Concubines

"My demands may be severe."

"Will I be bound and whipped?"

"Of course."

"Pierced and tattooed?"

"Maybe, or branded, or whatever else I wish, but you will be brought to heel like a well-trained bitch."

Her eyes softened and she gave a half-smile. "Have you been reading my mind?" She blushed. "Of course, you haven't," she said quietly. She was lost in her thoughts. When she spoke to me again, it was with a gut-wrenching honesty. "What scares me, Michael, is that you will be 'the' man for me, the one who makes the door open, and then you'll reject me. I don't think I could take that rejection."

"I won't make any promises," I said.

"I don't expect any from you." Her sigh reverberated in the air. "It makes no difference. I have to know how many more combinations you open in me even if you throw me away like an old shoe."

Her lips touched mine, but I tangled my hand in her hair and pulled her head away. "Tell me what you want?" I demanded.

"To be your concubine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How many men have you had?"

Beet red, she said. "That's none of..." She stopped and looked away. "Seventeen," she said when she looked back at me.

"How many at a time?"

"The most was three."

"Have you had sex with one man on the orders of another?"

"Yes. Michael, I don't." I yanked her hair, which stopped her in mid-sentence.

"Women?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Animals?"

"God, no," she said.

"You're a slut."

"No, Michael, I'm not," she said intensely. "I'm a woman looking for the man to bring her joy and happiness. If that man tells me to fuck someone else, I will. If he tells me not to, I won't."

"A true concubine belongs to only one man. For her, having sex with another man is the equivalent of a Puritan wife committing adultery, and her penalty would be banishment or death. A slave girl is shared with other men at the whim of her master. Maybe you should be a slave girl."

"I know the difference and the penalty. I want to be your concubine, not your slave girl."

"And if I'm not what you want?" I asked.

"I'll end our relationship at the end of the summer, but you are what I want. I'm not wrong about you."

"Your fantasies and reality won't be the same."

"I know, Michael. I want the reality with you."

Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers' body language reinforced her words. She exposed her innermost feelings and thoughts to me. That required either great strength or great desire. Both are desirable and unusual qualities. I raised the seat arm between us and pulled her into my lap.

"Your concubine name will be Samirah. It means a woman who entertains. You will entertain me."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. She blushed and buried her head in my chest with her arms tightly around me as I held and stroked her. She stayed there until the fasten-seat-belt sign lit.

When we landed, I told the pilot to return to the states without us. One of the Sheik's limos drove us to the palace. The Sheik and his family were asleep, but the captain of the guards was expecting us. He admitted us and escorted us to my room. Kamilah was asleep on her mat by my bed. She knelt, sleepy-eyed but quivering in desire, when she awoke. I opened my arms. She ran to me and buried me in kisses.

"Kamilah, this is Samirah, my new concubine," I said, indicating Miss Amanda Abigail Beavers, formerly of Philadelphia and Washington.

"Western women are no good, Master," Kamilah hissed as her eyes burned into Samirah.

"No jealousy, girl. Have you forgotten your last punishment so quickly?" I snapped. "To your mat." Kamilah spun and twitched to her mat, her ass saucily holding the eyes and inviting the hand. She knelt primly and her hot, jealous eyes never left me.

"Come," I said to Samirah, and she stepped to me. "Concubines sleep in the harem or at their master's bedside. You may not enter my bed unless called. You will be taught the rules - how to dress, when you may speak, and so on." I had unbuttoned her blouse and untied the bow. I tossed it, and unfastened and discarded her brassiere. She shivered. I unzipped her skirt and she wiggled out of it. I pushed her panties down and she kicked them away without hesitation.

Wainscot was right. There was a fabulous body under those conservative clothes. Long-waisted with large, firm breasts, and long shapely legs, she was an appealing and beautiful woman.

"Sit," I commanded, pointing to the floor. "Give me your left leg." The sheik had the harem master leave concubine bells, like Hasna and Kamilah wore, on my bed. I fastened them around her left ankle. She grinned and shook her leg to make them tinkle. "Crawl to your mat." When she crawls, a woman gives a delightful picture of her rump. Samirah's rump was smaller than Kamilah's, high and hard as if she exercised regularly.

