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She knelt, trembling from a mixture of anger and pain, as one of the women gently pulled her robe back down. It was the one whose face Taraz had stroked so gently. Bree looked up into a pair of kind brown eyes framed by veils like those worn by the other women.
Wordlessly, she led Bree outside across a lush green field to another tent, smaller in size. Inside, the other women waited. They had taken off the robes and veils that concealed them and were laughing and giggling together like teenagers.
“Do not fear the suiltaan,” the woman called Dasheena said. She spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each word as Tahraz had done. “He is a good and just ruler, a most holy and merciful man. He requires only that we obey his commands without question or complaint. I, too, was punished when I first came to his hareem. But I soon learned to please him.” She smiled. “You will as well.”
One of the other women stepped forward. She had dark skin and long hair plaited into intricate braids strung with multicolored beads. “Dasheena speaks the truth,” she said. “We are blessed to belong to such a kind suiltaan. My name is Na’ Ima. I come from a tribe that roams the desert, traveling from one al ain to another. I was given to Tahraz by my father in thanks after he appeared one day out of the barren sands, bringing food and water to my people. One of the wells we relied on in our travels had gone dry, and we were near death. I serve the suiltaan in gratitude for giving life back to my tribe.”
Without their restrictive veils and robes Bree could see the distinctive features of the other women. There were eight in all. Two had the same dark hair and deep blue eyes of the suiltaan, while the others looked to be from different ethnic groups. She was amazed to find such diversity in this isolated location. Apparently the oasis was not as isolated from the rest of the world as Tahraz led her to believe.
“You must tell us about your land, Queen Bilquis,” Na’ Ima urged. “Tell us of your customs, of your tribe that makes such fine necklaces and beautiful robes.”
“Not now, Na’ Ima,” Dasheena said. “Bilquis must prepare herself. We will have many hours to hear her tales.”
A young boy called out from the entryway, careful not to look upon the women inside the tent. He carried the saddlebags from Bree’s camel. Dasheena thanked him, opening the tent flap just enough to drag the bulging bags inside. Bree knelt and began rummaging through the contents. She knew how important it was to make friends with the women. Their support would make life bearable in this strange land.
Pulling out a pair of ruby earrings set in gold filigree, she bowed her head and handed them to Dasheena. “Thank you for your kindness to this stranger,” she said formally.
She turned to the other woman who had spoken. “Na’ Ima, you have such beautiful hair. Please accept this jeweled comb as a token of my friendship,” she went on, holding it out.
Dasheena handed back the earrings. “We cannot accept these gifts. We are the property of the suiltaan. Only he may bestow favors upon us. If you choose, Bilquis, you can give these gifts to Tahraz and he will do with them whatever pleases him. But we thank you for your kindness,” she finished.
Bree sighed. Apparently she had a lot to learn about the customs of this tribe. She sat back on her haunches, wincing when her heels came in contact with her aching bottom.I hope learning the rest of my lessons here will be less painful.
All around her, the women were preparing for their evening with Tahraz, rimming their eyes with kohl, rubbing henna on their lips. Each one fastened a low-slung belt decorated with bright coins and colorful beads around her hips, over nearly transparent ankle-length skirts that did more to advertise their charms than to conceal them. The beads and coins tinkled with every step they took. Some fastened ornate halters over their breasts. Others went bare-breasted under the dark robes they donned before stepping out of the tent.
She pulled off her dusty, stained robe and veil, choosing another from the bags Shiraza had packed for her weeks ago. Gathering up the handful of jewelry she’d selected for the women, along with pots of frankincense and a flask of the rare scented oil used to prepare her for the temple ceremony, she tucked the gifts back into her saddlebag. Then she followed Dasheena across the clearing.
Inside the tent, three young men sat cross-legged off to one side of Tahraz. Two played flutes and the third a strange stringed instrument. Tahraz beckoned Na’ Ima to come forward, and she began singing. The words and the melody were unfamiliar. Bree thought it must be a traditional chant from Na’ Ima’s nomadic tribe.
A stooped old man entered the tent bearing a huge clay platter covered with a dome. He bowed before Tahraz then lifted the cover. The odor of succulent roasted meat and fragrant herbs made Bree’s mouth water. Was it only last night she’d feasted on wild zebra with the caravan? She felt like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Two women piled clay plates with tempting morsels, carrying them to Tahraz. He ate in the traditional way of desert tribes, using only the fingers of one hand, dipping in turn from the plate of one attendant and then the other. Only after he waved them away, signifying he’d had his fill, did the women of the hareem fill their own plates with food. They sank to their knees around his bench, settled back on their heels, and moved their veils aside to slip morsels of food into their mouths. Bree followed, mimicking their actions.
