The Captive Flesh (11 page)

It was no good. She could not get the dream and Kasim out of her mind. In disgust she drew herself upright and began to dress.

‘Your training starts this day,' Leyla explained as she nibbled a piece of feta cheese. ‘But it need not be looked upon as a trial. The first rule is that you are made to feel special. You are ordered to be cosseted. A woman who is aware that her body is lovely to look on becomes a sensuous creature. Her womanly nature blooms. She is a pleasure to herself as well as to others. Quite irresistible in fact. Kasim wishes this for you both. That is not too hard. He is kind, no? And he is very rich. You may ask for anything: a favourite food, jewellery, cosmetics—'

‘Freedom?' Marietta cut in, sipping at a glass of Russian tea.

‘Ah, no,' Leyla said with a tiny smile. ‘You can never leave. But he wants you to be happy. You are to indulge yourselves completely.'

Claudine giggled. ‘That won't be too difficult.' Marietta flashed her friend an angry look. Claudine's lovely mouth was curved with eagerness as she awaited each discovery about her new life.

Marietta's own feelings of impotence and anger had fostered a deep depression. She had been furious to find that her French gown and stays had disappeared. In their place was a comfortable silk robe and wide trousers. With no other choice she had pulled the clothes on over the chemise she had slept in. It felt very odd to be without her stays. Even under the layers of fabric, she felt naked and oddly exposed.

In the room where food was spread, Marietta sat curled into a ball at one end of a divan. The other women were chatting and eating from silver bowls, using the tips of the fingers of their right hands. Marietta did not return their friendly smiles. She surveyed the women with a hostile expression on her face.

The harem women rolled their eyes and grinned at each other, giggling behind their hands, making whispered comments about the bad temper of the newest favourite. Everyone let her be. All except Leyla who tried to coax Marietta to eat or to let someone comb the tangles from her sleep-ruffled hair.

After a time, Leyla too stopped trying to draw Marietta out. Marietta accepted another glass of tea, then sat staring into space. In the midst of all the noise and the bustling women she felt lonely. She had no one to confide in. Claudine and she had shared everything since childhood, but Claudine had become a stranger.

Did Claudine not realise that they were slaves? Perhaps she did not understand that they were to be used in any way that Kasim wished. He desired to wear down their resistance, to erode their free will, to make them serve him as their only master. How degrading that thought was.

And how stimulating …

Across the room, Leyla glanced briefly at the glowering Marietta.

It hurt her to see the French woman's distress. She saw how often Marietta's eyes strayed towards Claudine, but Claudine seemed unaware of it. Claudine was eating a dish of clotted cream with honey, licking her lips like a cat.

Leyla sensed Marietta's loneliness. It was self imposed and could be taken as a sign of haughtiness. But Leyla knew that it was more than that. She understood Marietta's resistance. To Marietta it was a symbol, a way that she could retain her free will. Ah, if only she could be made to understand that the way to find freedom was to lose one's inner-self. Then she would be free to own the secret desires that drove her.

She wanted to take Marietta in her arms and kiss that lovely, sulky mouth. There were violet shadows under the blue eyes and her small nostrils looked slightly pinched. And no wonder. Leyla had heard the sounds from behind Marietta's bed curtains during the night. There were rustlings and soft moans.

At first she had been worried. Was Marietta ill? Intrigued, and a little alarmed, Leyla had crossed the room. Silently she pulled the curtains open a little and looked down at the woman on the bed. Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered how Marietta had looked.

The French woman's face was flushed in sleep, her forehead damp. Her head lay to one side, cushioned on the cloud of her pale hair. The loose neck of her chemise had slipped down, exposing her breasts. The garment was twisted up around her body and lay like a rope around her waist. The silk bedcover was thrown back and lay in a ruched tangle around Marietta's bare legs.

Leyla's fingers tightened on the curtain as she looked at Marietta's body. She lay on her side. Half of her body was in shadow and the bare limbs were pale, silvered by the moonlight. A slight sheen of sweat made them look pearly. Leyla ached to place kisses on that long white neck, to stroke the slim rounded arms.

