The Love Slave (42 page)

Hasdai reached out and fingered her soft tresses. “I am not certain what—” He stopped, embarrassed.

“
I am
,” she replied softly. “Trust me, my lord, and you will soon feel foolish that you ever feared this pleasure.” She
moved close to him. “I think you will be a wonderful lover, Hasdai. Now, put your arms about me, and I will teach you how to kiss properly.” She slipped her slender arms up about his neck and drew his head down. He was tall, and she had to stand upon her tiptoes. Zaynab brushed her mouth lightly over his with the most delicate of touches.

His eyes closed and he sighed deeply. Her mouth was so sweet. She tasted like summer fruit. Her full breasts pushed against his broad chest. “
Zaynab
,” he murmured, caught up in the magic of her.

“Very nice, my lord,” she purred at him.

His eyes flew open, the spell broken at the sound of her voice.

She smiled at him warmly. “You have a delicious mouth, Hasdai, but the embroidery on your clothing is wreaking havoc with my sensitive flesh.” Reaching up, she divested him of his wide-sleeved tunic. Her fingers expertly unlaced his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. Her hands moved to the belt that held up his baggy trousers. She removed it, dropping it to the floor with his other garments, and slowly, slowly, drew his pantaloons down over his narrow hips, letting them slide the rest of the way to the carpet. Then she ran her hands up his smooth, broad chest. “There,” she said, “isn’t that much better?”

Without a word he kicked off his slippers and stepped from his trousers. His eyes met hers. “I have never been naked before anyone since my childhood,” he told her.

Stepping back, she swept her eyes over his form. “You are not just fair of face, my lord,” she said honestly, “you are also fair of form, and your manhood,” she brushed it with quick fingers, “shows much promise. We will give each other great pleasure.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was like a young, primitive goddess, vital and exciting. He wanted to touch her, and to his surprise, she seemed to sense it.

“Come,” she said, and turned about so that her back was to him. Reaching down, she drew his arms around her. His hands
cupped her marvelous breasts. For a moment he was frozen, and then she murmured, “Fondle them, my lord. They are meant to be played with by a lover. Gently, though, for they can be tender. Use your thumb and your forefinger to tease at the nipples. Ahhh, yess, that’s it! You are going to be an excellent pupil, Hasdai.” She rotated her bottom into his groin. “Hummmmm,” she purred.

Her flesh was so exciting, pliant, yet soft as silk. He felt more aware than he had ever been in his entire life. Her fragrant hair tickled his nose. The tight little nubs of her nipples speared into his palms. His whole body was tingling, and the core of the sensation seemed to be focused between his legs.

Then she was taking his hands from her breasts and running them down her torso. His fingers molded her waist, her hips. She took one hand and pressed it against her mont. Without instruction he pushed a single finger between her nether lips. She was moist as he rubbed her.

“Your instincts are good,” she approved his actions. “Take your hand away now. In time I will show you that little hidden jewel of mine, and how to make it shine.” She revolved so that she was facing him once more. Standing on tiptoes again, she drew his head back down to hers. The tip of her tongue ran slowly over his fleshy mouth, first the top lip, and then the bottom. “Open your mouth and give me your tongue,” she commanded him. When he did, she taught him how two tongues might dance together. “Isn’t that nice, my lord?” she asked him afterward, and then she nibbled on his bottom lip.

He could both hear and feel the blood pulsing through his body. The tingling sensation was growing stronger. His vision seemed a little blurred, and he wasn’t certain that he was breathing properly. “As a physician,” he said slowly, “I know what transpires between a man and a woman. At this moment I want to fling you to the floor and push myself into you as far as I can go, Zaynab. You are a temptress!”

“It will be better if you have patience, Hasdai, my lord,” she promised him, and leading him by the hand, brought him to
the bed. “At least three times this night,” she said, “I shall draw your love juices from your body. You will have an overabundance of them because of your abstinence. Now lie back, and I will minister to your body.”

He positioned himself in the center of the bed, and she crouched by his body. Beginning with his forehead and moving down, she began to cover his handsome body with little feathery kisses. When she licked at his nipples, his head spun with the delightful sensation. He watched, fascinated, as her golden head moved lower and lower, and suddenly she was grasping his manhood. Her lips pressed hot kisses on the hard shaft, and when she ran her tongue about the ruby knob, he cried out, unable to help himself. Her mouth closed over him, and he groaned as she drew once, twice, and finally a third time upon him before releasing him. “I am close to spending,” he moaned.

“Not yet,” she cautioned him, and swung herself over his body. “Concentrate upon my breasts, and not the randy fellow between your legs, Hasdai. That’s it,” she encouraged him as he reached out to fondle the ivory orbs once more. Then positioning herself carefully, she lowered her supple body, absorbing his love pillar slowly, slowly, until he was fully encased within her. The look on his face was one of disbelief and wonder. He was close to weeping.

He could feel the walls of her sheath closing about him, squeezing him gently but firmly. He crushed her breasts, struggling not to lose the small control that he had. She rose up off him, but before he might protest, she was pushing down again, and again, and again. Her thighs held him in a sensuous grip as she rode him. He wanted it to go on forever, but he could feel himself swelling, throbbing, bursting as his love juices exploded from their long captivity to flood her secret garden with his life’s essence. Above him her body arched, head thrown back, and then she collapsed upon him. His arms closed about her tightly.

They lay silent for some time, and he wondered if perhaps she had fallen asleep, but then she stirred. Arising from the bed, she busied herself heating water over a charcoal brazier,
pouring it into a silver ewer, mixing a little bit of her fragrance in the water. She brought the basin to the bed, setting it on the little table, which was piled high with neat squares of soft cotton. Taking one, she dipped it in the water and wrung it out. Then she tenderly bathed his now subdued member. He felt more relaxed than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was a totally new feeling, quite unfamiliar to him.