The meal was delicious – young goat slow-roasted for hours under the clay dome to keep it moist and tender, served with sweet dates and some sort of baked tuber, accompanied by stacks of flat coarse bread. Flasks appeared as if from nowhere, and Bree had her first sip of the potent fruit-and-honey liqueur that accompanied every evening meal in the suiltaan’s tent.
The old cook bowed and backed out of the tent, followed by the three young musicians. The boys took up a position just outside the outer flaps, where they began playing again, this time a sensuous melody.
Once they were alone, Tahraz stood up and took off his white robe, revealing a well-muscled chest covered with dark hair that trailed off into a thin line and disappeared down the front of his loose white trousers. He smiled, stretching out a hand to Na’ Ima. She rose, bowed her head, and slipped off her voluminous robe, revealing dark skin that gleamed in the light from oil lamps scattered around the room.
Swaying from side to side, she began to dance. Coins and beads tinkled with every swish of her well-padded hips. Bree had seen belly dancers in her Middle Eastern travels. But Na’ Ima’s dance was more primitive and far more sexual than performances meant for tourists.
Na’ Ima danced closer, rubbing her bare breasts against the suiltaan as she gyrated. She bent forward and tossed her head from side to side, whipping her braids against his chest, then moved lower, teasing and arousing him. Bree could see Tahraz’s prominent erection under the thin fabric of his trousers.
He sat, drawing Na’ Ima down next to him. Idly stroking her bare breasts, he gestured for another woman to come forward. She was one of the blue-eyed women Bree assumed had come from within his tribe. She met Tahraz’s gaze boldly as she slid the robe off her shoulders and began dancing. Soon, two other women joined her, swaying their hips to the music, coins jingling.
Dasheena tried to draw Bree into the dance. She shook her head. “I do not know how to dance as they do,” she whispered. Dasheena looked worried and tried again to pull Bree to her feet, but she remained seated.
Tahraz saw her refusal and stood up abruptly. He pushed Na’ Ima aside and took two steps forward. Bree found herself staring at his rigid member, outlined by the thin fabric.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward him then dropped back onto the chaise, pulling her facedown over his lap. “You will perform for me,” he declared. “But first you will be punished for disobeying. Dasheena is in charge of my hareem. You will do whatever she requires of you without question, as though it is I who gives the command.”
He pulled Bree’s robe up roughly, baring her ass. Holding her down with one hand on her lower back, he peppered her sore bottom with the other.
The punishment was far different from the one he delivered with the riding crop. His hands were big and hard. Each stinging smack covered an entire bottom cheek, and he alternated, spanking first one then the other. Despite her earlier resolve, Bree found herself kicking and bucking, squirming in a vain effort to evade the harsh strokes raining down.
Tahraz made a sound deep in his throat. She suddenly became aware of his stiff rod. Every time she squirmed, she rubbed against it. Her struggles were stimulating him as much as Na’ Ima’s erotic dance did.
He stopped abruptly. His fingers slid between her legs, probing. Her body responded instinctively, pussy clenching. Shocked and embarrassed, Bree reached back, trying to push his hand away. He grabbed both her wrists in his other hand and pinned them behind her back.
“If you move, I will tie you down and start again,” he warned.
Tahraz began spanking her slowly, grinding his hot hard cock against her mound with every smack.
Bree’s throat tightened with the effort to hold back her tears. She had never been treated so harshly. Her bottom was stinging and burning, but at the same time powerful sensations were building deep in her core. To compound her humiliation, it was clear Tahraz could tell she was getting aroused. He settled into a wicked rhythm, spanking her then stopping to dip a finger in her pussy and spread the slick juices he found there from her throbbing clit to the pucker of her ass.
After one last lingering exploration with his fingers, Tahraz pushed her off his lap. “You will learn our ways,” he declared. “And tomorrowyouwillentertain me.”
Bree kept her eyes downcast as Tahraz turned back to Na’ Ima. He pulled the woman close, kissing her deeply. Dasheena motioned to her, and Bree joined the other women silently backing out of the tent.
The last thing she saw was the suiltaan clenching his fists around Na’ Ima’s intricate braids as she buried her head in his lap.