She knew that she should go back to her own bed. Marietta did not need help. She was not unwell, only dreaming. But Leyla did not leave. She wanted to look at Marietta for a moment longer. The beautiful face was peaceful. The deep eyelids were closed over her intense blue eyes – eyes that held accusation when they were open. Leyla could not bear for Marietta to dislike her. She wanted to be Marietta's friend and confidante, as Claudine was – or had been.

While she slept, Leyla could have the exquisite French woman all to herself. She could imagine that Marietta would wake and be pleased to see her; the sensual little mouth would curve in a smile; the arms reach out to embrace her. Leyla's eyes roved over the high round breasts, the generous curve of hip. How slim were Marietta's ankles and her feet were narrow and well-shaped. Leyla would love to decorate those feet with henna, and slip gold rings on the little pink toes …

Marietta had groaned and turned over, facing away from Leyla. She drew her knees up, presenting Leyla with a view of her firm rounded buttocks. Leyla's blood
quickened. Between the pale globes she could see the split-plum shape of Marietta's sex. Light golden curls clustered around it.

Hesitantly Leyla reached out with one hand. Dare she touch her? Gently, using just the tips of her fingers, she grazed the lightly furred sex. Her fingers caressed it, rubbing up and down the adorable little slit and disappearing into the crevice between her buttocks, tickling and rifling the blonde curls. She pressed a little more firmly, opening the tight plum and reaching a fingertip inside to the inner moisture.

Leyla's breath grew shallow as she drew her finger up and down the snug little groove. The flesh seemed to suck at her finger. Carefully she ventured deeper and found the rim of Marietta's central opening. She slipped the finger inside just a fraction, feeling the slickness of the flesh-walls. Oh, it was difficult not to do more. She wanted to work on that lovely little tube, to feel the wetness surround her finger. Perhaps slip in one or two more fingers, slip them in deeply and feel the soft flesh-lips bearing down on her knuckles.

She was quite lost in the wonder of her contemplations and the feel of Marietta's inner heat …

Suddenly Marietta shuddered and changed position. Her eyelids fluttered. Leyla removed her hand and jumped back. Guilty colour burned in her face. She replaced the curtain and crept back to her own bed. Once there she inhaled the lingering perfume that clung to her fingers. With her other hand she reached down between her thighs and stroked herself, rubbing firmly in a circular motion, bringing herself quickly to a climax.

With a sigh of satisfaction, she snuggled down into the pillows. Before she slept, she made herself a promise: I will win Marietta's love. One day she will come
to regard me as the true friend I am. And one day she will welcome me as her lover. For that, she could wait.

Leyla licked the taste of Marietta from her fingers. And with the sweet musky taste of the French woman in her mouth, and those comforting thoughts of the future, she went to sleep.

‘We must see to your clothes first, I think. You have finished eating, Marietta? Claudine? Then come with me,' Leyla said, her voice friendly but impersonal.

Claudine followed Leyla eagerly. Marietta sipped the last of her tea and watched as Claudine followed Leyla from the room. She was expected to follow, but she hung back. She wondered what would happen if she refused. Then she knew. It would be Leyla who was punished. She remembered Kasim's threats. Leyla did not deserve to suffer further on her account. Perhaps she would go along with the training for a while.

Besides, if she were truthful, she was rather tired of being sulky. Making a decision, she rose from the divan and followed Leyla and Claudine down a corridor. Soon she entered a large side room where some old women sat sewing lengths of brightly coloured silk.

Leyla flashed Marietta a warm smile, and she returned it briefly.

‘You are to choose any fabric you wish,' Leyla said. ‘New clothes will be made for you. There is everything here. Silks, velvets, brocades encrusted with gems, gauze veils.'

Claudine cried out with delight and, rushing over to the shelves that lined the walls of the room, began fingering bolts of cloth.

‘Oh, Marietta did you ever see such a colour? It is like the sun on water. And this, such a deep green sewn with silver thread.'

Marietta looked at the array of fabric without interest. Claudine's enthusiasm reminded her of when they had plundered the trunk in Kasim's cabin. If only she had realised then what was about to happen. She stood in the arched doorway, watching her friend.

She must be practical. All she possessed, she wore now. She was tempted to be stubborn and insist on remaining dressed as she was. The chemise was the only link left with her old life. But Kasim had expressly ordered her to be dressed in finery for his delight. It was not beyond him to force her to walk around naked if she refused. She approached a shelf reluctantly and pulled out a bolt of garnet-coloured cloth at random.

