Thyra had begun to moan softly when the prince said to Samira, “Cease, woman! I will not be unmanned yet.”
Samira looked up at him, her black eyes heavy with her own passion. Then swinging herself about, she bent forward in a kneeling position, her small round bottom facing her master. Thyra and Lalita rolled away from her, entwining their arms about each other as they frantically kissed. Jamal Khan knelt directly behind Samira.
“Enter me through the portal of Sodom, my lord,” she begged him. “You know the pleasure it gives us both.”
He pulled the twin halves of her bottom apart, and Thyra,
seeing his need through the haze of her own lust, broke away from Lalita. Scrambling across the floor to her master, she grasped his great shaft and led it to the target. Jamal Khan grasped Samira firmly about the hips and began to press against the dainty, puckered orifice. For a moment it was unyielding, but then, like a bud, it began to open, giving way to the rigid rod of flesh that demanded entry.
She whimpered, but she also made an obviously conscious effort to relax for him, her back dipping lower. Suddenly the inflexible became flexible. He pushed through into her body. Slowly, slowly, he screwed his way forward into her denseness, even as her back arched more to facilitate him and she wiggled her body with her rising pleasure. Finally he could go no farther, and Samira purred with satisfaction as she felt the pouch containing his seed slap against her flesh.
“Ohhhh, my lord!” she said huskily. “How I love being the mare to your stallion! Use me! Use me, I beg you! Do not be gentle!”
Watching her husband piston Samira with growing vigor, Yasaman felt a stab of jealousy. Jamal had refused to join her this evening for supper and chess because his mood was foul? He certainly did not look as if his mood were foul now. His look was one of smug satisfaction as Samira began to howl and gasp beneath him. Then, with a great shudder and a roar, the prince withdrew from Samira’s body as she sprawled forward sobbing with pleasure.
Immediately Layla and Nilak rushed forward, a basin of scented water and love cloths in their hands. Tenderly they bathed their lord’s lingham as Lalita offered him a cup of wine that had been laced with aphrodisiacs. He gulped it down, grinning as his vigor was restored by both the wine and the sensual ministrations of their hands. His arms about Layla and Nilak, he escorted them a few feet to a large silken feather mattress that had been placed upon the floor.
“Layla, my little flower,” he said to her, and she giggled as he pulled her down atop him. “Ride the stallion, little flower,” Jamal Khan commanded his zenana woman, but poor Layla was so aroused by all that had already taken place that she was scarcely atop her master when her own pleasure quickly came and quickly departed.
“Ohhhhh!” she complained bitterly as shudders of delight raced through her.
Jamal Khan laughed and lifted her off him. “Who will be
next, my beauties?” he teased his women. “I have a randy lingham tonight that needs much attention.”
Nilak and Lalita both attempted to mount their master, and their frantic efforts dissolved into a quarrel between the two women that allowed Thyra to take advantage of the situation. Deliberately and with great care the Greek girl bathed his member once again. Then mounting him, she slowly sheathed his length within her own eager body.
Yasaman watched, fascinated as Thyra arched her back, her arms behind her that she might balance upon her hands. Thyra writhed sensually atop her master, making small, deep noises of satisfaction as she moved. Jamal Khan reached up and began to fondle his concubine’s large white breasts, his fingers leaving faint reddish marks upon the girl’s skin. The Greek’s movements changed suddenly. Her hips began a frantic motion, and she was quite audibly panting and crying out by turns.
Yasaman did not even start when a soft wool shawl was wrapped about her. “He has betrayed me,” she said softly.
“No, he has not,” Adali told her. “He is a man, and men have needs that can only be satisfied by the flesh of a woman. You do not need to be told this, my princess. For two months you have held your husband at bay and he has been patient.”
“I wanted to know him,” she protested.
“I understand, but you would have gone on like this unless convinced otherwise, wouldn’t you, my princess?”
“Sometimes,” Yasaman told him as she turned to move away from the zenana scene, “I think I should be very afraid of you, my dear old Adali. I am not certain that you should know me better than I know myself; but then I remember that you love me, and so I cannot be afraid of you.”
“Come inside,” he said to her. “The night is cold, and you will catch a chill, my lady.”
