Bilal and Mistress Octavia Pt. 01

I heard myself say, "God is watching."

She looked around, as if God would appear before her shining blue eyes. "God and I have spoken. He said he would forgive me."

"Forgive you? What do you mean? What did you do?" But when I asked the question, she giggled and ran. "Hey, wait!" Confused as I was, my body cried out to be near her. She looked back and jumped over the side into the dark sea. As she jumped her dress flipped up and her white apple arse flashed in the moonlight. My ram took notice, and rose to attention.

I bounded over the side, but instead of landing in the ocean, I was in the streets of Turun. Like on the ship, everyone was gone. I heard echoing footsteps. She was ahead of me, running and grinning. Somehow the bottom of her dress had ripped off. Her ample arse jiggled like flan with each footstep. My ram was full now, and was as hard as the ship's mighty mast. I looked down and my clothes were gone. My ram flopped up and down absurdly as I pursued my quarry.

She ducked into the customs house and I followed. Inside the floor was a mess of papers, blowing as if in a hurricane. But there she was, her bare arse sitting on the desk and her legs spread. Between her legs was more of the same golden hair that topped her head, and I could see the glistening of wetness inside. On her face was a look of fear, and she nervously bit her finger. "Heavens no!" she said in a mocking tone. "I've been caught. What are you going to do to me?"

"This is sinful behavior. Showing your arse to a man like that. What would your reverend mother think?"

Her mouth dropped open playfully. "She's not here to punish me, Bilal." She tilted her hips seductively, "I don't know what I'll do or who will punish me for such wicked behavior." Her eyes flashed down to my ram, which pointed at her like the needle on a compass. "Is that what I think it is? I've never seen one." She batted her eyes innocently.

"It is. Are you afraid of it?"

"No, Bilal. I'm afraid of you. But maybe I can do something for you so you can have mercy on a poor girl led astray." She hopped off the desk and approached me. Standing up, her strong legs made a pleasant V shape around the hair of her jade gate. Her hips swung with each step. Her face was only inches from mine now, and I felt her hand on my bare thigh. "I can do something nice for you Bilal. I've been a nice girl all my life."

I tilted my own hips forward, and lightly rubbed my ram on her quivering hips. Her hand reached down to grab it, but I quickly jerked away. Her face bore a look of offense, but she giggled and grabbed for it again. This time I caught her arm, and pulled her close to me. She resisted, but only just. I was surprised by how strong her arms were. Again her face was close enough that I could smell and feel her hot breath on my lips, and I leaned forward to kiss her.

Our lips met only briefly, and somehow she twisted and came completely out of her dress. I was left holding her sleeve. She stood there white and naked in the dark. Her breasts were larger than I expected, as the dress hid their true size. They spread wide and she had large pink nipples that were already erect. I had never seen nipples so pink. "No man has seen this before Bilal, aren't you afraid of God's wrath?"

"Name a sin in the Good Book and I have committed it. God and I are already having a long, stern conversation in Jannah when he calls me home. Besides, I'm not the one who made a vow."

She pouted, "But surely God will understand that this foreign barbarian took advantage of me. I have an innocent heart." She leaned back on the desk, running her hands over the surface.

"God forgives. But I don't." I marched forward and grabbed her wrists again. Again she played at resisting, but was easily overpowered. I seized her lips in mine and penetrated her mouth. Her tongue snatched hungrily at mine and I felt pulses of lust travel through me. The tip of my ram touched her inner thigh.

Slowly, I slid closer to her jade gate. I could feel its hotness on my stiff ram. But I felt a hand on my chest. I pushed the hand aside, and thrust my ram forward more forcefully. But the hand was there again, firm and resolute. On her face was an expression of true disapproval. Pulling my ram back was like stopping a sailing ship about to run ashore, but I managed. The disappointment must have been obvious on my face.

"I have made a covenant with God to remain a virgin. My jade gate shall never be penetrated by you or any other man." I started to feel irritated and scowled. She had seemed like she wanted it so badly. "You're a grown man. Don't pout. And don't despair. My jade gate is not the only wet warm place on my body." She kissed my neck. Her lips left little wet spots which felt cold instantly. She kissed down my hairy chest, even softly biting my nipples. No woman had ever done that for me, and it pleased me greatly.

