Edward Hamilton of the Royal Navy – an interlude in Istanbul
January 1800, Istanbul
Having successfully delivered Katherine Abington, the Viscountess Dunsbrooke to Istanbul where she was to joined the Sultans harem and prevent him from sucuming to the overtures of the French, Hamiilton has been rewarded with the lease of a mansion for a year while he waits further orders from London.
“Six,” she said.
“Six?” He sat on the wide window sill two stories up and looked out across the courtyard. It was a cold morning and only a handful of servants and guards were about; a group of women carrying laundry from the barracks, a groom slowly walking a horse, a pair of French mercenaries — exiled Royalists — around a small fire as nearby, a pair of Turkish guards — former sailors — bargained with a traveling yogurt seller.
“Yes, I took that little Greek down to the quay to be sold.”
“Andrea? Yes. Good.” He thought of the lithe, dark haired young woman but only for a moment. There was a sharp crack and a yell from across the compound. The tile setter had been taking bundles into the mansion. Apparently someone had slipped. Not for the first time he was glad his living quarters were in the older building she insisted on calling the kuatuphanesii. He had almost learned to pronounce ‘Tesamayageri,’ the name of the compound in Turkish, but that was about as far as he wanted to go. He called his home the library. “Six? I have more sex slaves than that.”
“You own seven pleasure slaves, master, if you count me.” She laughed.
“I always count you Nasira,” said Edward Hamilton with a broad smile. Hamilton was a Lieutenant of the Royal Navy, at least he hoped he still was. He had been in Istanbul now for almost five months following the success of his last mission. There was little excuse for delay, and he should have found passage back to Gibraltar. Instead had sent letters to the Admiralty knowing it could take weeks for a reply.
“You have also used a few of the domestics,” Nasira bint Evranaki said as she stretched out on the layered carpet. “Maybe that has confused you.”
“They’re also my slaves.” Hamilton paused. He shrugged. Nasira laughed.
She had it explained it too many times to repeat it. In the Ottoman Empire there were many types of slaves, from the ones who were property subject to the whims of their owner, to those who ran businesses and merely had to repaid a fixed sum to become free. Hamilton had given up trying to keep track of the official status of the pretty women who worked in the Tesamayageri compound.
“Do you require more slaves, master?” Hamilton looked down at Nasira, his slave, and his love. She wore only a thin silken wrap around her hips; the winter chill from the open window giving her skin a reddish tint and very erect nipples. Hamilton, wearing only a light trousers and a kaftan, suddenly felt the cold himself. He stepped down from the window and closed the window and wooden shutters.
Nasira rolled to her back and put out her arms as he moved down next to her on the soft layered carpets. He held her tightly and kissed her, his right leg sliding between her thighs. “Oh, I might have enough for now,” he said playfully, a moment later, as his fingers traveled slowly over her breasts.
The door opened before Nasira could answer. A young woman stepped inside with a small brazier to replace the one in the center of the room. She was dressed as a sex slave: a light wrap around her hips and a short jacket that could not be closed.
“Is that Galina?” Hamilton asked Nasira.
“This is Aysu,” Nasira replied. The slave, a dark haired beauty from the mountains of Anatolia, heard her name and set down the cooled brazier. She dropped to her knees.
“It was much easier when they spoke English,” Hamilton said idly, his hand still exploring Nasira’s body as he watched the other slave.
“You should make sail with the Tigress to hunt for such slaves.” Hamilton smiled. He had commanded the brig-sloop Tigress under secret orders from the Foreign Office. There was a very good reason they were secret. Hamilton had been directed to take Katherine Abington, the Viscountess Dunsbrooke, to Istanbul where she would enter the Imperial Harem as a secret gift of the English government. The gift of such a beautiful woman, it was thought, would help insure that the Sultan did not align with France in the great war that raged across Europe.
Hamilton had been skeptical of the efficacy of such diplomacy, but he obeyed his orders. In the end it hardly mattered, the political reasons for this gesture had evaporated. Had the French army in Egypt continued its drive north it might have frightened the Sublime Porte enough to come to terms with the enemy. But the French had been stopped in Syria and their young general Bonaparte had returned to France. The French remained along the Nile, but without a direct threat to Istanbul there was little reason to believe the Ottomans would renew their historic ties to France.
