was an awkward moment as the stewardess attempted to persuade Janice and Tamsin to wear large tent-like over-clothes known as abayas. She assured them that all women wore them, but they were having none of this nonsense and insisted on leaving the aircraft in their normal Western clothes.
At the foot of the steps there was a dark-skinned man in the traditional shalwar kameez waiting for them and he had a Rolls-Royce there.
“Welcome to Kobekistan,” he greeted them, “I am Kamal Qumsiyeh, Head of Protocol to the Emir. Please come with me.”
“Are you sure you have the right person?” asked Henry.
“Assuredly, Admiral Hargreaves. No one else would be allowed to disembark before you. Please, it is hot today, join me in the motor car.”
The four of them sat in the Rolls and it purred away from the aircraft. As Tamsin looked back at the airliner, she could see the other passengers descending the steps.
‘Wow,’ she thought, ‘Daddy must be important. And the man called him Admiral!’
This had made Henry wonder also, and he inquired, “Why did you call me Admiral?”
“Because that is the correct rank in the Kobekistani navy for the man who is in charge of the Imperial Voyager. I suggest you change into uniform before we go aboard. Appearances are important here. Also I will arrange for the cabin crew of your aircraft to be whipped. They should have provided abayas for your women. Fortunately there will be some on this vehicle.”
Janice and Tamsin both heard the word ‘whipped’ and were horrified, but it was Henry who answered, “They did offer abayas, but the ladies declined.”
“That was most unwise. No woman is safe in the street here without covering. She is assumed to be …” Kamal Qumsiyeh searched for the right word, “… not nice.”
Tamsin asked, “Would they really be whipped, like a horse?”
Their Arab host ignored her question.
After some moments Henry said, “Yes, I’m curious also. Are you not going to answer the child?”
“The answer to her question is yes, and to yours is no. It is not seemly for a female to speak to any whole man who is not her husband or father.”
The three hour journey to the coast was passed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional comment from Kamal Qumsiyeh as they passed important landmarks. At the dock gates he left the Hargreaves in the car while he went into the gatehouse.
Emerging a couple of minutes later he said, “The Harbour Master has placed his facilities at your disposal to shower and change.”
“Thank you,” said Janice.
Still addressing Henry, he continued, “The women will remain in the car. I will give them abayas to wear. The dock workers are not the sort of people who will ask questions if an uncovered woman appears. The driver will bring your case in for you if you indicate which one contains your uniform.”
Henry was surprised to find that their luggage was in the boot of the Rolls, and quickly indicated the suitcase he needed. In the gatehouse there was nobody apparently on duty, but the chauffeur led him into a small ready room and pointed out the bathing facilities.
When he had taken a welcome shower and changed into his uniform, Henry repacked his case and walked out into the office. There he was greeted effusively by the Harbour Master who was clearly eager to please this important man.
Back in the car, they drove to a large ship and walked up the gangplank. A bosun’s whistle piped them aboard and an immaculately clad Second Officer greeted Henry.
“Welcome aboard, Skipper. You have command.”
“I have command,” Henry confirmed.
A fat man in shalwar kameez, rather than uniform, escorted the two women to a well-appointed stateroom and indicated that if they wanted anything, they should ask the eunuch standing by the door.
‘Eunuch?’ they wondered simultaneously.
“What is this room?” asked Janice.
“This is the Admiral’s dayroom,” said the eunuch in a squeaky voice, “I can show you the other rooms if you wish, Highness.”
As he led them through the door at the far end of the stateroom he said, “The Admiral has eight rooms. His dayroom, a study, a bedroom, four women’s bedrooms and a common room for the wives and concubines.”
“No bathroom?” asked Tamsin.
“Each bedroom has an attached bathroom, Highness.”
Tamsin and Janice looked at each other.
“I suggest, Highness, that you wait in the common room until the Admiral decides which bedroom is assigned to whom. Are there many more concubines to come?”
“There are no concubines,” Janice said firmly, “I am his wife and this is Tamsin, his daughter.”
Left alone, the two women talked about the odd arrangements.