It was obvious where this was going. I didn't think that she could still be a virgin after the sinful thing she had in mind, but my lust propelled me ahead and I said nothing. I said a silent prayer to God. I had no idea how grave of a sin I was committing, but the devil inside me had taken over.

I felt her lips on my belly and her tongue snaked out and licked around my navel. It seemed like an eternity since I had spotted her on the ship's deck. She gazed up at me, her blue eyes sparkling in the dark. Kiss after kiss after kiss, she finally came level with my ram. I pleaded with my eyes, and she seemed to obey, but then kissed my thighs. She gave a buck-toothed laugh at my shocked expression. How could a pure woman like this be so impure?

Then I felt her warm hand around my ram and I gasped in anticipation. She looked up at me and very softly kissed the tip of my wet ram. I quivered. "Please, Marguerite." She made to lick my ram and tossed her head away at the last second. "I can't take it anymore."

"Patience is one of God's virtues. Don't tell me a lewd goat like you can't handle a poor naive girl." She kissed my belly again. Her mouth churned and puckered and she spit right on my ram. Her hand pumped it, and made it slick with her spit. A string of saliva hung from her chin, connected to my dripping ram. "We have to both be ready."

Then, finally her tongue touched the base of my ram. I started, and hoped I would not have my rain just yet. She licked up the shaft, never breaking eye contact with me. Her blue eyes burned like fire. My body trembled. I was so close. Her tongue shot out again, as if my ram was a piece of sugar candy and she was the innocent girl she pretended to be. "Marguerite, fuck!"

She reached my head and pushed my foreskin back. Her agile tongue rolled out of her mouth again, and she circled my throbbing head. The look of pleasure on her face was exquisite. "Shit Marguerite, I'm..." but my words fell into incoherence. My body quaked and my ram beat as if my heart were inside it. My rain shot from my ram, and an expression of profound shock formed on Marguerite's face. Burst after burst fell on her shoulders, her tits, her face, and her hair. She blinked and gaped and her chest heaved. But her shock turned to ecstasy and she dabbed some of the rain off her tits to her finger, and licked it clean.

I felt dizzy, and the fog of sleep began to lift. I awoke to find myself swaying in my hammock, the monotonous groans of the ship in my ears. I shifted and felt wetness in my trousers. It was too dark to see anything, and I could hear the snores and heavy breathing of the other passengers. It reminded me of the army.

I made a face, and promised myself that I would take a bath first thing when I got to St. Tremay. In two weeks.

--

I finally had something besides reading to occupy my time on the ship. Marguerite was a talkative woman. She had a lot to say about the Faith and the New World. She especially had a lot of opinions about the padishah and his crusade. Unfortunately I cannot write them here, but suffice to say she disagreed with his crusade and worried about the Godliness of it.

We would take our brunch together, such as it was. I preferred the salt pork over hardtack, but I needed both. The water with lemon was at least bearable. My second promise to myself was to get a decent meal once I disembarked. She was eager to get her work started with the Amano. "Aren't the Amano the ones who practice human sacrifice?" I asked her.

"Yes, but it's not that simple. The sacrifices are slaves captured in war and willing volunteers."

"People volunteer to be sacrificed?" I was agog. I wasn't even willing to rejoin the padishah's army. I couldn't imagine people just giving up their lives like that.

"Of course. Think of all the people that have died for the Faith. Though their religion is false, they believe it just as fervently as we do. They also believe that their emperor is descended from their sun god." Traveling to foreign lands that I did, I heard many tales of the heathen gods. I wondered if the tales would seem so strange to me if I were born into one of the heathen villages, and taught to worship their gods from birth. Some of the tales in the Good Book were impossibly bizarre. "But you haven't told me what you're doing in the New World yet."

"Well, I'm going to work. It's a plantation I believe." I fished the signed ticket out of my pocket. "I grew up on a farm, so I figure I already know some of the skills I need. I am able bodied and ready to work, after all." That last part wasn't strictly true. I have spent my whole life avoiding work and responsibilities. Sometimes I wonder how my life would have turned out if I had tried as hard at working as avoiding work.

She slowly read my ticket. "Yes, you're going to the Fontaine Estate."

"Are you familiar?" it would be helpful to know some information about my employers before I arrived I suppose.