“Edward,” Nasira whispered, “I think you are worrying again.” Hamilton smiled. He kissed his love and held her close. He had successfully completed the mission given to him by the Admiralty and secret departments of the Foreign Office. He had delivered Katherine Abington to the Sultan’s Imperial Harem and in the process had defeated and killed the Irish renegade and Corsair captain, Mor Cuanaich. That had been five months ago. It was becoming time to return to England.
Nasira spread her legs and guided his hand to her pussy. “Think only of this, master.” Then she looked at Asyu. “Or would you prefer to use that slave?”
Hamilton glanced over to Aysu for a moment. “I don’t have to choose.”
“As you wish, my master.” He took his hand off Nasira just long enough to indicate to Aysu that she should take off her jacket and reveal her smooth breasts, not large, but deliciously shaped.
“Yes master,” Aysu said with a heavy accent, speaking the words slowly and phonetically.
“I freely admit the life of a Corsair raider does have its appeals,” said Hamilton as he motioned the beautiful slave Asyu closer.
Hamilton pointed to Asyu and then to Nasira’s left breast. The slave nodded and leaned down, her tongue out and sliding over Nasira’s erect nipple. Hamilton watched for a moment and then moved to lick and suck on the other one. He reached down to pull on the slave wrap around Nasira’s hips.
She lifted her ass just enough, and it slipped off, leaving her naked as both of her breasts were teased. Hamilton propped himself up and on his elbows and watched as Nasira began to writhe under the expert touch of the Anatolian slave. Aysu was a beautiful woman and he couldn’t help but reach out and touch her breasts, hanging down under her body as she kissed Nasira’s nipples. But Hamilton soon had his hand caressing Nasira’s thighs.
Yes, other women were beautiful, and objectively he knew that some of those women were more beautiful than Nasira. And yet… and yet… there was something about his love that was more, much more than could possibly exist in any other woman. There were so many things; the soft curve of her waist to her hips, the smoothness of her inner thighs, the way she moved her head when he kissed her neck, the motion of her breasts when she straddled him and slid his cock inside her, the subtle streaks of red in her long black hair, the sweet taste of her pussy. Hamilton gently pushed Asyu aside and leaned down, his chest against Nasira’s breast and his arms wrapped tightly around her. He rolled her to her side as his lips pressed against her as he kissed her, his slave, his love, his Nasira.
Nasira looked at Asyu. “I want to tie her up.”
Hamilton glanced at Aysu for a moment, and then said to Nasira, “so you’re giving the orders now?”
“Might I bind this slave for your pleasure, my master,” Nasira said, her voice trembling with submission.
“Yes. Do that,” replied Hamilton as he rolled to the side. He stood up and began to take off his clothes.
Nasira spoke to Aysu in Turkish. The slave’s eyes widened in fear but she nodded. Standing she walked to a small ornate chest and pulled out several lengths of silken rope. She fell to her knees before Nasira and held them up. Nasira took a long loop and moved behind the slave. Nasira whispered something in her ear as she pulled the slave’s arms back and tied the rope around her wrists, yanking hard and then slipping the other end through an iron ring bolted to a ceiling beam. Aysu, her arms now pulled back tightly into a painful strappado struggled to her feet. Nasira slapped her ass hard and pushed her down.
“I told her to stay on her knees, master.” Hamilton put his hand on Aysu’s face. Now naked, his cock was hard and ready. Aysu nodded and opened her mouth, clearly expecting to suck his shaft. But instead his hands moved down over her breasts, and his fingers teased her nipples.
“Bring over the nipple chain.” Aysu didn’t understand English but she seemed to sense what he had said. She turned her head around and saw Nasira pull out a thin golden chain from the small chest. Aysu began to shake her head and say, “hayir, hayir.” No, no. Hamilton took the chain from Nasira. At each end was a small clamp that fit nicely over the erect nipples, linking them with a thin golden chain.
Aysu let her head fall as she grimaced from the pain in her arms and along the nipples. Nasira took additional lengths of rope, wrapping one around the slave’s thigh and the other around an ankle. She brought it close so that Aysu’s leg was bent, calf against thigh, and then did the same with the other leg.
Hamilton pulled lightly on the nipple chain and Aysu groaned. She was now balancing on her knees, her ankles pressed to her thighs, and with her arms stretched back behind her, bound to a ceiling ring. “Very good, Nasira. Now, I want you to come over here.”
“Yes, my master.” Hamilton sat down in front of the bound Aysu and had Nasira lie on her back.
