Concubines

I lost myself in Kamilah's heat, letting her passion blow away thoughts of anything else, letting her words of joy fill my ears, until we came as one. The movement of the bed seemed unreal as I floated in the afterglow. Hands pulled me on my back. I stared into hot, angry blue eyes.

"Did you have a nice trip?" Samirah asked. I couldn't respond. "I asked you a question, Mike. How was your trip?" Kneeling on the bed peering down at me, her voice was brittle with a phony lightness.

"Fine. How have you been?"

"Better than Kamilah. She was a good little girl while you were gone, but I wasn't. I masturbated every day."

"Oh? Show me."

"All right. I will," she hissed. She spread her legs and parted her pussy lips with her left hand.

I stopped her. "You didn't masturbate while I was gone. You're telling me you did to accelerate your discipline."

"That's not true," she replied, but she lied.

"I'm ready for Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers to disappear and only Samirah, the well-trained concubine, to remain. Are you?"

"I have until the end of the summer," she said.

"But you're ready now."

She sagged and locked eyes with me as we held hands. Hers were big and blue and passive, tinged with doubt and moist from anxiety.

"Do you masturbate, Kamilah?" I asked.

"If Master says."

"Have you ever masturbated?" I asked.

Kamilah looked at Samirah and Samirah translated my question and Kamilah's response, which was, "Yes. At the farm where I was raised, we masturbated at least three times each day. Often I did it four or five times. We were taught to have many orgasms. An eager girl pleases her master."

"Do you lie?" I asked.

"To master? No," Kamilah answered emphatically.

"What is the punishment for lying?" I asked.

"Very hard. A girl give no answer if must lie."

I stared at Samirah as I said to Kamilah, "What should a master do if his girl keeps part of herself hidden away from him?"

"I don't understand," Kamilah replied.

"Translate," I said to Samirah. She did.

Kamilah answered in English. "Whip her or get a new girl."

"Did you masturbate while I was gone, Samirah?" I asked. She didn't answer, which was answer enough. I said, "Go to your mat, Kamilah." Always the good girl, she eased down to her mat.

I pulled Samirah down beside me and we screwed the old fashioned way. Wainscot was wrong. She didn't hump with the best of them. And she did hold something back. When I was finished with her, I sent her to her mat. I suspected something untoward would happen, so I had made plans. I called the harem master to tell him we were ready before I dressed in robes and left the room.

When I arrived at the Sheik's chambers, he and the Prince were talking. I joined them and we visited for an hour or so before the Sheik led the way toward the harem.

We were going to witness the ritual punishment of a concubine named Samirah.

Technically, the harem isn't a woman or group of women. It is a section of the palace that contains the sleeping, eating, and entertainment quarters for the women belonging to the master, in this case the Sheik. I had only seen the room used for punishment. Even that was a rare honor because men were not allowed in the harem except for the harem master and his staff or with the express permission of the Sheik.

Tonight, we were going to the water room, which, as I discovered, contained a small indoor swimming pool, several hot-tubs, with broad areas for relaxing around them. There were only three chairs. One was a throne for the Sheik. The smaller chairs were for Mohammed and me.

All the women were present because they were required to watch this punishment of one of their own. All were completely covered, including the burqat. Three women were around one of the smaller chairs, with two on mats and one on the tile of the floor. I knew the mats were for the wives and the purple figures perched there were Nudara and Sara. The third one was Hasna.

Four mats lay around the Sheik's throne. On them were his wives. His other women spread from his throne in a carefully planned order with concubines nearest him with the nearest concubine being his favorite. His women, like Mohammed's, were in purple.

By my chair was one lone figure in light blue. It was Kamilah.

Opposite us was a heavy Persian rug covering the woman to be punished - my Samirah. She had been taken from my quarters, bathed, oiled and perfumed with jasmine, bound and gagged, and left under the rug to contemplate her fate. The harem master and his two assistants, their heads covered in black hoods, stood behind her.

The Sheik spoke and Kamilah whispered the translation in my ear. He said, "The woman to be punished has displeased her master. All of you watch and learn. All women who displease their masters will be punished this way. Or worse!"

He motioned to the harem master, who yanked the carpet from Samirah and tossed it aside, freeing her from the stifling heat. She was covered in sweat and gasped to breathe. The smell of jasmine wafted in the air. She was bound with ropes, arms folded behind her back, heels tight against the back of her thighs, and body encircled to hold her motionless. A rope around her head ran between her lips to gag her.