I shackled her to the bed by her right ankle, tossed the coverlet over her, and said, "We begin tomorrow. Good night, Samirah."

"Aren't you going to use me?" she asked hotly.

I gave her a dirty look, climbed in my bed, and called out, "Kamilah. Come."

Replete and satisfied by her heat, I dozed off with Kamilah's body on mine. The tinkling of a bell and a woman's groan awakened me. I peered over the edge of the bed to see Samirah masturbating. Her eyes were pinched shut and she didn't see me. Her left hand squeezed and twisted her clitoris while her right thrust in and out of her pussy as she humped the air. I rolled back over.

Kamilah whispered in my ear, "Good girl no do that. Master gives pleasure."

"We'll train her, little one," I replied. She reached for my cock. "Don't touch. Sleep now." Kamilah put her leg over mine and snuggled with her breasts against my side and her head under my chin.

Samirah groaned and gasped on the floor beside us.

**

I awakened at dawn, the time the household normally arises. Three hours had passed since our arrival. Since I slept on the plane, I had adequate rest, but Samirah hadn't. I roughly shook her and said, "Get up, lazy girl."

"No, Mike," she whined, trying to pull her coverlet over her head.

I called for the harem master. When he arrived, I said, "Bind her so she can't pleasure herself. I'll deal with her later." He flipped her on her stomach, bound her wrists and ankles, and threw her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Samirah's hot eyes stared at me as he carried her away.

"Come," I said. Kamilah's ass twitched arrogantly as she pranced into the bathroom where she bathed me and helped me dress. She put on her abaya and hijab and reported to the harem master for the day.

I joined the Sheik, the Prince, and the Sheik's younger brother for a business breakfast that lasted until mid-morning. That meeting was the start of a long and mutually beneficial business relationship between the Sheik's family and mine.

I had considered several ways of disciplining Samirah for the first time. The old rule was she would be severely whipped, not to bring pleasure but to punish, for first-time masturbation. Her clitoris would be removed for the second offense. The old timers did that often. Why? I don't know. But fortunately for her, the old rules didn't apply.

Samirah had been bound for three hours when I reached the punishment room. She was on the padded table with her arms by her side and her legs spread. Shackles and chains kept her that way. She was comfortable but unable to sexually stimulate herself, although she tried by rhythmically thrusting her pubis in the air.

"Master," she said happily and her eyes danced.

"You may not speak to me unless spoken to," I replied curtly.

"Yes, Master," she replied without remorse.

"Have you ever been whipped?"

"Once, but he didn't know what he was doing."

"I do," I said. She grinned happily. When I unshackled her from the table, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me with her naked body grinding into mine. I suspended her by her wrists from the cuffs dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room, leaving slack for her to turn and twist as she enjoyed her bondage. I shackled her legs to the floor a little more than shoulder width.

I massaged her body with sesame oil from her toes to her hairline. My hands were rough or gentle, demanding or teasing. She trembled and twitched and moaned her appreciation. "My master's so good to me," she purred.

I fastened a shock collar around her neck, with the electrodes snugged against her spine. This collar didn't give the strong, quick charge of pain like a dog training collar. It emitted a low energy charge lasting approximately three seconds to block the signals of pleasure coming from her body to her brain. I selected a whip designed for pleasure not punishment, with a single strand about a foot long of thick, flexible, rolled leather.

Samirah couldn't be still as she swayed and twisted, enjoying her restraints, relishing her availability as she imagined what was to come. I stood in front of her and she struggled to touch me, but her chains kept our lips apart.

"I've changed my mind. I'm not going to punish you," I said.

She stared at me until she realized I was kidding. Her face was wild and sexy when she said, "But your girl has been so bad, Master. She intentionally disobeyed you when you ordered her to get up this morning. She called you by a nickname. Surely such a girl needs whipping."

"Not if whipping is a reward instead of a punishment."

"True, but you already punished her by not letting her pleasure you last night. She's earned a reward for wanting you so much she was delirious with desire."

"She rewarded herself by masturbating, which is a grievous sin I won't tolerate."

"She won't do it again, but now she deserves a whipping for her misbehavior." I didn't reply. "Please, Master. Your concubine needs the taste of your whip," she begged.