“I want you to slide under and lick her cunt.”
“Yes, master.” Nasira tilted her head up to look at Aysu and told her what was happening in Turkish. Then Nasira slipped her body under that of the bound slave. She put her arms around her bound legs and the brought her head up just enough for her tongue to find Aysu’s slit. The bound slave groaned again, a mix of pleasure and pain, as her legs were pressed apart.
Hamilton stayed on his knees as he lifted Nasira’s ass up. He spread her legs, balancing her ass on his own legs as his cock slipped into her wet cunt. Nasira, on her back, was now being bent upwards on both ends, as she leaned up to lick deeper into Aysu’s pussy while Hamilton held her hips up as he began to fuck her harder. Hamilton did not waste time, pounding Nasira who wrapped her thighs tightly around him. Nasira began to grind her hips into him and finally gave up trying to lick Aysu’s cunt; she laid under the slave as his cock was moved rapidly in and out of her wet pussy.
Hamilton moaned slightly as he came, and then almost at once stepped back. Nasira slid out from under Aysu and smoothly opened her mouth to take his cock, licking and cleaning as she knew was her duty as his pleasure slave. Hamilton lay back on the carpeted floor, holding Nasira. “You see, I could never forget you, my slave.”
She looked up and him and kissed his chest lightly. “Did you forget Aysu?”
“What? Oh.” Hamilton sat up. “Yes, untie her and tell her she can return to changing the braziers. Then come back here.”
Hamilton lay with Nasira in his arms wishing he could stay this way forever. Inevitably something broke the spell. A loud commotion brought Hamilton to his feet. He opened the window and cracked the wooden shutter.
One of the guards by the compound’s western gate was signaling to his officer. Nasira stepped to the window and opened it wide, seemingly oblivious to the cold on her naked breasts and shouted down to one of the guards. Nasira was a slave, everyone knew that, but they also knew that she spoke with the authority of Hamilton himself. “A carriage and outriders approach from the east.”
“They’re back earlier than I expected,” Hamilton said idly, but without much enthusiasm. Van Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam had gone to Topaki Palace, the great complex of the Sultan and much of the Imperial government on the eastern tip of the city. There were numerous details, mostly small, that needed to be settled about Tesamayageri with some of the numerous officials who lived and worked on the grounds, but that wasn’t what Hamilton cared about.
Nasira saw his expression. She closed the shudders and put her hand on his cheek. “I don’t care what your Admirals say, master, you do not have to leave.”
“I know,” said Hamilton.
“It may not be them. We should be prepared and dress appropriately.” Hamilton sighed, small groups from the local guilds, the district evcadi, and even the corbachi of the orta of the Janissary corps that were serving as the district police liked to visit Tesamayageri. He followed Nasira to their bedroom and brought out some of his more formal clothing. He first pulled on his salvar (loose fitting trousers) and began to work the many buttons of his gomlek (embroidered shirt), followed by a red zibin (Turkish style jacket), and the short Yemeni boots. Last he put on his second best kaftan which, unlike his most expensive one, was well lined for the winter chills.
The result was a far cry from the breeches, silk stockings, blue jacket, and cocked-hat he had worn on the quarter deck, but he had found Turkish dress to be quite comfortable, though he could never remember the local names for the various items of clothing. His one concession to England was that he did not wear a turban.
Nasira was always able to get dressed faster even though she had a more complex attire. She dressed as a wealthy free woman, with a long entari coat over loose pants and short jacket, the shalvar and chirka, and with a tall cap. She would not wear a veil unless they were returning a visit to one of the local functionaries.
There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door. “Capitaine!,” cried Antoine Garnier, “a courier from the Palace of the Sultan!”
“It is an Imperial Messenger,” Nasira said with some surprise.
Hamilton, relieved, followed Nasira down the stairs and outside. Garnier had gone ahead and waited in front of the library. They walked across the light covering of dusty snow to the stairs in front of the great house Nasira and most of the others called the buyuk konak. To Hamilton it was the mansion.
“I was expecting monsieurs Von Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam,” Garnier said. Unlike Hamilton, the Frenchman and his men wore more usual European military attire, though only Garnier still had a tattered but serviceable jacket in Bourbon white. Despite himself, Hamilton liked Garnier. He was the last Duc de Roannais, and unlike others in the aristocracy he had fled to England not to languish but to fight.