“Of course, any Moslem is allowed four wives,” said Tamsin, “So they need larger accommodation.”
“You have never seen your father’s cabin on a cruise ship, have you?” replied her stepmother, “It is about eight feet by six and has a shower and loo behind a curtain. The Captain had little more. This is unbelievably palatial.”
Meanwhile the Head of Protocol was explaining a problem of etiquette to Henry.
“It is expected that you will provide a gift to the Emir on taking up your post. This should be done as soon as humanly possible. The younger concubine would be suitable. You can easily buy another one.”
“That is my daughter,” said Henry frostily.
“A virgin?” asked Kamal Qumsiyeh.
“Naturally,” said Henry.
“Ideal, in that case,” was the startling reply, “He is young himself and it would be an excellent life for her; as a Princess in the Golden Palace of His Magnificence, the Emir Mahmoud Abdullah she would have the finest accommodation and so forth that a woman could possibly want.”
It occurred to Henry that this might indeed prove to be the answer to the near warfare between his second wife and the daughter of his first marriage.
“What about schooling?”
The Head of Protocol decide to be diplomatic at this point.
“Everything needful would be provided,” he said with an ambiguity that Henry missed, “I could take her there myself this evening if you wished.”
“I’ll consider that,” said Henry, “When do you have to leave?”
“Oh, not for some hours,” said the diplomat, “I shall have lunch on shore her here, or on board ship.”
“Please feel free to use the wardroom,” said the Admiral, conscious that it had been a request rather than a statement; this was his ship now.
After a quick tour of the ship, and ascertaining that there were no sailing orders for the next couple of days, Henry went to inspect his quarters and was amazed at the size of them, though naturally a royal yacht does not need to pack as many paying passengers in as it can, unlike the cruise liners he was used to.
***
Henry Hargreaves considered the possibility of sending his daughter to the Emir’s palace for some time. Clearly a gift of some kind was required, and he had brought nothing suitable. As to buying something here, he had no idea where to start looking, though the Head of Protocol could certainly suggest somewhere. He was not particularly well-off at the moment and could not afford much. If entrusting his daughter’s education to the Emir was considered a suitable gift, it might well solve the problem of schooling for her. After all, at fourteen she could not possibly be considered in any way useful to the Emir. The question of concubinage did not cross his mind.
Janice was fuming when he found her, because the eunuch would not let either of the Englishwomen leave the Admiral’s suite of rooms.
“He says it’s your orders,” she stormed at her husband, You tell this bloody sailor we go on deck whenever we like and he can bloody well obey orders.”
Henry turned to the man and asked, “Well? What does this mean?”
“Master, I am not a sailor. I am your personal eunuch. It is my job to safeguard the women while you are working. It was standing orders that no woman walks alone through the ship, and that no woman walks through the ship without an abaya.”
“Why?” asked Henry.
“Because the old Admiral did not allow whores on his ship. He said if the men want a whore they can go to a brothel.”
“What would happen?” he persisted.
“Any man seeing a woman uncovered would just take her if he wanted, Master. No woman walks uncovered or unaccompanied in Kobekistan. Of course, here in your harem it is quite normal for them to be naked, but never are they seen outside.”
“Why do you not attack them?” asked Henry, thinking there was a flaw in this reasoning.
“Master, as I said, I am your personal eunuch. Is that not the right word in English?”
“Oh,” was all the Admiral could say.
Over an excellent lunch served by the eunuch in their private suite, he broached the subject of Tamsin’s schooling.
“I’ve been wondering about that,” said Janice, “A boarding school in England would be so expensive, but I expect that is the only answer.”
“Actually, I have been told that the Emir could take her into his family in the Palace in the capital. Then she would be educated as his own children are.”
Janice immediately spotted a chance to be rid of the stepchild she so resented.
“That sounds very generous,” she said, “and I expect she could join us whenever it didn’t interfere with her lessons and we were in harbour. It is only a hundred miles or so, and it isn’t as if there were a seven hour flight as there would be from England.”
Tamsin found herself agreeing with her stepmother for once.