When Zaynab was content that he was properly cared for, she cleansed herself. Then she disposed of the water and the used love cloths, wiping the basin out carefully, setting an earthenware pitcher upon the charcoal brazier and filling it with fresh water to heat. Returning to the bed, she reached into her little gold basket and drew forth the cup and the bottle of restorative. She poured him a draught and encouraged him to drink it down.

“You will not normally need this,” she explained, “but as it is your first time, I thought perhaps it would revive you.”

“You were wonderful,” he said admiringly, having downed the contents of the cup in a large swallow. “In my wildest dreams I never imagined that a woman could be … could feel … 
You were wonderful, Zaynab!
”

“Every man says that to his first woman, I am told, and every woman says it of her first man.” She laughed. “I have pleased you, then?”

“Is there any doubt in your mind? I shall be forever grateful to you, my beautiful friend,” he told her sincerely.

“Perhaps now you will please your family and take a wife,” she teased him.

“I have no time,” he protested. “It will be all I can do to serve my lord, the caliph, and my exquisite Love Slave, Zaynab.” He reached up and pulled her down onto the bed with him. “Teach me more, Zaynab. I know that was but the beginning of passion.”

“I but live to serve you, lord,” she said with mock humility.

“Is it permitted to beat one’s Love Slave?” he asked seriously, but his warm eyes were twinkling.

“If the pain can bring pleasure,” she replied, and leaning forward,
bit his earlobe. She followed the nip with a lick and a kiss, blowing softly into the shell of his ear.

He responded by rolling her beneath him and biting softly upon her nipple. Then he licked and kissed the tender flesh, asking, “Like that, Zaynab?”

“Indeed, my lord learns swiftly,” she praised him. Then she leaned over him again, bending forward to take the defeated bud of his manhood, and its sac, completely into her mouth. Slowly, gently, she worked him with her tongue and lips, carefully rousing him until he was throbbing with a desire he had not believed could be brought forth again so quickly. Finally, he gripped her hair and drew her up again.

“Enough,” he said. “Now answer me this, Zaynab. Can I do the same to you? Can a man taste of a woman too?”

“Yes,” she told him, and lying upon her back, she opened her legs for him. “Use your thumbs to part my nether lips, my lord, and then you will see the bud of my womanhood. The tip of your tongue, gently used, will excite it, excite me. You may even put your tongue into my sheath, using it as you would your manhood.”

Carefully, he followed her instructions. With almost clinical fascination he viewed her most intimate charms. Tentatively his tongue reached out to touch the dainty organ that seemed to quiver before his gaze. Within moments it was obvious that he had a talent for what he was doing, for she was whimpering and straining with pleasure. His tongue flicked back and forth. He was almost lost in his task, and then she cried out softly and her body shuddered. He had brought her to the apex of early pleasure, and he was iron hard with his own lust.

He pulled himself level with her again, and she eagerly took him into her arms. “Put yourself inside me,” she whispered to him, “and then use me as I did you earlier. Move yourself back and forth within me, my sweet lord. Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!” she cried as he complied. She was amazed. This inexperienced man was bringing her to a perfect crescendo of passion. It was impossible,
but he was
.

And it was wrong, she thought sadly. Wrong that she should
experience pleasure with this man who neither loved her, nor whom she loved.

There was a bitterness in their coupling, a hollow feeling. She had felt it with the caliph too. It would always be that way for her without Karim.

Cha
p
ter 15

H
asdai ibn Shaprut seemed to be making up for all the years he had remained a voluntary celibate. He had, in a relatively short time, become a tireless and skilled lover under Zaynab’s tutelage. He wanted to know everything that she knew. He wanted to try it all, although he drew the line at sodomy. It was a form of passion that did not appeal to him, although he knew that many men enjoyed its practice, not just with their women, but with an occasional boy or two for diversion.

He enjoyed having her kneel before him, her golden head against his belly, using him with her mouth. Afterward she would kneel on all fours, and he would enter her female passage from behind her. He enjoyed it when she sat facing him, his member deep inside her, while he kissed her with lips and tongue. Once she sat with her back to him, and he sheathed himself within her, his big hands playing with her breasts. There were so many exciting variations, and if it had not been for Zaynab, he might have gone his entire life without knowing them. His former virginity had been his darkest secret, known to no one.

“You will make some girl a fine husband,” she told him one day as they sat playing chess together. She thought a moment, and then carefully moved a piece upon the board.

“I do not want a wife,” he said, studying his own pieces as thoughtfully.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because,” he said, moving his warrior piece, “I do not have the time for a wife, and the family that would follow our
joining. You, my dear, are a delightful distraction for me. You have opened my eyes to physical pleasures, and you serve me well, Zaynab. But if I come home late, or perhaps do not come home at all, you will not complain about it when you next see me. You will not whine because my duty to the caliph, to al-Andalus, to the Jewish community, override all else, and make me forget the New Year, or Hanukkah, or Passover. You will not burden me with sons whom I must personally take the time to raise properly, or daughters whom I must make good marriages for else I be shamed before my own people. These are the reasons I will not wed. Jewry is full of men who take wives and have children. I am unique in that I can be of great value not just to the Jews, but to my country as well. I have two younger brothers who will carry on the family name for our father. Alas, my parents do not understand me, but they have at least managed, in their pride over my accomplishments, to accept my decision in this matter.”

“I bore the caliph a child,” Zaynab said quietly. “I could as easily bear you one, Hasdai.”