With a small company of one hundred men they had struck out on daring raids deep in revolutionary France. Six years later, with a mere two dozen comrades left, Garnier had a change of heart. The Ancien Régime was not going to return. They went east as a small but elite unit of mercenaries. A number of sailors from the Tigress had joined Hamilton in Tesamayageri, but he welcomed the addition of soldiers, even if they were French.
At the gate, the lead rider trotted out in front, stopping in front of the steps. He wore a dark blue Ottoman uniform with five stiff feathers in his turban. Each an award for exceptional valor. The rest of the small squad followed, flanking the carriage.
“Peace be on you, effendi” Hamilton said in Turkish. It was one of the few phrases he knew. He added in English, “welcome to Tesam.” Nasira translated, using the full name of the compound, Tesamayageri. The officer acknowledged the greeting and handed her a sealed packet of documents.
He was an officer of the Sultan’s Messenger Corps and would have been well briefed. “He brings greetings from his patron,” Nasira relayed after she broke the seal.
“Who’s his patron?”
“It does not say.” Nasira paused to inspect the documents. “The calligraphy on the seal is distinctive. It mimics the tugra.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is from the Palace, Capitaine,” Garnier said.
The Ottoman officer pointed to the carriage. “That is a gift for you, Edward,” said Nasira after a pause. She looked down at the documents. “You have full rights and title.”
“A fine carriage. The Sultan is very generous.”
“Padishah.”
“Oh? Yes. The Padishah is very generous,” he said, slightly annoyed.
“You Franks should learn the correct term for the ruler of the Protected Dominion.”
“Franks?” he sighed. Garnier laughed. Hamilton got the point.
“We do not know this gift is from the Padishah. I will tell him you say the patron is very generous,” she answered before speaking to the officer.
The Ottoman officer nodded and then barked a command. One of the outriders leaned over in the saddle with a heavy key. He unlocked and opened the door. A woman stepped out. She wore a long white gown, somewhat frayed along the edges, with a small bonnet struggling to contain her blonde hair. She was near panic as she looked around, her eyes swollen from crying. But she was strikingly beautiful and Hamilton could barely keep his eyes off her
“Vous êtes un homme heureux, le Capitaine,” Garnier muttered.
The woman said in a pronounced American accent, “please! There must a generous man who can assist me! I am in dire need.” Nasira frowned as she noticed Hamilton’s gaze, then she asked the Messenger a question.
“He says there is no baggage.”
Hamilton nodded as he stepped toward the American. “Have the baggage sent inside,” he said absently. Garnier laughed and Nasira muttered something. The Ottoman officer saluted smartly and turned back to the gate. The carriage wheeled around was soon rumbling behind. Hamilton’s attention finally turned from the American woman.
Military officers serving in Istanbul were rarely in a hurry and it was common, and expected, that guests would stay for a cup of coffee and idle conversation while their horses were watered.
“There is no baggage, Edward,” said Nasira, clearly annoyed.
“Yes. Thank you Nasira.”
“You speak English!” the American woman cried out as he ran to him.
“I do.” Hamilton said, after a pause, then he indicated Nasira. “She does as well.”
“We should go back to the kuatuphanesii,” Nasira said.
“And what manner of place is that?” the woman stopped on her tracks and asked
“I will return to my duties, Captaine,” said Garnier, slowly, his eyes locked on the woman.
Hamilton clasped him on the shoulder. “You are right Antoine, I am a lucky man.” Hamilton lead the American woman inside to a side room brightly lit by wide windows. The woman stepped in and hesitated in front of a low divan, before sitting down, adjusting her dress over and over, clearly embarrassed by the mud stains and frayed hem.
Hamilton sat cross-legged on a wide pillow across from her while Nasira remained standing in the doorway, still looking through the documents. “Oh, sir! Those men, those abhorrent men were very free with me when I was brought here. I must protest this horrid, fiendish treatment.”
Hamilton said nothing, he just stared at her, blonde hair spilling from her bonnet, he worn dress clinging to her chest and hip. She was an incredible beauty. “You are speaking with Edward Hamilton,” said Nasira, though he couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed.
“Yes and this is my, uh” Hamilton paused, “companion, Nasira. And who might you be?”
“I am Caroline Sutherland, sir. I must ask you, with great urgency for assistance. The two men with whom I was traveling — my cousins, Mr. Hoshea Eliphelet Harkleroad and Mr. Thomas Daniel Anderson — have been taken hostage by a band of outlaws!”