‘Anything would be better than living with her,” she thought.
Aloud she said, “I agree, Daddy. I could go back and forth every weekend you are here.”
And so it was agreed, without Henry or his daughter realising quite what it implied, that Tamsin would join the Emir’s harem. Janice had no doubts in her mind at all. She wanted Tamsin out of the way and if that meant handing her over to some fat old Arab paedophile, then so be it. Girls here were married at twelve; she knew that, everyone knew that. The child had spied on their lovemaking, she was sure, and they had to be careful when and where they enjoyed each other, lest she interrupt them. Well on this ship Henry was in charge, so he could have her any time they chose, and anywhere if the child was out of the way.
The Golden Palace
The sumptuous Triple Palace, its façade covered in ruby, emerald and gold inlays, impressed Tamsin tremendously. Although it was already dark, the whole building was floodlit.
“Am I to stay there?” she asked, he voice muffled through the abaya.
“In the Golden Palace, the central part,” replied Kamal Qumsiyeh.
When they drew up at a small side entrance, Tamsin was handed over to a fat negro with an odd voice and hurried along a corridor and into a long narrow room with doors at both ends and no windows. It was lit by a glass roof which was frosted to prevent the sun from being too strong. There was a small dais with a throne, and several other chairs round the walls. In the centre of the floor was another dais which was about three feet square and had no chair on it. The walls were decorated with mildly pornographic bedroom scenes depicting couples in various forms of sexual congress, some more possible than others. It reminded Tamsin of the time at school when a copy of the Kama Sutra had been passed around surreptitiously.
The fat man said, “You may remove the abaya now.”
As she did so a youngish pale-skinned Arab entered the room and Tamsin watched in amazement as the fat man fell to the floor and pressed his head to the floor.
~ Up, ~ said the young man in Arabic and the fat man struggled to his feet.
Turning to Tamsin he said, in perfect English, “You do not make obeisance when your Master enters a room?”
“I don’t kow-tow to anyone,” she replied pugnaciously.
“Yes. I see. Kamal Qumsiyeh said you were untrained. That will be remedied. Why do you think you are here?”
“My father is the Emir’s new Captain of the Imperial Voyager and he said I was to come here to live and be educated.”
“I happen to be the Emir and this is my home. You are now a member of my harem and you will do exactly what I want. The Admiral has given you to me as a present on his appointment.”
“He can’t have. Nobody can give people away like that.”
“They can, and he has. You are simply my newest concubine. Do you understand that word, at least?”
“It means a woman who lives and sleeps with a man without being his wife.”
“Yes. Tonight you will share my bed.”
Tamsin felt a thrill in her belly at the thought of having sex with a man. She had played with some of the boys at school, but apart from some mutual groping, nothing had gone remotely that far.
“What if I don’t want to?” she asked.
“Then you will be whipped until you do.”
Tamsin considered the threat. She had never been spanked, even as a small child and she did not really believe that he was serious. The next statement from the Emir was an unmistakable order.
“Undress. I wish to see what I have been given.”
Slowly and feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, she unbuttoned her school white blouse, revealing a sensible cotton brassière a little too large for her and padded with handkerchiefs. The plaid skirt was next, and her sandals, leaving her standing in her brassière and a pair of small white cotton knickers.
The Emir looked her up and down in a way that made her shiver in timid anticipation. When she made no move to remove any more clothing, he frowned at her. Taking the hint she unclipped her brassière and dropped it, mortified that one of the padding handkerchiefs fell out. Then, finally she slipped her knickers down and off her feet.
Standing tall and proud she looked the Emir straight in the eye. He looked her up and down again and moved close to her. With one hand he cupped her budding breast and teased the pale pink nipple to prominence. This frightened her, but a thrill ran through her from the nipple and she felt her most private parts tingle in anticipation. Sure enough his hand slid over her flat belly and into the sparse tangle of pubic hair.
“This will have to go,” he said, “preferably before you join me later tonight.”
