Forbidden

FORBIDDEN

Forbidden Way

Most husbands, I suspect, have propositioned their wives at one time or other for this kind of lovemaking. Most wives, I suspect, have refused. In slave harems, nonbelievers accepted this invasion—they could not refuse or question the propriety of it.

A few days ago, about an hour before sundown, we were bathing and splashing about in the harem bath while Ali sat on a stone bench, watching. As I climbed out of the bath, he called my name and beckoned me to his side. “Tonight you and Topaz will be my companions. It is time,” he said, “to teach Topaz another way of the harem.”

As soon as Ali had informed Yasmeen of his thoughts and had disappeared through the entrance to the courtyard, I hurried to her. “What has he planned for tonight?” I inquired.

“To share her peach.”

“Why does he want me there? You are experienced in that way, not me.”

“I do not know,” Yasmeen replied. “All I know is that I have to make her ready.”

“He is a big man for a small girl.”

“If she is willing to be taken that way, Ali will be gentle.”

“Does Topaz know of the Master’s order?”

“No. I will tell her shortly,” replied Yasmeen.

“How does it feel to share your peach?” I asked, and was somewhat surprised by her reply. “Some girls just endure it,” she said, “but many others enjoy it and even reach fulfillment, and inspire the Master to take them that way.”

Her answer satisfied me somewhat, nevertheless, I still felt uneasy about the whole subject.

I left to gather up my clothes, and by the time I returned to mehndi myself for the evening, Yasmeen was already talking to Topaz.

“When a master is between your thighs you tense your muscles to pull him in, to squeeze him. However, when he is between your buttocks, you use your muscles to try to push him out, but gently or you will lose him. In this way you will not close down on him,” she advised.

Proudly, Topaz informed me. “The Master will be bending me over tonight. It is forbidden to take a girl that way, you know. He told me it was a beautiful part of me. He only does it with those who have the prettiest bottoms, the ones he is unable to resist.”

“I know,” I replied nonchalantly, “and I will be there to make sure you do it properly,” I said, secretly hoping that my tone of voice would convey the lie that I, too, was irresistible. “This is certainly a change of heart for you. If I remember correctly your last encounter with this, you fought the man off and he whipped you for your trouble.”

“Well, Hortensia does it that way all the time. She told me.”

“Is that so?” I sniffed.

“Yes, that’s so. And she says it doesn’t hurt the way Ali does it. Anyway, it was different before; Ali and I love each other.”

“How do you know that,” I snapped back. “Has he told you?” realizing too late that my voice bristled with anxiety.

“No,” she replied, calmly, “but I know he does, or he wouldn’t be kind to me.”

“He is kind to all of us, it has no special meaning.” I added, detractingly, with less anxiety.

Nevertheless, I was hurt. Those simple words, “Ali and I love each other,” echoed in my mind for the rest of the day, and somewhere within, a small part of me died.

It felt strange, even a little perverse. Topaz stood with her harem pants gathered at her feet, breasts covered, seductively swaying as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, while I had on my harem pants, but was naked to the waist. It was as though Ali was trying to create a perfect woman, out of two faultless halves.

Ali, sitting on a stool, took Topaz’s hand, pulled her to his side, and collapsed her across his knees. I thought he might spank her, as I understood some men found pleasure in that. Instead, he just passed his hand over her oiled and polished buttocks as though relishing their purity and innocence for the last time, while his other hand played over her breasts.

“Let us bathe,” he announced, taking Topaz’s hand.

Topaz and Ali entered the bath—I knelt at the edge awaiting his commands.

Ali looked intently at the water rippling high around Topaz’s waist. “She is short, bring me a large cushion, Sapphira, and place it here,” he said, pointing to a place close to the edge of the bath, “and kneel behind it.”

When all was in position, he lifted Topaz by her tiny waist and placed her on the soft cushion, belly down. She cradled her head between my thighs and hooked her arms around my waist. The cushion raised her bottom conveniently.

“Pass me the oil,” he asked, and proceeded to anoint himself. I had never seen him this engorged, this inspired—he was more than ready for a woman.

Parting her cheeks, he pressed his head against her opening, poured a little oil at the meeting of the two, and urged his head to penetrate. Topaz’s hands tightened around my waist. He pressed a little harder, paused for a moment, before sudden acceptance allowed his engorged head to disappear between her cheeks.

With each gentle stroke, he penetrated a little deeper; Topaz’s nails dug into me at the start of each stroke, and then relaxed again at the end of each new advance. When he had buried himself to the hilt and could go no farther, Topaz raised herself on her arms and arched her back downwards, as our Master held her hips and slowly, with oiled smoothness, plunged back and forth. I stared incredulously as I watched his huge shaft disappear and then reappear as it violated her tiny opening, finally pulling free before the unbridled enthusiasm of completion took hold of him. A shallow ripple of a superior smile crossed her face—for my benefit alone no doubt—that I saw through and ignored.