I whipped her as she danced in her chains. I whipped her as she moaned and whimpered until her skin was on fire and her sweat pooled on the floor and her love juices dipped from her pussy. The first time I activated her collar she froze when the persistent current numbed her body.

"Oh, God, no, Master. Please let me cum," she pleaded.

I used the whip to stoke her fire and the collar to cool her down, to keep Samirah, the concubine, simmering just below the boiling point. When her tears of frustration wouldn't stop, and her quivering was as much exhaustion as desire, I flicked the whip between her legs. Its leather landed across her pussy and clitoris.

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes. Yes!"

I whipped her there again and again until she exploded in an orgasmic fit, screaming and writhing in ecstasy before she fainted. I released her, lay her on the floor, and called for the harem master to bring me Kamilah. When they arrived, I told him to have Samirah bathed and oiled and brought to my quarters.

I grabbed Kamilah's hand and raced for my quarters. I had been with Samirah over two hours and my balls were navy blue. Kamilah's ankle bells sounded an urgent call as she ran to keep up.

Kamilah had two joys in life - pleasing her man and sex. She stripped and ran to stand beside my bed when we entered the room. I threw my clothes away, walked to her, and wrapped her hair around my left hand. She would've come willingly, but I dragged her into bed and brutally took her. That's the way an animal would do it. I was an animal. And so was she.

I vaguely remembered the harem master bringing Samirah and laying her on her mat. A servant awakened me to ask if I wanted dinner. I told him to bring food for three. When I awakened my concubines, both were sore and slow moving from their sexual battles. I had them kneel naked on the bed on either side of me and facing each other. Using my fingers, I fed the three of us from the tray across my lap.

They studied each other as they ate and signals were silently passed. We were down to the sweets at the end of the meal when I said, "Samirah, translate everything I say, including my instructions to you, for Kamilah."

"Yes, Master," she said softly.

I explained about my grandfather's and father's multiple women and how those things really worked in the west. I said I would have three or four. Kamilah might be one, but only if she wasn't jealous because I expected all of my women to be "as close and loving as sisters." She thanked me for explaining and asked if she could ask questions. I agreed. The three-way conversation in two languages became confusing, primarily due to Kamilah asking rapid fire questions before Samirah had a chance to translate for me, but we worked through it. Kamilah seemed content now, knowing there was going to be more than one woman in my life.

We took a break and cleared the tray from the bed. When we returned I sat cross-legged and they kneeled. Without the barrier of my legs between them, they sat slightly further apart.

"I enjoy seeing women make love to each other," I said. Samirah blushed as she translated. Kamilah smiled knowingly, which surprised me. "You two will be lovers, but, as with all things sexual, only with my express permission. Ask her if she has had other women," I said.

The rapid-fire answer was translated as, "Of course. We know men like to see us please each other, and we are trained to please men. Learning a woman's body makes us better lovers, too."

"How many?"

"About twenty," was the reply. Samirah blushed and looked away from Kamilah's hot eyes. Kamilah started to reach for her, and stopped, folding her hands in her lap.

"There will be time for that later," I said. "Samirah, ask Kamilah what we did this afternoon."

Samirah gasped at the answer, and translated as, "You had sex three ways."

"Anal sex isn't a turn-on for me, Samirah. It is an act of dominance and having you submit definitely is a turn-on. That's why I'm going to take your ass now and whenever I wish."

"Yes, Master," she replied.

"Go prepare yourself."

Taking Samirah's ass was a pleasant task, but it was a task, something that needed to be done rather than something I wanted to do. It was painful for her, as ass-fucking often is. In spite of the pain, she orgasmed as she whimpered and called my name.

I called for the harem master, which surprised both of them.

"The Prince and I are going to Paris and London on business. We'll be back in ten days. You will sleep in this bed together while I'm gone, but you may not pleasure each other." I waited while Samirah translated. "You will spend every moment together. To make sure you do, you will be shackled together day and night. Every waking moment will be spent on English. Samirah will teach. Kamilah will learn."

They looked at each other and Kamilah giggled. She said something in Arabic. Samirah responded. A few babbles later, Samirah looked at me in astonishment. "She suggested you put us in chastity belts so we couldn't pleasure each other."

"I thought of that, but I want to see if you're strong enough to resist masturbation and Kamilah," I said.