He walked round and cupped her bottom in one hand, lifting it slightly to judge its resilience. Continuing round he put one hand on her shoulder and stroked the smooth skin.
“Yes. You will do very well, once you have been trained as to the proper protocols. Are you truly a virgin? I shall find out tonight and be very angry if you lie to me.”
“Yes I am,” she said in a tiny voice.
“I am addressed as Master. Don’t ever forget that. Now answer me again, properly.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, and wondered why it was so exciting to be handled like a piece of furniture he was thinking of buying.
“This is my Chief Eunuch. You will obey him and be polite to him, or he will whip you.”
The Emir held out his hand and the Chief Eunuch passed him a whip, which he handed to her.
“Take a good look at that. That is what we use on unrecalcitrant slaves.”
Tamsin paled as she held it in her hands. It was some two feet long and looked vicious.
“Hit your thigh with it, or your other hand,” ordered the Emir.
Tamsin complied on the palm of her left hand, gently and it stung.
“Harder, or I’ll do it for you.”
This time she hit her own thigh quite hard and squealed as it bit into the flesh, leaving an angry red mark which faded slowly. The Emir nodded and the Chief Eunuch said something in Arabic to another attendant who bustled out of the room.
“What languages do you speak?” asked the Emir.
“English, of course, and a little French,” Tamsin replied, hoping he would not test her meagre knowledge of that language.
“Here you will have intensive Arabic lessons as the second thing we teach you.”
As Tamsin pondered what the first thing might be, the attendant returned with a young woman wearing only a pair of harem trousers, split at the front and a bolero top which did not meet across her breasts.
~ Show me your marks, ~ said the Emir in Arabic.
The girl turned and bent over, pulling her trousers down to reveal a pair of arse cheeks criss-crossed with angry black lines of bruising.
“Look at your own leg and her behind,” said the Emir to Tamsin, “That is how we beat bad girls.”
Tamsin nearly fainted as she remembered how much her self-inflicted stripe had hurt, and yet it was already almost invisible. The Emir took the whip from her nerveless fingers and handed it back to the Chief Eunuch.
~ Prepare her by bathing and shaving. Oil her front and rear, but give her no instructions on bedroom etiquette. Dress her in all her Western clothes again and bring her to me, ~ he ordered the Chief Eunuch, and he swept from the room.
The Bedroom
An hour later, She had had a whirlwind meal, and been bathed and shaved by two girls little older than herself. Dressed in her school uniform again, Tamsin was escorted along a corridor and left in a luxurious bedroom with a huge four poster bed. She stared at this bed for some time with conflicting emotions running through her mind. She was excited by the thought of sex, but frightened that it might hurt. She also feared annoying the Emir because she had seen ample evidence on other women in the harem that they had been beaten. All the women she had seen had been wearing the bolero and trousers, except the bath girls who wore simple smocks.
Dragging her eyes away from the bed she looked at the mosaics set in the walls. Every one of them showed either a sexual scene with a man indulging himself with one or more women in a variety of positions, or women being whipped over a sort of bench. Then she realised there was such a bench in one corner of the room and some whips on the sideboard next to it. As she moved over to look at them one of the two life size statues moved to let her see more and she realised they were both actually human attendants who stayed absolutely still. Looking carefully she could just see them breathing and when she stared at one of them she saw him blink.
Just then the Emir came into the room, stark naked. Tamsin stared at his half erect penis, the first adult one she had ever seen.
“Here you are,” he said, “Come and suck my prick, like the woman in that mosaic.”
He waved at one of the pictures and Tamsin moved towards him as if in a trance. Dropping to her knees in imitation of the picture he indicated, she reached out timidly and touched his prick, which jumped a little as she grasped it.
“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted.
“I guessed as much but don’t worry, I’ll guide you. Suck it as you would a lollipop; just remember to keep your teeth well out of the way.”
She looked at the attendants and asked, “Do they have to stay?”
“Oh, they’re only eunuchs. Just ignore them,” was the surprising reply.