‘This one,' she said tonelessly.

Leyla nodded, encouragingly. ‘Choose more. As many colours as you wish.'

‘You choose. I care not,' Marietta said.

Leyla looked disappointed, she had obviously hoped that Marietta would be seduced by the array of sumptuous fabrics.

‘Come now, Marietta. This is not a punishment,' Claudine laughed.

Marietta shrugged and pointed to three or four other bolts of cloth, then stood placidly while her measurements were taken. Claudine twisted and turned, holding up lengths of fabric and swathing herself in sparkling veils. The old women laughed, nodding to each other and speaking in their own tongue.

‘What do they say?' Claudine asked Leyla.

‘The say that you were born to the harem,' she smiled. ‘Your presence is like the warmth of sunlight after winter chill.'

Claudine dimpled, well pleased. She held a transparent veil up to her face coquettishly, shaking it so that the sparkles danced. Her eyes, the colour of honey,
twinkled at the old women. They patted her arm and, taking hold of her hands, kissed the backs of them, chuckling approvingly.

Leyla made a sharp motion with her hand. The old women stopped chattering and began at once to measure and cut cloth. Then Leyla led Marietta and Claudine from the room.

‘Later you can choose jewels. While the clothes are made, your bodies will be groomed. Your first dresses will be waiting for you after you return from the hammam,' she said. ‘Kasim will want to examine you. He does this with all the new women.'

At the mention of the baths Marietta felt her cheeks grow warm. There were many enticements to her unwilling flesh in that place. She remembered Leyla's gorgeous body; the things they had done together, they had been so sweet … An image of Leyla's naked body, caressed by runnels of lather, rose in her mind. The singular scent of it came back to her; musky with salt and female arousal, all overlaid with a sweet jasmine fragrance. She was unprepared for the sudden hot pulsing between her thighs.

For a moment, bound by the seductive recollections, Marietta did not absorb all of Leyla's words. Then, realizing what was to happen to her and Claudine, she stiffened.

‘Groomed. Examined. And then decked in finery. Does Kasim think we are horses to be added to his stable!'

‘It is the custom. And expected,' Leyla said, looking worried. ‘Surely you want to wear beautiful clothes and perfumes. What woman does not? And do you not want Kasim to find your body beautiful? Your beauty is a gift from Allah. You must take pride in it. You bestow honour on yourself and Allah when you display your beauty to your master.'

‘He is not my master!' Marietta fumed. ‘I refuse to be examined. I refuse to behave like … a … a meek little lamb!'

‘Marietta, please,' Leyla said, in exasperation. ‘You distress yourself needlessly. Will you not allow me to show you how good life here can be? I wish you would, for your sake.'

Marietta looked into Leyla's lovely face. Her long dark eyes looked moist and gentle. The full red lips trembled slightly. Her expression was one of genuine concern.

‘I will not, I cannot relinquish my freedom,' Marietta said, less stridently. Her voice, less sure, shook just a little.

‘But you have no choice,' Leyla said softly. ‘Did you not hear Kasim? His word is law. If you do not comply you will be punished. I too, for failing to win you to our ways. And some punishments, lovely one, are much harsher than others.'

Marietta bit her lip. She felt trapped, stifled. The fear rose in her belly, fluttering under her ribs. It was difficult to stay angry. It would be so easy to give in. Leyla was so persuasive. She wished she could trust her.

Leyla took her gently by the arm. ‘Come. You shall bathe now, then change into your new clothes. The formalities will not take long. Then perhaps you would like to sleep.'

Marietta's shoulders sagged. Why was she resisting? It was plain that Leyla was trying to be kind. And what was to happen was inevitable. Of course Kasim would want to look at his new slaves. Did not all despots demand complete subjection? All horsemen examine their prize animals?

But, try as she might to destroy the dazzling mental image she carried of Kasim, with these and other
unflattering comparisons, she found that she could not do it. He remained stubbornly compelling, invading her dreams, filling her thoughts with his dark angular beauty, his vibrant presence. He was quite simply the most desirable, the most fascinating man she had ever met.