Seraglio Ch. 04

Immediately Adrian pushed my head even lower and a flurry of spanks fell on my exposed buttocks. Not a hand, but something flatter and not very hard either at first, but as the loud smacks continued they began to sting and I squirmed in spite of the impaling fingers and thumb. I felt my bottom burn and the muscles of my anus and vagina clenched and unclenched around the invading digits. I wriggled and panted and small moans escaped my tight-pressed lips.

It ceased as suddenly as it began. The spanks stopped, the fingers were withdrawn, Adrian straightened me up and unclipped my wrists. My face was flushed hotly, only partly from the bent position, and tears trembled in my lashes—tears caused more by embarrassment and a weird, wild exhilaration than by pain.

Adrian stroked them away and kissed my lips before he led me over to a nearby ottoman. It was covered in maroon velvet so dark as to be almost black, and though silky to my hands, it prickled under my tender bottom.

“Not that way, darling,” Adrian instructed. “All the way up. Kneel and sit back on your heels. Lovely, but open your knees wider, further apart. And don’t rub your arse, sweetheart; put your hands on your thighs. That’s it, back straight, head up, very good.”

When he was satisfied with my form Adrian turned to our host, who still held one of the embroidered leather-soled slippers, slapping it idly against his thigh. “Very well, Hadad—the moment of truth.”

Hadad stroked his beard and considered.

“First,” he said, ticking off points on his fat, bejeweled fingers, “it’s a pity she isn’t younger. She is past the first blush of youth. Second,” another finger, “she is not trained. Even when she obeys, there is resistance in the very frame of her. Her belly is tight, her hips clenched. She does not walk or move fluidly, though learning to dance may correct that.” A third finger joined the other two. “And last, she is Inglezi and may never understand the place which Allah, blessed be His Name, has ordained for her.”

Then Hadad laughed, a great rumbling belly laugh, and opened the fingers of both hands wide. “In spite of all this, she is a jewel, a red rose! Her skin is very fair but resilient, and colors well under a blow or pinch. Even her resistance is an incitement to a man who enjoys the challenge of bringing a woman to his hand. If you paid less than one hundred fifty thousand dollars American for a year’s contract, you made a very good bargain. With a few months’ training I would charge you twice that.”

Adrian’s face was impassive but he gave me a look that made me flush, because there was something smoldering in his cool grey eyes, something hot that sparked an answering flame in me. I caught my breath, and was distracted during the time he spent thanking Hadad.

Abal helped my don my robes and veils, except for the clamps, which she helped me stow in a pocket I didn’t realize I had. She patted the pocket and gave me a conspiratorial smile, then trailed her master as he showed us out.

I blinked in the sudden light of the open door as Adrian and Hadad shook hands and salaamed to each other again. To my surprise, the limo stood in the street.

“Don’t forget,” Hadad called. “Have her taught to dance. And remember the slipper—she likes that!”

“Do you like that?” Adrian asked softly as we climbed into the back of the car.

“Did you?” I countered as I adjusted my position carefully. My butt was still warm and tender under my robes. Beneath the veil my cheeks were probably every bit as pink as my behind.

“Can you doubt it?” Adrian asked. Taking my hand he pressed it to his crotch and an impressive erection. I pulled my hand away, but the driver and attendants were looking straight ahead, ignoring us as they did when we spoke English. “Just you wait ‘til we get home, young lady!”