She leant forwards and kissed the tip of his prick, then she licked it and was intrigued by the slightly salty flavour. Taking it further in her mouth she felt a deep twinge of excitement in her cunt as she sucked gently on it. Moving her head away, the Emir lifted her to her feet and smiled at her.
Slowly he started to unbutton her blouse and she trembled at the thought of what was to come. She had seen diagrams of copulation at school in lessons euphemistically called Personal Hygiene and rather more explicit pictures in unauthorised magazines, but she knew that they were no preparation for the real thing. She had been too young for her own mother to tell her anything, and her stepmother had never brought herself to speak of such things. Once she had spied on her father and stepmother, but it was fairly dark in their bedroom and she hadn’t been able to discern any details beyond her stepmother’s legs high in the air and her father’s hairy bottom pumping up and down. Judging from the sounds they were making they were both enjoying the experience.
As he unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off her shoulders, the Emir looked down at her face and was charmed by her bright, excited eyes and round face smiling up at him, framed in auburn curls.
‘This one is a natural,’ he thought, ‘but aren’t they all at this age? She will be a refreshing change from the locals, trained from birth to please men and utterly subservient. Before the night is out she’ll be well fucked and I’ll find some excuse to spank that pert bottom.’
Tamsin moved to unhook her skirt, but he stayed her hand and murmured, “Not yet. I’ll do that when I’m ready.”
Sliding the brassière’s shoulder straps down her arms he marvelled at the smooth perfection of her skin, and the way she blushed as he unclipped the garment and drew it away to reveal her small breasts with their rapidly hardening pink nipples. He unclipped her skirt and allowed it to drop, leaving her wearing only her white cotton knickers.
Seeing her blush deeper as he stroked her breast, he thought, ‘So different from the studied and artificial innocence of the local girls. This one really is shy.’
He pushed her back on to the bed and bent to suck hard on one nipple. The pleasure it gave her seemed to travel straight to her cunt and her whole body tingled with the excitement. His hand slid beneath the waistband of her knickers and down on to the newly-shaven mound. Her thoughts raced as she remembered how proud she had been of growing hair on her body, and how childish that seemed now. Now she was in a man’s bedroom for as long as he wanted her, and nobody could interfere or stop them doing whatever they wanted. As he transferred his mouth to the other nipple, a stray thought made her gasp.
“You will use a condom, won’t you?” she asked, “Everyone says I must, always.”
“No need,” he replied, “Your drink this evening contained a contraceptive; there’s no fear of pregnancy.”
What he neglected to tell her was that it had also contained a relaxant and an aphrodisiac so that she was compliant and aroused before she came to his bedroom.
“What about disease?” she asked, quite oblivious of the insult the question carried.
“If you are the virgin you claim to be, then you are presumably clean. I know I am, so we needn’t worry.”
“Sorry,” she hung her head in shame and blushed even deeper, “I didn’t mean to imply …”
“No matter,” he said as he slid the cotton knickers down.
She lifted her hips and helped him to remove them.
“What do I do now?” she asked with a disarming naïveté, “Shall I put my legs up in the air?”
The Emir nodded and bent to lick the virgin, and now clean shaven pussy lips. As he tongued her he spread the labia to reveal the innermost crevices, and his tongue reached in to her lovebud. As he gently sucked on that the little girl humped up into his face uncontrollably as her first real orgasm hit her hard.
When she had calmed down again she said, “Wow. That was great. Can we do that again? Or do you want to cum first?”
Smiling he replied, “That might be nice. How do you propose to make me cum?”
Tamsin faltered a little, and said in a very small voice, “I don’t really know. I can rub you, but that’s for little boys. You can try in me, but it will hurt the first time. I don’t know how to suck you properly.”
“Let me just play with you for a while and we’ll see what happens, shall we?” he replied, wondering why he was not just taking this girl/woman whichever way he wanted, as he had every right to do. After all she had been given to him by her father as a present.
Sliding one finger into her oiled cunt, he soon met a resistance which convinced him of her virginity. As he moved his finger in and out his thumb was slowly worming its way into her narrower passage. The other hand teased her clitoris enough to keep her close to orgasm, but not allowing her to tip over the edge again.