“Tomorrow my husband goes to hunt again,” Yasaman reminded the eunuch. “He is meeting his elder brother, Yaqub Ali Khan, in the hills, and he will be gone for several days. Take the zenana women into the city and dispose of them. Thyra, Nilak, Layla, and Lalita leave with a good slave merchant. As for Samira, sell her yourself in the public marketplace. Surely some tribesman or brothel keeper will find her to his taste. Her greedy yoni will no longer entertain my husband’s eager lingham. Just knowing she is in my house this night enrages me! I would kill her if I could!” Yasaman declared angrily.
“And the monies from the sale, my lady?” Adali inquired. “What shall I do with the proceeds of these sales?”
“They will go into my household treasury, Adali,” Yasaman replied. “And gather together the workmen. Now that I am to reclaim my entire apartment, I want to redecorate it so that my husband will enjoy coming here. Do you think there is room for a nursery here?”
Adali grinned broadly. “Possibly, my lady, but when we must address that issue, perhaps it would be better to add an additional wing to the palace for the children. It would guarantee you and the prince your privacy. Lovers, I am told, prefer privacy, my lady.” He helped his mistress back into her bed and drew the coverlet over her. “You will be lovers, Princess. I already see the dawn of love within both the prince’s eyes and yours. It is time.”
“Yes,” she agreed with him. “It is time.”
Adali left her, and Yasaman quickly slept. When she awoke she quickly learned that Jamal Khan had already departed, but he had left her a gift. Smiling, Yasaman undid the bejeweled silk handkerchief to find a fine blue and white porcelain bowl. She admired it, and then Rohana put it away even as Toramalli appeared with a tray laden with fresh, late melon, a boiled egg, yogurt, and bread with which to break her fast.
“Where is Adali?” she asked them.
“He has gone to the city, as you instructed, my lady,” Toramalli answered softly.
“
They are gone?
”
“They are gone,” her servant reassured Yasaman, and she could not help but smile at her mistress.
“Good!” Yasaman declared, and then for a brief moment she looked stricken. “I have never done anything so terrible,” she admitted.
“They should not have been here when you first came two months ago as the prince’s bride,” Toramalli said indignantly.
“A man with a beautiful young wife does not need a zenana full of inferior women,” Rohana added. “You are the Mughal’s daughter, my lady, not the child of some provincial nobleman. It was insulting that the prince did not rid your house of those creatures!”
“Perhaps he was too kindhearted,” Yasaman answered, “but now the deed is done. I hope he will not be angry with me.”
Jamal Darya Khan returned home five days later. Although the sport had been good, he had been forced to bear the company
of not just his elder brother, Yaqub, but his next elder brother, Haider. He did not like either of the men, both of whom had been grown when he was born. Throughout his childhood they had alternated between ignoring him and reminding him of his mother’s inferiority in comparison with their two mothers. He bore them for the sake of his father. He would not have accepted Yaqub’s invitation had he but known Haider would be with them. Yaqub was a braggart and a whiner. Haider, however, reminded Jamal of a poisonous snake. He was too wily by far.
His brothers were embittered with the loss of Kashmir to the Mughals, never mind the unsavory part that they had played in that loss. They were jealous that the youngest of their siblings had been honored with the Mughal’s favorite daughter as a wife. They had heard rumors that Jamal Darya Khan would eventually be named official Mughal governor of Kashmir. They were martial, dense men of little vision. He had spent the entire time he was hunting with them explaining Akbar’s reasons for giving him Yasaman.
When he left them, he was certain that they still believed the Grand Mughal’s actions were a plot to hurt them. After all, it was Yaqub Ali Khan who was Yusef Khan’s eldest son, and after him came Haider, not Jamal, as they had told him over and over again in the time he was in their sour company.
Consequently, Jamal Khan arrived home tired, irritable, and eager for some entertaining company. His zenana women had been most diverting the night before his departure. He had ignored them for far too long. It was a mistake he did not intend making again. He wanted a bath first, a good supper second, and then an evening of sport with his ladies. He grinned in anticipation, thinking about their silken flesh, their fine breasts, and their variety of sensual talents.