“Those outlaws are uzunbacaklar,” Nasira said, flatly.
“Soldiers,” Hamilton explained, “Janissaries. They serve as police in this district.”
“Police! They were criminals! They beat those poor men!”
“Now that’s somewhat puzzling,” said Hamilton said, his eyes straying over her body, “these Janissaries can be rather overbearing at time, with tooth money and other petty bribes, but they are not particularly brutal. If they beat your companions there must have been some cause.”
“None sir, none! Please, you are English, a good Christian, I am sure, and you will want to help. Oh dear sir, you must, our cause is just.”
“And what is your cause Miss Sutherland?”
“Why we seek only to be allowed to spread the word to the people of this heathen land.”
Hamilton was afraid he knew what she meant but he still asked, “what word might that be?”
“Why the word of our Lord, sir! My brother Mr. Hoshea Eliphelet Harkleroad is the grandson of Repentance Harkleroad,” Caroline clearly expected him to have been familiar with this person. Hamilton wasn’t, though the name was that of an old style puritan. “We seek to enlighten these poor souls before they are doomed to an eternity of torment and suffering.”
“With all due respect, Miss Sutherland, you have perhaps noticed that throughout Istanbul there are large domed buildings with tall, thin towers. Those are mosques. The towers are minarets. You can think of these as the local churches. I can assure you the people of Istanbul have their own religion and are quite content with it.”
“What you call the Ottoman Empire,” Nasira added, “is known as the Abode of the Faith.”
Caroline Sutherland shook her head and sobbed. “Edward,” Nasira said, references some of the documents given to her by the Messenger. “Apparently the two men with this woman were detained after becoming drunk and seeking to take one of the innkeeper’s slaves back to their room.”
“This is a lie!” Caroline protested, though with a slight waver in her voice.
“None of the three gavur had documents for entry into the city, nor did they have documents for traveling into the outer districts.”
“We arrived on the boat of a Greek fisherman. He was eager to help our cause and is an associate of Mr. Zacharov.”
“Mr. Zacharov?”
“Yes, Mr. Zacharov! Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well. Mr. Zacharov, sir, is a man of conscience, a Christian, and a good and decent man,” said Caroline, adding, more quietly, “though perhaps of a heretical sect. If you could find him he would be of great assistance.”
“He arranged your visit to the Istanbul?”
“Yes, Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Zacharov informed Hoshea and Thomas how this land is ripe for the true word. Although,” Caroline looked down, “the task does seem much more difficult than I had anticipated.”
Hamilton sighed and sat back. “Miss Sutherland if you were granted official permission to enter the city why did you arrive her with a Greek smuggler?” Caroline shook her head as tears began to flow.
“The Sublime Porte of the Ottoman Empire is not likely to allow Christian missionaries to just wander aimlessly around Istanbul,” said Hamilton. Suddenly a realization came over him. “Who knows that you are here? Have you spoken with American representatives here or in Greece?”
“No.” Caroline looked at him as she wiped her tears. “Hoshea said that the road would be a difficult one, but our way would be eased by Mr. Zacharov. But… he never… he never arrived at the inn.” She broke down in tears.
Hamilton motioned for Nasira to lean over. He asked quietly, “what is going to happen to her companions?”
“I do not know. I am unsure whether the Americans have their own concession agreement. If not, their citizens would be sent before the district evcadi, or perhaps even the city cadi.”
“Then why was she sent to me?” Nasira took off her long entari coat.
“They have made no contacts with their compatriots. It is unlikely that any know they are here. Thus, the evcadi is saved a difficult case and you, my master, gain a gift.”
“Yes, though I would like to understand what is going on.”
“Will my cousins be released soon?” Caroline asked, suddenly hopeful.
“No.” Nasira didn’t waver as Caroline looked at her with tearful eyes. Hamilton looked down over the blonde American for a moment.
He said to Nasira, “before I was in Tunis I would never have even considered something like this.”
Nasira finally smiled, “not even a little, master?”
“All right. I may have thought about it,” he smiled, “but I surely would not have acted on those impulses.”
“Sir!” Caroline protested. “Please! I have an urgent need for your assistance. I appeal to you as a gentleman!”
“I think we should discuss this upstairs. Nasira, if you will lead the way.”
“Yes, master.”
“Please tell me, sir, what is to become of me?”