Even her hair was bound, braided around a rope that ran between her legs, separating and chafing her lower lips, and holding her head back, forcing her to look upward.

The harem assistants quickly unbound her, leaving only the rope braided in her hair. Steel shackles, wide and with a rasp closure like handcuffs, were fastened around her wrists and ankles. Her legs were spread and secured. A hoist was attached to her wrist shackles to lift her to her tiptoes.

The harem master selected a sturdy whip and began on her back. Samirah watched me when her eyes weren't closed in pain as she writhed and suffered under the flogging she sought. She seemed proud she earned a whipping and of her ability to withstand the pain. Samirah was so different than Kamilah, who was mortified she deserved her whipping, and the pain of her humiliation hurt more than the whipping itself.

The harem master didn't rush. There was no hurry. Again and again, the whip fell on her tender flesh. But even a woman who wants to be whipped has her limits. A low, animal groan escaped her and her eyes begged me to make her punishment stop. The harem master laid a vicious blow across her breasts. She screamed and cried out, "Please, Master. No more."

Quickly, he exchanged his whip for a smaller one with three strands of tightly wound leather each no bigger than a pencil. A woman in the crowd gasped and the Sheik demanded silence. The harem master's prior whipping had not touched between her legs. With a flick of his wrist, he whipped her there and she screamed. His blows were quick now, as fast as he could wield his instrument, flagellating her sex and the tender areas around it.

Her screams were constant. She wet herself as she passed out and sagged in her bondage.

An assistant doused her in cold water. Another held smelling salts to her nose. The Sheik motioned to me and I stepped forward to take a riding crop from the selection of whips. Samirah revived to see my eyes inches from hers.

"I'll never again command a ritual punishment of you, Samirah," I said coldly. "The next time you intentionally anger me, I'll sell you to a whore monger in Zanzibar."

"Yes, Master. I'll be good. I promise," she said, as she begged for mercy. I touched the riding crop to her lips and she ceased.

"You will remember the pain long after the marks are gone except for the mark I give you now."

"Oh, no, please, no," she babbled as I stepped behind her.

I swung the crop once, landing it squarely across both cheeks of her ass. The welt burst out and blood oozed from her skin. An assistant held smelling salts under her nose to forestall another faint and let her body suffer the full effect of the whip. We stepped away from her, letting her scream and twist in her agony. The harem master took Samirah's head in his giant hands to hold her still.

Several women gasped and a murmur fluttered through their number when I held up a piercing tool for them to see. The Sheik smiled as he called for silence. There was a body piercing the women considered to be the ultimate humiliation - a ring through the nose. In a society that hides its women except for their faces, a nose ring stands out like a sore thumb. It shouted the woman who wore it was a disobedient and worthless wench who greatly displeased her man. Such a woman was worthy only of scorn and derision from men and other women.

Samirah's eyes were completely submissive. Hiding the hope they would always be that way, I nestled the point of the tool inside her nose and pressed. Her eyes watered as pain shot through her and blood trickled down her face as she screamed. I slid the gold ring through the hole, closed it with pliers, and washed the wound. I attached a four-feet long gold chain to her nose ring and dropped the end.

"Release her," I said to the harem master. He looked to the Sheik for confirmation and the Sheik nodded. The harem master undid her shackles and she collapsed at my feet.

I ordered her to beg our hosts for forgiveness. She crawled toward the Sheik on her knees and elbows, which made her nipples graze the floor. Her knees were parted, allowing all who saw her an unobstructed view of her well-punished sex and ass. She groveled at his feet and received absolution before repeating the process with the Prince.

She crawled back to me and knelt at my feet. Without looking up at me, she said, "Your girl begs for forgiveness, Master."

"Look at me," I replied.

I saw complete submission and deep humiliation, tinged with a pleading prayer for forgiveness, in her expression. She laid the golden chain across one hand and lifted it to me with palm up. "Please, Master. Please forgive me and let me stay with you," she said. When I took the chain, she crawled to my left side and knelt there, heeling like a well-trained bitch.

I thanked the Sheik for allowing me to punish her in the confines of his harem. I called Kamilah to my side before slowly walking away to allow Samirah to crawl without tightening the leash through her nose. Once we left the water room, I sent Kamilah for a blanket, covered Samirah with it, and carried her to my quarters.

