Rahab Bk. 01 Ch. 02: Calliope

The Sultan may have been master of all he surveyed, but that did not include his own Seraglio; there his mother held sway. Fortunately she took a liking to me, and called me her poppet. She reminded me of my Momma and so I liked her. I was not blind to the advantages that might come from being her favourite. She hated the Circassians. I soon understood why.

Her husband, Sultan Selim, had replaced her with a blonde Circassian, and designated her son his true heir. Only a drop of poison in the latter's pomegranate had secured the throne for her son, Mehmet, and she feared the influence of anyone who caught his fancy. The Sultana, Roxanne was a placid, almost bovine woman, devoted to her sons and to Mehmet. She let the Sultan's mother, Calliope, rule the roost behind the curtains of the Seraglio.

I liked the all-female environment. I was good at dressing hair, telling stories, and playing games. Being petite and flat-chested helped. No one saw me as competition, and I was treated more like everyone's little sister than a concubine. The fact that I was friends with Svetlana helped, too. She had such a sweet and generous nature, that she was a universal favourite. That she was not one of the Circassians helped.

The first Circassian, Irene, quickly won the Sultan's favour, spending five nights with him. The other one, Alexandra, found equal favour. Hated in the Seraglio, they quickly also became feared. I avoided them. But I was grateful. My turn on the rota had passed, and given my menses would not come again for two months.

Svetlana told me, as we cuddled the night following her encounter with the Sultan, that he was a nice man. He had been gentle with her, using her anus first, and taking her only when his fingers had broken her hymen. He had used her softly, acknowledging the pain, and not going on too long. He had used her anus to deposit his seed. She spoke kindly of him. We did not do our nightly exercise, but she kept me suckling at her breasts.

After bathing, and breakfast, I went to Calliope, and told her stories from Homer. A Greek by origin, she loved to hear stories of her ancestors. She said I told them well. I used little dolls to illustrate my narrative, and the other women would sit and watch. Svetlana looked at me sweetly. She told me she was proud of her little doll. That pleased me.

And so my days passed.

One morning Calliope drew me aside.

'You sleep with the Russian?'

I admitted I did. She laughed.

'You are such a sweet kitten. Be careful. The Padishah does not want his women to be sated before they come to him. The eunuchs watch you. Take care poppet.'

I told her it had not occurred to me. She drew me onto her lap and kissed my lips. I kissed her back. She smelt of fine perfume, and sweat. She kissed me again.

'You are a devotee of Sappho, my little one. Well that pleases me.'

I knew that Sappho had been a famous Greek poet. A Greek whore I had met in Odessa on a trip with Poppa had told me that. Poppa thought I did not know what the upper rooms in the tavern were used for; I never told him, or Momma. What men did away from home was best kept quiet. They needed to rut, and harlots were the oldest profession. Had I not been named after the most famous of Jewish harlots? I made no judgments. We women got by as we could.

'I will not lie Majesty, I prefer your soft skin and curves to the hardness of men.'

'I shall take you to my couch sometimes my poppet. You please me. Keep your Russian, too, but take more care.'

'What, Majesty, like not kissing you in broad daylight?'

She laughed.

'My little Jewess, you please me. I had wanted daughters like you, but got only many sons. Could you still find this old body alluring?'

She must have been about fifty. I had never thought about age. I liked her, and yes, I found her breasts and undulating tummy attractive. I sometimes wanted to bite her bottom. Maybe I would? She hugged me close. I loved her smell. 'Play games with your lover, my little one. That way the eunuchs will be thrown off-guard.'

It was good advice.

Svetlana and I took to playing with our rag dolls and figurines, acting out plays. The other ladies would watch. We all knew that what we did was code for Sapphic love, but we were not the only such lovers. Soon, our playtimes became the place where our sisterhood met daily. We played, we chattered, and we extolled the delights of Sapphic love, in code through our games. The eunuchs watched, but understood naught, save that the small one the Sultan would reject liked to act and sin, and chattered merrily. That I enjoyed the patronage of the mother of the Sultan was, of course, a great help.

Calliope was a generous patron. She liked me to be with her in the evening. I told her stories, listened to her speak about her son and the politics of the Empire, and when night came, I would settle between her thighs and bring her to the delights of what my tongue and fingers could achieve. Her libido was incredibly high, and she showed me how best to please her. I discovered it was not only men who liked anal play.

Lost in the warmth and safety between her thighs, I came love her scent and taste. Her bud was bigger than mine, or Svetlana's and she loved me to graze it with my teeth, and to press on it, making figures of eight with my tongue. She showed me how to use my fingers inside her lush wetness to make her moan. There was, she showed me patiently, a special place I could reach if I curled my fingers upwards, and when I touched that, she would orgasm violently. She loved it when, in addition to using my mouth upon her bud, I fingered her dark hole. Her orgasms then were explosive, and I feared that the eunuchs would hear us. But if they did, they knew better than to talk.

I was not vainglorious with my position, and used it to help Svetlana and some of the other girls. This put me in sharp contrast to the Circassians, who used their favour with the Sultan to lord it over everyone they could. They even sought to challenge the Sultana herself, so great did their pride grow. Calliope watched and waited. Meantime she prepared me for the inevitable.

Then the summons came. I was told that the following night was mine. My heart beat fast. I ran to Calliope.

She calmed me down, petted me, and told me to do what I felt.

They anointed me. I smelt like the perfume parlour by the time they had finished. My nether lips were given special attention, and I squirmed while Svetlana applied oil to the area around the entrance to my kitty. They draped me in fine Chinese silk. It all reminded me of Poppa's saying that you could perfume a pig, but that did not make it a lady. I looked in the glass and could not think myself a match for the Circassian Amazons.

It was with great trepidation that I was taken to the inner chamber. The chief eunuch announced me. I passed through the curtain. There he was, the Padishah of the Ottomans. He was tall, broad-chested, he looked like a Greek. He wore a loose robe of finest damask. He looked at me.

'Is this some joke? Who has sent you to me? He shall assuredly lose his head.'

'Majesty,' I replied, looking down, 'you should not provoke the Khan at this time, and it was he who sent me.'

He looked down from his great height. I shivered.