“You will understand better upstairs.” Caroline hesitated and eyed Nasira warily but followed with Hamilton behind her. At the top of the stairs Nasira walked to the end of the hall and opened a heavy door. She stood aside so that Caroline could enter first. Hamilton entered last and locked the door.
The room was not large, but the ceiling was high. There were no windows in the walls, and light came from a trio of lamps placed higher than usual and a skylight. A wooden beam cut across the room a few feet below the ceiling, from which were suspended a series of iron rings. Chains from the rings went through blocks and were locked off at different parts of the wall. There was little furniture but a modest divan with soft pillows. Near that was a wall rack with a number of different whips and floggers and a broad chest.
“What… what manner of place is this?” Caroline looked around in shock.
“I don’t think you realize the extent of what you have done,” Hamilton said as his eyes traced out her body under the many layers of her gown. “If your case was brought before the district evcadi he could very easily condemn you to death.”
“Death?” Caroline looked around frantically. Nasira slowly moved around the room, not hiding for there was nowhere to hid, but remaining quiet and moving behind her.
“That is not going to happen.”
“Then please sir, what will happen to me!”
“You are a gift,” Nasira said as she quickly stepped closer and took hold of Caroline’s arm. The American woman was too stunned to resist.
“A gift?”
“Yes.” Hamilton leered down at her form, held outlined in her tattered gown.
“Then you can help me. When might I be sent home?”
“You misunderstand,” Nasira whispered from behind. Caroline tried to turn and pull away, but she was held too tightly. “You are to be made a slave.”
“A slave?” Caroline cried. “No! This cannot be!” Hamilton walked over the chest. He opened it and ***********ed a pair off hinged metal bracelets, each with a broad hasp.
“No, please, you must let me go! You must help me sir!” Hamilton stepped in front of the American woman.
“Hold out your hands.” She stared at him, frozen in fear. “If Nasira has to place these on your wrists you will be punished with ten lashes of the whip.” Caroline shook, her body trembling as Nasira released her. Slowly she nodded, tears flowing over her cheeks, and held out her hand. Hamilton took one wrist and snapped a bracelet into place, twisting a small key to lock it, and then did the same to the other.
“Very good. Slave.” Caroline slowly put her arms down. Hamilton stepped closer.
Caroline shrieked as Nasira suddenly took hold of her by the hair and yanked her head back. “You will say ‘yes master’ when he addresses you, slave.”
“Uh… ahh… yes,” she stared fearfully at Nasira, “yes master.”
Nasira pulled harder. “I am not your master. I am haseki but still slave.” She looked at Hamilton and smiled.
“Nasira is, and always will be, my favorite.”
“You will call me mistress,” Nasira continued, to Caroline.
“Yes… yes mistress.” Caroline fell forward as Nasira released her hair. Hamilton took her in his arms for a moment and then held her arms up. Nasira reached up and twisted one of the smaller iron rings. It opened and fit perfectly into the hasp on one of the metal bracelets. A simple twist closed the iron ring, locking it into place.
Caroline brought her other hand down as she frantically pulled on her cuffed wrist.
“Raise your arm, slave.”
“No, please, sir, you do not have to do this! I beg you.”
“I don’t have to,” said Hamilton, already breathing faster in anticipation, “but I do want to. Raise your arm. Now.” Caroline complied and Nasira quickly bound her other wrist.
“I’m going to enjoy you, slave,” he said. Reaching out and wiping some of the tears from her cheek. Nasira had walked to one wall. She released a wall chain and pulled. It tightened, slowly, up to a suspended block and then down to the slave, and Caroline’s arms were lifted higher. She cried out as the strain increased and her feet were barely touching the floor.
“You were very foolish to think you could sneak into this city and not be noticed.” Hamilton took out a small knife. He began to cut away her gown. “Even if you had not tried to preach you would have been instantly seen and reported as a European.”
“I’m… I’m American.”
“Of course, but for those here there ….” Hamilton’s voice trailed off as he began to rip free enough layers of her gown to spill her breasts into view. Caroline Sutherland was very amply endowed for such a small boned woman. He pressed his hand to her left breast, kneading the soft flesh slowly, mesmerized by her beauty.
Nasira stepped around him and squeezed hard on the slave’s right nipple. “Ah! Please, please let me go!” Hamilton began to shift his fingers, his palm against her nipple, his cock already rock hard from the anticipation of using this beauty as a sex slave.