"Only in passing. I think the Fontaines were one of the biggest investors in the colony's founding." She glanced down at the agreement, then back up at me, "Bilal, are you aware of the terms of the contract?"

"Yes, I work for them for seven years and then I'm free to go."

"You'll be indentured." I nodded my head, but didn't get her point. "An indentured servant."

"Yes, I figure they have me working in the kitchen or some such. They would be fools to put me in the field." I laughed, but her expression remained stone cold. "What?"

"Bilal, you're going to be a slave!"

"No, you're reading it wrong, it says indentured servant. God forbid! Slaves don't get paid."

"What do you think indentured means? You're bound in servitude to," she checked the paper, "Julian Fontaine. That means you're working for free for a seven year contract!" My mouth moved up and down a few times, but I couldn't get the words out. "This is how they do things in the New World. None of these plantations would make money if they had to pay their workers!"

A feeling of horror creeped over my body. Enslavement? It didn't seem possible. Marguerite continued, "They get people to sign contracts in Vaul and the plantation owner agrees to pay for your passage in exchange for your servitude. Didn't you read the contract?" My blank stare was all the answer she needed. "Heavens, Bilal." She sighed.

"This can't be allowed. Slavery is outlawed in Vaul. How can this be?"

"Indentured servitude is legally distinct from slavery. You sign the contract yourself and you are set free after a certain time. In the colony's early days, there was a problem getting people to pay back the money they would borrow to travel. The New World is a big place, and one can hide in the wilderness or with the natives. They needed a way to make sure they got their money's worth."

"What can I do then? I'll escape!"

"No, Bilal. The plantation owners pay for bounty hunters and they'll track you down like a bloodhound. There's no..." she paused and pinched her sharp nose between her eyes, "Look, I'll be in town for a week or so before I meet up with the other missionaries. You need to find a way to come see me at the church. I can't free you from this contract, but maybe I can help you in some way.

I gaped. A slave? Calling them indentured servants was like a new coat of paint over rotten wood. I had trapped myself, betrayed by my own foolishness and impetuousness. Slavery was commonplace in the empire, but it was only criminals and prisoners of war. A Kashaki man of the Faith like me would never be a slave.

That night I tossed and turned. Wherever I closed my eyes I remembered the slaves I saw in the capital city working on a building's construction. I knew nothing of construction, but they worked in harsh and precariously dangerous situations. While I watched them, a man was crushed like a roach by a pallet of lumber that crashed down on him. The overseer cracked his whip and the other slaves didn't even get a break. I never saw what happened to the body. The slaves worked around it.

In a way it was ironic. Anyone who would take me as a slave was a fool. It was impossible that I was a good investment for them. It gave me a few crumbs of solace that I would bring them frustration and sabotage their dirty profits.

In the capital city there was a place called the Velvet Palace. It was where the padishah's jaryas, his pleasure slaves, lived. Or rather they were imprisoned there. I laughed, would Mr. Fontaine make me his jarya? It seemed like one job I could actually do well. I would have almost preferred it to working in the fields. I guess there was nothing for it. There was no way I could evade bounty hunters. The rich seemed to always get their way. I fell asleep feeling bitter and afraid.

--

Every city is unique, but in some ways every city is the same. Many country folk will tell you that cities are dirty, dangerous, and sinful. These are points I cannot argue, but what magnificent bustle in the streets! In a city you could find people from all over the world, coming to this great gathering of people in hope of finding their fortune.

St. Tremay was a proper city, and if it weren't for the heavy swamp air, it wouldn't have been out of place in Vaul. I heard the sound of clopping horse hooves and a thousand voices at once. The streets were lined with colorful buildings, all designed in the Vaulish style. There was a haze over the city of smoke and sweat.

All the passengers were on the deck as we approached. They were half mad with boredom, horrid food, and lack of privacy in the four week voyage. Even today, I cannot tell you exactly how I endured that infernal ship.

There was a great sigh of relief when the ship lowered the gang plank, some of the passengers were even crying. I thanked God and kissed the filthy ground. I didn't care, I was too happy to be out and free. The city was quite smoky, and there was some pungent odor in the air. Sage, perhaps? But mixed with something else. There were two acridly smoking fire pits within sight. The docks teemed with workers.