His naughty thoughts made his lingham bob up and down in the bath with a randy motion, to the amusement of his attendants. The male slaves teased him wickedly, praising his reputed prowess, suggesting he would wear himself out before it was time. Jamal Khan did not notice the looks that passed between his servants when he bragged that he would wear out every yoni in his zenana this evening, so eager was he for their erotic company. Instead, his servants suddenly grew quiet, bathing him and massaging their master with sandalwood oil. They wrapped him in a clean white dhoti when they were through, and Jamal Khan retired to his quarters for a light meal.
When he had eaten and was rested, he arose, walking leisurely through his palace to the women’s quarters. He had not yet greeted his wife, but it would wait until morning. For now all he could think of was being entrapped between a pair of soft but firm thighs. He passed the door to Yasaman’s chamber and moved on, but where the door to the zenana had been, there was now a solid wall. Confused, Jamal Khan stopped, thinking that he had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he had gone too far; but when he turned and faced the wall, he could plainly see that there was but one door to the women’s quarters—through Yasaman’s chamber.
“Fetch the high steward,” he told one of the guards at the door to his wife’s chamber.
The soldier ran off, and Jamal Khan paced silently during the minutes it took for Adali to make his appearance.
“My lord?” Adali’s robes were dancing about him. He had obviously run all the way, a fact the prince noted and was pleased by.
“Where is the entry to the zenana, Adali?” Jamal Khan demanded.
“That is a matter you had best discuss with the princess, my lord,” Adali answered politely.
“I am asking
you
,” Jamal Khan said through gritted teeth.
“My lord, I cannot answer you,” Adali told him, and it was obvious that he was uncomfortable. “Please take this up with my mistress.”
“I do not wish to see your mistress tonight, Adali,” Jamal Khan told him, his anger barely in check. “I want to sport with my women in the zenana, but the door to the zenana no longer exists.”
“
Because the zenana no longer exists
,” he heard Yasaman say.
Jamal Khan whirled about, her words barely penetrating his mind, so great was his shock.
“Come in, my lord,” she said, drawing him into her chamber. She shut the door behind him. He quickly saw that they were alone, and he realized she looked particularly beautiful tonight. Her silk skirt was black, flecked with small gold stars, and the fabric was so sheer he could see her slender legs through it. Her choli molded her breasts, her nipples visible through the black silk with its embroidered gold neckline and sleeves.
Jamal Khan looked about him. Something had changed.
This was no bedchamber. It was suddenly a salon with comfortable divans, large pillows, tables of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, brass tray tables and beautiful ruby glass and brass lamps, both hanging and standing upon brass pedestals. The gorgeous blue and gold parrot that Yasaman possessed was showcased in a corner. His tiny keeper Balna sat nearby, embroidering on a silken cloth which was to be a new cage cover. Fou-Fou was sprawled upon a divan in her usual reclining position, and the black kitten he had given Yasaman as a betrothal gift now lay by her side. Even the monkey, Baba, was there, eyeing the prince suspiciously as he silently peeled a small piece of fruit. The room had a comfortable, warm feeling to it, Jamal Khan thought as he looked about it. He couldn’t ever remember it looking so fine.
He saw through the door that connected this room with the zenana, a bedchamber. “Where are my women?” he demanded, remembering why he was here.
“I have sold them,” she said calmly. “Do sit down, my lord, and tell me of your trip. Was there much game? I do hope you brought back a deer. I love its meat!”
“
You sold my zenana women? How did you dare do such a thing?
” Jamal Khan was absolutely outraged by his wife’s actions. He glowered at her fiercely. Then he was quite taken aback when she spoke to defend herself. It wasn’t a defense. It was an attack!
“How did you dare to bring me to this place, my lord, without properly preparing it?” she countered, stamping her foot angrily. “In your mother’s time, may Allah bless her worthy soul, there was no zenana here. These were your mother’s rooms, and you gave most of them over to those low
creatures
while cramming your wife into a single chamber. Your women did not respect me, and no wonder! I was even forced to share a bath with them! There was no room for my servants or my things, and you obviously were quite oblivious to it all. Your only interest was in yourself.
“Well, I am the Mughal’s daughter! I will not be abused by you or by those females who found such dubious favor in your eyes. This is my home. You, yourself, gave me charge over it to do as I pleased. This apartment is simply not large enough for me and for any others. If you wish a zenana, my lord, then you must build another wing to this palace to house it. In the meantime, I have sold your women and taken the monies from
their sale to decorate my rooms properly.” She glared at him fiercely, daring him to dispute her.