Almost as an afterthought he looked up at her. “You have not been calling me ‘master,’ slave.” “I am… I am not… I am not a slave,” she said with some small trace of defiance, in a quivering voice.
“She should be punished, master” said Nasira.
“Indeed. She has earned a punishment of five strokes. You will apply them, Nasira.” He cut away more of her gown, exposing the front and back of her torso.
“No! No! Please… no!” Caroline kicked her feet as she swayed. She tried to twist around to see where Nasira was going. “Oh my lord, no! You mustn’t do this! You cannot do this!”
“Now she has earned six strokes of punishment.” Hamilton said, calmly, to Nasira.
“No! Oh no, please!”
“Seven.”
“No… master….” she swung for a moment, her breasts exposed, and then said it again, “Master… please… please do not do this.”
“Proceed.” Nasira stood next to Hamilton with a flogger in hand. She had ***********ed one with a dozen leather tails. She had also taken off her own jacket. Hamilton leaned over and kissed her, his hand dropping down to caress Nasira’s nipples. Then he stepped aside and allowed Nasira to move into position.
“No!” cried Caroline. Nasira swung the flogger in a wide arc and snapped it across the blonde slave’s chest. The flat tails burned across her breasts. Unmoved by the screams, Nasira flogged the slave again and again, seven times in all.
Caroline sobbed as she hung there, her breasts red and burning. Hamilton stepped closer and put his hand on her chin. He held her face up, wiping some of the tears with his other hand.
“Are you a virgin, slave?”
“What? I…I…yes. I am chaste.” Caroline said weakly.
Hamilton stepped back. “Another lash, Nasira.”
“Noooo!” the cry was cut off by another snap of the flogger, this time directed at her back.
Hamilton again held up her chin. “Are you a virgin?”
“Yes… yes, master.” Hamilton looked back to Nasira and said, “strip her.” Then he turned to Caroline, “I think you’re lying, slave, a woman of your beauty would be the object of attention for every man within three hundred miles. Could you resist so many? I find that unlikely.”
Nasira stepped behind the dangling woman, ripped the remains of her dress and pulled it down past her hips, and then yanked down her undergarments. It all slid off her legs and was tossed aside leaving Caroline Sutherland hung naked before them.
Hamilton let go of her chin and began to take off his clothes. “Tell her what happens to slaves who lie, Nasira.”
“Yes, master.” Nasira leaned in, pressing her breasts to Caroline’s back as she ran her hand over the slave’s ass. “You have ordered different punishments, master, depending on the circumstances of the lie. Ekaterina and Selene fought for a piece of kavun dolma and then denied it. Each received six lashes, every morning, for six days. Disha still must sleep in the stables, in chains, because she lied about stealing a large goblet of sherbet. And there was an Italian slave who was whipped and then sent to the slave markets of Trebizond to be sold.”
“Oh god, no, no, please….” Caroline looked at Hamilton, her eyes begging for mercy. “Please master!”
“I will ask you one more time, slave.” Hamilton’s hand was on her torso. Sliding lower. “Are you a virgin?”
Caroline glanced at him with wide eyes. At last she shook her head and sobbed, “No.. no, master, I have sinned… this is my punishment.” Hamilton unbuttoned his shirt and pulling it off pressed his body against hers, his chest to her breasts. He wrapped his arms around her, Caroline kicked her legs back and forth nervously as she felt his cock, hard and ready, against her thigh. Nasira, standing to the side also took off the rest of her own clothes.
“This is not your punishment for fucking, slave,” said Hamilton, “this is your punishment for stupidity.”
“Yes…. yes master,” Caroline said, quietly. Hamilton kissed her neck as she dangled from the chains.
“Who did you fuck?”
“I… I… please, please do not make me say!” Caroline chocked up and with effort at last added, “master.”
“You are a slave now. My slave. You will do everything I demand, including answering any questions I put to you.” As Hamilton spoke, in a quiet and almost reassuring voice to the American slave, Nasira moved the flogger back and forth slowly so that the tails whisked lightly on Caroline’s ass.
“Ah… on no… don’t punish me, master… please….”
“I am losing patience.”
“I.. I sinned with Ike Gray….” she looked at him, pleading, “and….” he voice trailed off as she slumped in the chains.
“And?” Hamilton lifted he face up. “And?”