In my quarters, I ordered Samirah to her mat and called Kamilah to my bed. Kamilah happily exhausted me before we fell asleep.

I heard Samirah groaning during the night when her endorphins wore off. By morning, she was in agony and had a slight fever. When I called for the Sheik's physician, she begged me not to let him see the ring in her nose, but I ignored her pleas. The physician gave her an injection of painkiller and she slept the day away.

That night, I ordered her to dress and assist in serving the meal. She begged pitifully to be veiled so her nose ring wouldn't show. I attached a three-inch chain to her ring and a small, shiny, metallic bauble to the chain. The bauble shimmied with her every movement. She served our dinner as we talked about her and how she enjoyed her humiliation and punishment. That night Samirah slept on her mat with her arms bound behind her and her right ankle shackled to my bed.

Over the next week, Samirah rested and healed. She taught Kamilah English, served dinner with a dangling bauble attached to her nose ring, and was bound and shackled at night. We didn't have sex and she didn't masturbate. Her wounds healed and her pain diminished. Only the stripe of the riding crop on her ass and the ring in her nose remained sore and visible to remind her of her punishment.

Kamilah continued to be a joy, but I quickly saw the wisdom on having more than one woman because her eager sexual participation diminished a little each day.

On the eighth day after Samirah's punishment, I said to Kamilah, "I'll have Samirah tonight. You will prepare her for me." Kamilah's training by those who bred and raised her included the ritual preparation of the concubine. In the old days, the great sultans and pashas had many concubines, often collected as tribute or spoils of war. Oft times, he had so many that a woman might only sleep with him every two or three years. To her, that night was as important as her wedding day to a Western woman. The preparation ritual, where the other concubines carefully prepared her to earn her master's pleasure, was a serious and important part of her night with her lord.

"We were taught that each master has his own thoughts about his women coming to him. You haven't told me how you want her, Master," Kamilah replied.

"What do you need to know?" I asked.

"Naked or clothed? Her hair loose or braided? Bound or unbound? With bells or not?"

Samirah watched me from under her lashes. A tiny smile graced the corner of her lips. Each day, her sexual need had grown. She needed a man. She needed me. Every look she gave me, every movement around me, confirmed it. She was eager to please. "I want my initials here," I said, stroking Samirah's right cheekbone. She blanched in fear, fear that I would do it, and fear that I wouldn't. "Her hair loose. Remove all the hair on her pubis." Samirah quickly translated to make sure Kamilah understood. "I'll leave the rest to you. I'm sure you will please me."

"I please you, Master," Kamilah replied.

"I want to watch the preparation, but pretend I'm not there."

"Your initials here?" Kamilah asked, touching Samirah's cheek. I nodded. "In henna?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Can we start?"

I nodded. Kamilah took Samirah's hand and led her into the large and ornate bathroom. I sat on a chair in the corner to watch.

Kamilah faced Samirah, took both her hands, and said, "Listen to me. I ready your body for him. You ready your mind. He is Master and you must please him. Start now. Think of him. His body on yours. Your pleasure when he is in you."

Samirah's eyes were soft and passive, with a tiny, sexy twinkle.

Kamilah continued, "When you feel my hands, think of his. When you feel my touch, dream of his. Spread your legs. He soon will be there. Close your eyes. Think of him."

Kamilah gently kissed her on the lips. Samirah jerked back and her eyes flew open. "Don't pull away, girl. Think of master's kiss. Close eyes," Kamilah said quietly. Samirah's eyes cut to me for an instant before her lids fluttered closed.

Kamilah kissed her again and Samirah's mouth opened. Kamilah's hand caressed her breast, tugging on her nipple. The kissing became more intense as Kamilah's hand slipped down her stomach to nestle between her legs. Samirah twitched and opened wider. Kamilah's finger slipped into her pussy.

"Good girl. Wet for Master," Kamilah whispered. Samirah groaned as Kamilah pulled her hand away. "Lay back. I shave you, then we bathe. Think of him." Samirah nodded. Her eyes were heavy with desire.

Kamilah used lather and razor to quickly dispatch Samirah's pubic hair. She turned on the water and they stepped into the tub. Kamilah lathered a sponge and began washing her. Samirah stood like a statue with her legs spread and her eyes closed as she enjoyed the hands on her, even when Kamilah penetrated the entrance to her nether hole to cleanse it. They sat in the water to rinse, stood to dry, and stepped out of the tub.

