The older woman who had given him the coffee seemed to be supervising, and when he was dressed she said, “If my lord will follow me, his meal and the entertainment await him.”
“Where is the Lady Theadora?”
“She will join you eventually, master. In the meantime she asks that you eat and pleasure yourself as it pleases you, my lord.”
The woman led him into his salon where a low table had been set up. He seated himself amid the brightly colored cushions and was immediately joined by two beautiful girls. One speared raw oysters and placed them in his waiting mouth. The other carefully touched the side of his mouth with a linen napkin, stopping the juices before they ran.
Never had any Ottoman been served in such a luxurious manner. These were Byzantine customs, and Murad decided he liked them very much. The girls who served him were nude from the waist up, and their pink silk trousers were so sheer that nothing was left to imagination. Both were blue-eyed blondes. Their hair had been braided into single thick braids, their heads topped with thin gold chains. A single teardrop pearl lay in the center of each of their foreheads.
A tass kebab followed the oysters: tender chunks of baby lamb with cooked onion and love apples on a bed of rice pilaf. Now the other girl fed him while the first girl plied the napkin. She mopped the juices of the meal up with pieces of soft, flat bread which she then fed him. Honeyed yogurt and coffee ended his meal. Murad was enjoying himself hugely. He was clean, warm, relaxed, and well fed. He was beginning to feel quite mellow.
The dishes were cleared away and the entertainment began. Sprawled back amid the pillows, each arm cradling a girl, he chuckled as a group of small dogs was put through their paces by their elderly trainer. He very much enjoyed the three female jugglers who also did acrobatics.
Then, from behind a carved screen, music began. Six maidens in red and gold skirts and blouses began to dance for him.
They danced well, but suddenly the tempo of the music shifted subtly and the six girls disappeared. One veiled dancer appeared, swathed in black, silver, and gold silks. She clicked her brass finger tals in a challenge to the hidden musicians. Slowly and sensually, the woman’s body weaved to the music. The sultan realized, as the woman discarded the first silk, that she was about to do the dance of the veils.
The first veil had covered her hair which was in itself a long, dark, shining veil. The second and third veils bared her back and then her breasts. Snowy, coral-tipped cones of firm flesh moved provocatively as she danced.
The sultan’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the twin temptations and he leaned forward, completely unaware that his hands were hungrily kneading a breast belonging to each of his companions. As the dancer excited him further he felt his manhood rising hard and throbbing beneath his luxurious robe. He cruelly pinched the nipples of the breasts, but the young slavegirls dared not cry out for fear of displeasing their master.
The music became more insinuating, and the dancer writhed her beautiful body in an obvious imitation of aroused passion. Beneath the shimmering veils that were falling one by one, her legs were becoming visible.
As his desire mounted, he wondered who she was and why she had never danced for him before. She must be new in the harem. Was the face as fair as the body? Releasing his two companions from his cruel grasp and sitting cross-legged, he allowed his hunger to take complete possession of him. The two maidens were dismissed with a wave of his hand, and he was alone with the mysterious dancer.
The music began to mount in intensity. The dancer whirled, the remaining silks billowing out like the petals of a flower about its stem. The woman moved nearer, teasingly brushing him with the nipples of her full breasts. He could feel the heat of her lovely body, and smell her scent. It was hauntingly familiar. Her eyes above the black veil glittered like jewels in the flickering lamplight and he reached for her. With a low laugh, she eluded him.
His black eyes narrowed dangerously, but then his mouth twisted in a smile. He would let her finish her performance. But then… The woman’s lush body weaved the taunting final movements of the dance. Suddenly all the remaining veils but the one that hid her face were gone. She stood proudly naked above him for a moment before sinking to the floor in a gesture of submission.
He rose, his whole body throbbing with lust. Walking over to the dancer, he raised her and tore the dark veil from her face.
“Adora!” His ragged voice was incredulous.
“Did I please you, my lord?”
He pushed her to the cushions and, tearing his robe open, flung himself on her. Her warm hands caught at his aching organ, and guided it home. He drove deep, his hands beneath her buttocks, kneading them. “Bitch! Sweet! Tempting! Little! Bitch!” he murmured, thrusting into her again and again.
She opened herself wide to him, reveling in the bigness, the hardness, of him. She had been too long without him, and if he were hungry for her, she easily matched his passion. From deep within her she felt the cry well up and, sobbing his name, she yielded herself totally.
Aware of her surrender but completely lost in the warmth and sweetness of her, he groaned his delight and set about to reach his peak. They were both so keyed-up that the blazing climax left them drained and shaken.
They lay, exhausted, breathing heavily. Finally Murad managed to find his voice. “Woman!” he said fiercely, “You are a never ending source of wonder to me. Is there no end to your variety, Adora? When, in Allah’s name, did you learn to dance like that?”
She laughed shakily. “There has been a troupe of Egyptian dancers in the city for some weeks now. The lead dancer, Leila, taught me here in the palace. She says I have a natural talent. Did I truly please you, my lord?”
“Allah! Could you not tell?”
“Do you ravish all the dancers who please you so?” she teased.
“No woman ever danced for me as you have, beloved. I will allow you to dance for no one else. Not even the most honored guests will ever see you perform.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, his tongue gently thrusting between her teeth to caress, to rouse, to stoke the fires of her passion. She sighed deeply and returned the kiss, her mouth soft and yielding, provocatively sucking on his tongue.
When at last they breathlessly ceased their kissing, he murmured into her little ear, “There is no one like you in the world, Adora. You are unique among women, a priceless jewel among the many grains of worthless sand. The others I desire occasionally, for a man requires variety. But I love you, my darling. I must never be without you.”
She was trembling with joy, though she hid it from him. He must never know how vital he was to her very existence. She now loved him as she had never loved any man, even her beloved Alexander. But he must never know, lest he use that special power to control her. She rose from the tumbled pillows and held out her hand to him. “Come to bed, my lord,” she said softly. “Come to my couch, my love. The night is young.”
His dark eyes burning like live coals, he swept her up into his arms, burying his hot face in the scented tangle of her silken hair. “Woman!” he whispered huskily. He carried her through the short hallway that connected their courts. “Woman! The memory of this night will haunt me if I live to one hundred years!”