Gradually he moved so that he was kneeling between her legs, watching her manipulate her own nipples as he roused and opened her. Then he pulled both hands away, threw her legs high on his shoulders and folded her so her heels were beside her head. His prick soon found its own way into her folds and the head entered her roused cunt easily. Balancing himself carefully, he thrust forwards hard, ripping through her maidenhead in one quick movement.
Tamsin screamed from the momentary pain and then grabbed him as the pleasure hit her, whispering, “Oh God. I’m so full. You’re in me. Oh, God. Oh that’s so nice.”
Pausing for a moment to allow her to feel the pleasure of a man’s prick buried to the hilt in her cunt, the Emir slowly withdrew most of the way. Her hips bucked up to try to retrieve her loss. Soon enough he thrust back in and continued his slow pistoning in and out of her eager body, steadily increasing her pleasure, all pain forgotten.
“Yes. Harder. Please,” she begged.
‘Who am I to refuse a lady?’ thought her Master.
Increasing his speed he brought her to a climax which seemed to her to go on for ever. Carefully he slowed his pace until he was moving from fully ensconced to half way in and back again, feeling a new tremor in her body on each thrust.
“Oh God. How long can you go on?” she gasped.
“My child, I can do this all night.”
“Please, oh please, yes,” she begged.
For some minutes he carried on in the Italian carezza style until he sensed that her pleasure was fading. Then he changed to the fast pistoning which he knew would bring him to his own climax. Soon he felt his balls tightening and the life fluid flowing through his prick and deep into the young girl.
“Oh,” she cried, “I can feel it filling me.”
As he shrivelled out of her, he rolled off and watched the young bare cunt twitching in the afterglow of their coupling as the pink tinged white fluid oozed out of her vagina.
When both of them were quiet he asked, “What did your father name you, child?”
As she understood the import of this question she paled in shock.
“You don’t even know my name?”
“It may have been mentioned,” he replied, determined to show her how unimportant she was to an Emir.
Sobbing a little she stammered out, “Tamsin.”
“And how should I be addressed?” he asked sternly.
“What do you mean?”
Quick as a flash she found herself rolled on to his knees, face down.
SLAP!
The first spank of his hand took her by surprise and she yelped at the sudden sting.
‘Her little white arse colours nicely,’ he thought.
SLAP!
The other arse cheek gained a matching angry red imprint of an adult hand.
“Ow. Don’t spank me again. I remembered, Master. I must always call you Master.”
“What is your name?”
“Tamsin, Master. Please don’t hit me again.”
He ran his hand tenderly across the abused hemispheres and wondered whether to plunder her one remaining virginity.
‘No, I’ll save that for next time,’ he decided.
Aloud he ordered, “On your knees. Clean my penis with your tongue.”
She scrambled off his knees and knelt beside the bed, leaning tentatively forwards to lick and suck the mixture of oil, semen, her own secretions and blood from his weapon. As she did so it grew and grew, back to full erection.
Looking up at him, she smiled through her tears and said, “I love the way he grows when I kiss him.”
Waving to an attendant eunuch he said, “Take her back to the harem and have her bathed.”
She felt a real sense of loss that she was not to spend the whole night with him.
***
Over the next fortnight Tamsin visited his room several times and the routine was always the same, she sucked him, they fucked, she cleaned him, and she was returned to the harem. The only difference was that she now wore the standard harem costume of a bolero jacket which did not meet across her breasts, and a pair of trousers which were slit front to rear from waistband to waistband to allow him unfettered access to her body.
Then she was much relieved to have a period. It was a little heavier than usual, and quite painful, but it was a relief to her to know that the contraceptives were working. Three days after her period ended she was again taken to his bedroom, where he watched as she removed the scraps of clothing she was wearing.
“I think we’ll try something different tonight,” the Emir said and she wondered what that might be.
She did not wonder for long, as he led her to the bench in the corner which she knew was for whipping recalcitrant women. She had no idea that this might be used for pleasure, with and without the whip.