The captain had told me that I had to report to the customs house and meet Mr. Fontaine's men so they could take me in. I didn't ask, but I wondered what kept the indentured servants from just running off. My question was answered when I was locked in a tiny room and assured that Mr. Fontaine's resupply wagon would pick me up. From a sea prison to a land prison. What had I gotten myself into?

It surely will not surprise the reader to know that this was not the first time I had been in a cell. At least they had let me keep my pack. I could play my qanun and read the Good Book or the wicked book to pass the time. I had resigned myself to my fate by this time. I would be a slave and my act of rebellion would be to be the worst slave on the plantation. I was too lazy to be an effective troublemaker, but I could just do a terrible job at everything. In a way, that would be more frustrating to my master. A troublemaker is easy to catch. You can point out his misdeeds and make an example of him. A slow or stupid slave was much harder to root out. In my village I knew men who had done a poor minimal job at their profession for decades. They still got paid.

I would get in the way, "accidentally" break anything I could, and misinterpret my master's orders. I would sleep on the job, smoke too much hashish and laugh myself into oblivion, and "forget" assignments. In my experience, stupidity did so much more damage than malice because it was impossible to fight.

Mr. Fontaine's men came a day later. I heard a click as my door was unlocked. There were a few more indentured servants with me, all Vaulish. I had practiced my Vaulish with Marguerite on the ship and it was almost passable. Turned out Mr. Fontaine was a fat man with a weak beard and a foul temper. He carried a whip at one hip and a sword at the other. A group of gruff, large men flanked him at all times.

While workers loaded supplies, we climbed into one of the empty wagons. He explained our situation as we waited. "You have all been acquired by Mr. Julian Fontaine to work a seven year term on his plantation. Since you will not be paid, your hard work and loyalty will be assured by other means." His voice was hoarse and his speech had a practiced and routine sound. He fingered the whip at his side, "Layabouts will be whipped, troublemakers will be hanged. I am Mr. Erasmus Fontaine. You will refer to me as 'Master Erasmus' or 'sir.' No errors on this front will be tolerated." There were a few quiet seconds as he surveyed us.

"What a sorry collection. Each of you is lower than a worm, and less useful to the plantation." He seemed pleased with himself, "You slaves are all the same. Drunks. Weaklings. Savages." He stared at me when he said the last one. I suppose my Vaulish clothes hadn't fooled him. "I should whip you all right here and now just for being so filthy!" One of the men coughed and Master Erasmus's eyes darted to him. "This is no laughing matter, curr. Guards"

The guards came and seized the man, "I swear sir, I just coughed. I didn't laugh at you, I swear with God as my witness." They brought him before Master Erasmus.

"What is your name, maggot?"

"Pierre, sir." The man said.

"Now it's Black Lung. Hold still."

He turned to face the rest of us. "You rats may think that I hate this man. And I do. But I am quite happy that he stepped out of line. It lets me show you wretches what happens." The slave begged and struggled, but the guards' thick arms held him fast. Master Erasmus licked his lips and smiled an infernal smile. He uncoiled his whip, and with precise and professional motion he cracked it. No matter how many times I hear it, the crack of a whip will always give me a start. It cracked even without hitting anything. How did it do that? But this whip did strike something. Hard.

A red, dripping line ripped across the man's back. He winced, and it was obvious he was stifling cries. Master Erasmus whipped again and again, each time making a fresh welt on the poor bastard's back. I couldn't look. After several lashings, the man did cry out, and begged first Master Erasmus and then God for mercy. A crowd had formed, and they gawked at the spectacle. I had never understood this. Once in the capital city they were beheading a man for blaspheming the padishah during one of his many victory parades. The man had cried "Murderer! Rapist!" as the padishah's procession went by. It's against the law to speak against the padishah, whether it's true or not.

They placed the man's head on the chopping block. They had wisely gagged him, as a man with nothing to lose had... well nothing to lose by insulting the padishah with his dying breath. An imam sanctimoniously read the man's last rites and crowed on about forgiveness and grace. Then the ax swung, and the man's head tumbled. I had not been ready for the amount of blood that poured from the man's neck hole. His body gave one last, grotesque spasm and he lay still. I puked right then and there on the ground, and when they took me out I caught a look of the man's anguished, severed head and cried. People call me a coward and a spineless woman, but I don't care. A dying or suffering man is a horror to behold.