From her bag of supplies used in the ritual preparation, Kamilah retrieved a dildo about four inches long and narrow in diameter. She slipped it up Samirah's slew, making her gasp. "Sit here," Kamilah ordered. Samirah sat in on the small, backless bench. Kamilah spread her legs more widely and tucked her feet behind the front legs of the bench. She guided Samirah's hands behind her back and fastened them with a short piece of rope.

Samirah looked lustfully at me.

"Close your eyes," Kamilah said. "Think of him. Master pleased when he sees beauty and heat." She drizzled perfume on Samirah's hair and began brushing it with long, smooth strokes.

Samirah was feeling the effect of her preparation. Her hips moved, feeling the dildo inside her, and she tightened against the ropes. "Stand," Kamilah demanded. Samirah groaned and stood. Kamilah removed the dildo and ordered her to sit.

"No pleasure you," Kamilah said softly. "This is for him."

"For Master," Samirah whispered.

"Yes. For Master. What you like about Master?"

Samirah's eyes were closed, as they been since she sat. I wondered if she remembered I was there. Her face was relaxed with a soft happiness. "His face when he's in me," she said lovingly.

"Me, too. He good master give girls pleasure."

"I know," Samirah replied.

"Sometimes girl come back to farm. She talk of pain and fear of her master. Not our master. He is strong and loving." Kamilah placed the brush on the counter. She looked at me full face, with bright eyes and an endearing smile. She bowed to the waist before she said to Samirah, "Stay. I get henna."

Kamilah allowed the henna to sit and started applying Samirah's other makeup. With shadow and liner and lipstick, she quickly finished Samirah's face except for the final touch. "Be still," she said. With the henna, she put MAP, my initials, on Samirah's cheek.

"Stand. I oil you," Kamilah said. Samirah stood with her legs spread and eyes closed. Kamilah unbound her arms, drizzled the scented oil on her body, and began rubbing it over her.

"Master be pleased with your body," Kamilah said as she massaged the oil into Samirah's breasts. "You please with mind?"

Samirah's eyes slowly opened. Her lids were heavy. "Yes," she said so softly I could barely hear and her eyes closed again.

"When you go him," Kamilah said as she knelt to oil Samirah's lower body. "Don't hide. Be proud. Oh, I don't know the word." She spoke in Arabic.

Samirah translated. "Prance like a mare for a stallion."

"Prance like mare for stallion. Head high. Breasts raised. Toe walk. Dance. Dance until his heat calls you to his bed."

Kamilah stood. Her breasts rubbed against those of Samirah as she put a finger into Samirah's pussy again. Samirah whimpered. "See. You ready for master," Kamilah said teasingly. "Good. Open eyes. Turn."

Kamilah oiled her back, even oiling the inside of her puckered anus. Kamilah retrieved a spectacular, diaphanous hijab and covered Samirah's head, carefully hiding her throat but leaving her breasts fully exposed. She fastened a veil across her face so that only her eyes showed.

"Wear this and dance," she said, holding up two large scarves. Each scarf had two elastic bands, one each for elbow and wrist, to hold the scarf to an arm. She slipped them on Samirah. "Don't show all. Tease. Play with him."

"I'll make him as wild for me as I am for him," Samirah said.

"Yes. Now jewelry."

She put a ring of bells on each of Kamilah's wrists. "Look," she demanded, facing Samirah toward the mirror. "No man push you away."

"I only want one man," Samirah replied.

"Yes. Our Master. You please him, my sister." She kissed Samirah gently on her veiled cheek. "He calls to bed. You, like bug."

"Crawl," Samirah said.

"Crawl to him. Wait his touch. Be woman please her master." She turned and walked to kneel at my feet.

"She ready, Master," she said.

"Well done, my faithful and loving Kamilah," I said. I kissed her on the lips. "Go to your mat and watch," I ordered. She glowed as she bounced up and ran to the bedroom.

Samirah had not looked at me in some time. She stood with her head fully bowed and the dangling veils from her crossed arms hid her body to below her knees. "I will call for you when I am ready," I said.

"Yes, Master," she murmured.

Kamilah was on her mat with only her eyes showing over the edge of the bed. I undressed, crawled on the bed, piled all the pillows against the headboard, and reclined against them. My cock was so hard it hurt, and my balls throbbed. My heart was pounding.