“Please don’t beat me,” she begged, “I’ve done everything you want, haven’t I Master?”
Ignoring her pleas, the eunuch fastened her wrist and ankles firmly into padded cuffs on the legs of the bench so that she was face down with her arse high in the air at one end of the bench and her legs wide apart.
“Please …” he voice tailed off as she realised that if he wanted to whip her he could, and all she could do was suffer it.
When his hands spread her arse cheeks wide and he pushed first one and then two fingers into her arse she wondered what he was up to. The fingers left her rosebud and started to rouse her vagina and clitoris. Just before she was quite at a pitch to come she felt something large, warm and firm nosing into her narrower entrance.
“Relax, and it won’t hurt so much,” the Emir cautioned her.
She screamed in pain as the helmet of his prick pushed against the well oiled sphincter until it finally gave way and the intruder was firmly lodged just inside the entrance. The Emir paused to allow her muscles to accommodate the breach of this virgin passage, advising her again to relax.
Then he thrust hard and she screamed until she passed out for a moment from the burning pain as he plundered her rectum until he was fully inside her. The tight hot tunnel excited him and her writhing in pain increased the pleasure as he stayed deep in her until she recovered her senses.
“Please, Master, take it out. It hurts.”
“You’ll get used to it,” was all the sympathy she got, and he started to pump a little.
The pain was fast subsiding and the odd sensation seemed to be becoming quite pleasant as he fingered her clitoris firmly, driving her to a climax. As she felt the first uncontrollable tremors of her orgasm he started to pump in earnest and the mixture of pleasure and pain was almost unbearable, when suddenly he jerked inside her and she felt an odd sensation as he released a load of semen deep in her bowels.
He withdrew and watched her arsehole stay open and a dribble of his offering began to run out of her. He was pleased to notice that it was white, so he had not torn the membranes in his anal defloration. He nodded to the eunuch who released her and she was whisked into his private bathroom where two bath girls cleaned her up.
When she was fully recovered he allowed her to clean him and then fucked her to a series of climaxes.
“I wish we could fuck more often, Master,” Tamsin said as she was about to go back to the harem.
“There are sixty women in my harem,” he replied, “And you already get more than your fair share of my time.”
“It doesn’t stop me wanting you inside me, Master. I think I will even like it in my bottom soon.”
“Perhaps one day I’ll lend you to one of my friends to give you more fucking,” said the Emir, “You wouldn’t let me down would you?”
“No, Master,” she replied and wondered whether another man would feel different inside her.
Envoi
After several months in the harem, and not a few nights with the Emir, Tamsin was fluent in Arabic and well versed in the bedroom arts, which she now enjoyed immensely, even the sodomy. She was quite used to the presence of eunuchs and bath girls, and had almost forgotten her Western dress, wearing the bolero and split trousers without a second thought. She knew that some of the women of the harem were often lent to important visitors, but this had never happened to her.
When the Emir visited the harem she did her best to compete with the other women for the honour of being chosen for his bed, so when she was prepared as for a visit to his bedroom it was no surprise. Then she was led into the anteroom to the harem where the Emir was chatting to a distinguished looking man in uniform, but she knew better now than to interrupt the conversation.
“Ah, here is my little friend,” said the Emir, “I wonder if you might wish to enjoy her company.”
Tamsin’s heart leapt; the Emir was about to lend her to another man for the night.. With a start she realised it was her father.
He glanced over at her and said, “Master, it would be an honour.”
Then he looked again and almost choked as he asked, “Is it Tamsin? I almost didn’t recognise her.”
“Yes,” said the Emir, “She has come on a lot in six months, hasn’t she?”
“Master, I couldn’t … my own daughter … could I?”
“Of course you could. Would you like her to come back to you permanently? She is much more obedient now, as I understand your wife is, and I could borrow her when I use the Imperial Voyager.”
Henry stared at the Emir as the implications of Tamsin’s dress, and of the last comment sank in.


There is more about Tamsin's later life in my novel Nautical Delights.

jackmarkn
01-01-2013, 07:27 AM
wow ... cool !!!



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