“Did you find pleasure?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You gave me rousing pleasure, too, and I have yet to savor my peak with you this way. You would make a worthy joy-girl, but that is not my intention. We will do this occasionally, when I am so inclined.”

“Tomorrow, Master?”

“You will be told when. Now, my pretty slave, wash off the oil and kneel down in the water and please me some more. Take me to the end of my pleasure.”

“Yes, Master.”

In deep contemplation and lost in thoughts of my own, I watched the oil floating on the water, entranced as it swirled into spirals of iridescent colors.

Lying together in bed later that night, I thought about how much he had enjoyed taking Topaz that way, and how her oiled buttocks had enormously inspired him—even though he withdrew before completion. “If it would please you to congress me from behind in that way, make me your calling for tomorrow night,” I whispered, so that Topaz could not hear—I would make sure she heard about it tomorrow, from others.

“I will do that,” he replied, squeezing me tightly against his chest.

“I’m a virgin there, Sire.”

“I will be gentle with you.”

“I want to be alone with you when you do it.”

“It will be so, my pretty one.”

I spoke again with Yasmeen. Although I had heard her talking to Topaz, and I had inquired of her earlier as to how it felt, I still wanted confirmation and a little assurance.

“I can enjoy it that way,” she said. “It is a different feeling, but pleasant enough. I think you will enjoy it and I know Ali will. Just remember to relax and be slow and gentle in your movement—try to push him out, though gently or you will lose him. But relaxing is by far the most important thing to remember.”

“What is the best position?”

“For the first time you should kneel on the edge of the bed and have Ali stand on the floor behind you, in that way he has a firm footing and a better grasp, and is more consistent in his motions. And I tell you, that devil of a man has the bed set at just the right height.”

“Will you help me get ready tonight?” I asked.

She agreed adding, “We will use fragrant oil on the sponge, and have no concern about the sponge, for although Ali will push it in deeply, you will pass it tomorrow and not know it.”

I felt a little uneasy walking to the great hall that evening, three ways ready. I could feel the slippery squishy sponge, a sensation Yasmeen had warned me to expect.

I lay back on silk cushions, trying to hide a slight uneasiness by soothingly caressing him, while he casually spread open my upper garment and removed my slippers before pausing in his deliberations. An awkward silence followed. Was he having second thoughts or looking for confirmation that I wanted him to continue? I took the initiative from him and took hold of his hand, slipped the bottle of oil into the other, and led him to the bed.

Dressed only in my skirt and nipple dangles, I was feeling very naughty and daring as I clambered onto the bed. Turning to face him, I pleasured him a little, anointed his rigid member with fragrant oil of attar, and turned around to present my oiled peach. He flipped my skirt up about my waist, outlined the swell of my hips with his hands, and gently spread my cheeks.

I clearly felt him carefully positioning his hot manhood against me, and the cold oil running down to meet it. He pressed firmly, not harshly, yet unwaveringly, and when I remembered Yasmeen’s advice and relaxed, he slid into me slowly and surely all the way until I felt his thighs bump against me. The feeling was exquisite—I had no idea. What a surprise—I thought that women just endured this to please their man.

With his hands molding and gripping my hips, he rocked me back and forth with powerful long smooth strokes while, in sympathy with his thrusting, my breasts swayed back and forth, causing my nipple dangles to dance about in random excitement, stimulating and awakening my nipples.

He paused. I thought he was going to withdraw as he had done with Topaz. I turned my head around to gaze into his face in the tantric svanaka way. “Don’t stop, Master,” I said.

His fingers found my denied petals and bud, moist and expectant, and my body convulsed and contracted in answer to his playing touches and renewed thrusting. Moments later his seed fell on barren ground, well tilthed ground.

Gripping me firmly, he waited for emotions to subside and then withdrew, causing me to gasp before falling flat on the bed.

Before retiring for the night, we sat in the warm water of the bath, drew on the hookah, and ate a few sweetmeats. We did not talk much about our tryst, other than agreeing that we would do it again.

How was it? Did I find it pleasant? Yes. At least enough so as not to deny it to him—but then again not enough to encourage it either. In my future writings, if need arises, I will call this “sharing the peach” or the “forbidden way”.

Now he would have no reason to seek comfort with anyone else, no reason whatever to find me inadequate for his carnal desires. I had given him all of me in every sense of the word. I had no other feelings or part of me to give. However, I was pleased I had asked him, believing that I had removed an unspoken barrier, real or imagined, cleared the way for a deeper devotion—and outwitted Topaz.