"I am," she replied.

"But do you want to?" I asked.

With flashing eyes, she said, "No, but I will."

A knock heralded the harem master's arrival. I shackled Kamilah's left wrist to Samirah's right one, connecting them with a chain two feet long. Both are right-handed. I selected the wrists to put the greater pressure on Samirah since she would have to use her left hand for everything. I kissed them each and told the harem master to take them away.

**

The Prince, two other men, and I left that night. Don't think we were equal partners. It was his trip and I was an "advisor." Traveling with Mohammed wasn't all work. At night, we each had an expensive call girl to keep us company. In Paris, mine was a redhead about five six with huge tits. But the red-hair, the tits, her orgasm, and everything else about her were fake - not the real thing like Kamilah or Samirah. In London, the woman was a "model" who was beautiful, rail-thin, and bubbly. The bubbles came from champagne and cocaine. The next night, I got a new woman, who was forty-two, had an average figure, and was well-used, but she knew how to please a man. I kept her the rest of our stay there.

The Prince and I agreed that the call girls were a diversion and hardly an adequate one. We both missed the women waiting for us at home. I'd lost track of how many women I dated, or how many I screwed, which was all but a few, or how many I bound for our mutual enjoyment. I did know how many felt the sting of my hand or whip and how many proposed to me.

Now, during two weeks in June of my twenty-fourth year, for the first time I thought about keeping a woman with me forever.

The Prince and I called our respective fathers from London, scheduled a new round of meetings in Paris, and extended our trip by five days. When the meetings were concluded, Dad hopped on his Gulfstream and went home. The rest of us returned to the Sheikdom in the Sheik's Boeing 727.

"I'm going to be with my family," the Prince said.

That was fine by me. I wanted to be with my family, too. That's what Kamilah and Samirah were becoming. They didn't know I was returning because I wanted to surprise them. The harem master told me they were in my quarters. Silently, I slipped in to find them sitting cross-legged on the floor, face-to-face with their knees touching. They were working on Kamilah's English. They saw me, Kamilah squealed, and they ran to me, hugging and kissing and completely forgetting the rule requiring them to seek permission first. I overlooked their slipup.

The looks on their faces confirmed what I remembered. Kamilah was ecstatic to see me. No reservations. No games. No guile. No equivocation. Samirah was happy to see me, too, but with something held back, and tonight a hint of the devil flickered in her eyes.

"I want to enjoy each of you tonight, but one at a time and slowly," I said.

Kamilah's face screamed "pick me, pick me," like a child being chosen for a neighborhood game. A touch of a smirk curled the corner of Samirah's lip and that devil in her eye twinkled. I kissed Kamilah softly on the lips and said, "To your mat."

The light in her eyes dimmed with visible disappointment, but she said, "Yes, Master."

I undressed Samirah. She was haughty, with an "I-knew-you-wanted-me" expression. I turned her around, slapped her on the ass, and said, "To your mat, Samirah." She glared at me and stomped to her mat with her fists clenched. She grumbled, dropped to her knees on the mat, and crossed her arms petulantly.

Kamilah gleamed with happy anticipation. "Undress me," I said. She did with caresses that made my skin tingle. I climbed on my bed, lying in the middle with pillows behind my head. Kamilah went to her mat to await my further command. From the corner of my eye, I saw the kneeling Samirah watching angrily.

"Pleasure me, Kamilah," I ordered.

She crawled on the bed, kissed my lips, and slowly worked her way down my body to my toes before returning to my cock to lick and suck it. I enjoyed her talents until I was ready for more. I touched her leg. She mounted me. Her lifetime of training produced the desire to please a man and the knowledge of how to do it. That coupled with her natural desires, beauty, and voluptuous body, made Kamilah an ideal lover.

I sensed more in her. I felt, had she been given the opportunity of choosing a man rather than being given as a gift to him, she would have chosen me. The summer would tell. The question wasn't whether I'd keep her. The question was would she be wife, concubine, or slave girl, with those words in the middle-eastern sense. The western words would be wife, mistress, or party girl.

As I rolled Kamilah over, my eyes met Samirah's. I knew I had not yet won her. Her face told me the decision time was near.

"Yes. Master fucks good," Kamilah moaned.