“Jake Kincaid… Frank Conway… no, please, I told you, master, please no more” He took a half step back and reached for her neck. His fingers pressing her head up. He did not squeeze, but the fear was in her eyes.
“You will tell me everything slave. Or you will be lashed again.” She nodded and he removed his hand.
“Hoshea,” she stammered, “Thomas.”
“Your cousins? “Hamilton looked at her. That had taken him by surprise.
“They are not my cousins, master. I… we… it was a pretense as it would be sinful… to be an unmarried woman traveling…with such men” Hamilton stepped back and walked closer to Nasira.
He whispered, “did they have any identifying papers on them?”
“I do not know,” Nasira said, “I saw nothing to dispute these identifications, but I have not yet read the documents in detail.” Hamilton stepped back and sat back across the divan.
“Let her down, Nasira.” Nasira lowered the chains and then freed the bracelets from the iron rings. But before Caroline could react, her arms we pulled behind her back and a thin chain weaved between the bracelets, thus binding her wrists.
“Come here, slave.” Caroline nodded absently and went to him. She sat in his lap, as he indicated, her hands bound. Hamilton held her with his left arm as his right hand caressed along her thigh.
“Did you fuck those two before you left America?”
“Only Thomas, master. He… he seemed kind and I… my soul is not strong enough. Hoshea, who was with him, found out. He said, he told me that if I did not come with them to Europe he would tell my congregation that I was a whore. He is the grandson of Repentance Harkleroad! I would be shamed and ruined.”
“That was all it took to get you to leave your home and family?”
Caroline shook her head. “I thought I could do good works. I thought… I thought there would be adventure.” She pressed her head into his shoulder and mumbled, “master.”
Nasira walked around the room, looking down at the scene. Hamilton glanced up to her and smiled. Nasira nodded but said nothing. “Hosea said… he told me I had to… he said he would… he would…”
“Beat you?”
“No. He already did that. He used his belt on me while Thomas watched. Then Thomas would… would use me. Hosea said that I only had to be good until we reached Ottoman lands. There they would take a slave as a servant and use her. And they said, they said that if I was not good…they would sell me…”
“Did you ever try to escape?” Nasira asked.
“Where could I go?” Caroline turned and looked up. “Mistress. I had no money and I hoped, I did, I still hoped that I could do some good for the heathens of this land.”
Hamilton stroked her hair, “you do not need to speak of it any more slave, not now.”
“Yes, master.”
“Move to your knees.” Caroline nodded. She knew what was expected. She slid down in front of the low divan, leaning over, her bound hands behind her back, and opened her mouth. She took in his cock mechanically, her lips sliding along the shaft back and forth rapidly. Hamilton took hold of her head with both hands and slowed her down, forcing her to move her head down and back as his cock thrust deeper into her throat.
The new slave did not resist. She flinched as Nasira touched her and began to mumble a cry when Nasira slid her hand down her back and ass and under. Caroline hesitated for only a moment as she felt fingers on her soft pussy lips. Hamilton pushed down harder and she soon relented, letting him move her head back and forth faster.
“She responds well, master,” Nasira said, her hand on Caroline’s cunt, stroking it and sliding her finger across the new slave’s slit.
“Yes, yes… ahh… a very good slave,” said Hamilton as he fucked her face harder. Nasira slid her finger up into the American slave, pushing against her tight pussy as she began to react and respond physically. Hamilton watched his love, his slave, as she used Caroline, and that pushed him over the edge. Caroline squealed as his cum went deep into her throat.
A moment later Nasira pulled Caroline’s head back by the hair. Her mouth was half open, cum dribbling down her chin and dropping down across her breasts and thighs. “You are supposed to swallow, slave!”
“I’m sorry mistress,” Caroline said, the cum sliding over her mouth even more.
“It’s all right, Nasira.” Hamilton said, with a slight laugh. He stood up, cleaned himself off, and began to get dressed. “There will be plenty of time for more training.”
“You will obey or feel the lash of a real whip, and not a mere flogger.” Nasira stood up and pulled Caroline to the center of the room. Her bound wrists were soon chained to an iron ring embedded in the floor. Hamilton and Nasira stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door, leaving Caroline on the floor to contemplate her new situation. They dressed and went to the flat roof of the library. It was cold, but as he saw by looking at the water which had accumulated in a pot left out, not cold enough to freeze water.
He stood near the edge and looked across the compound of Tesamayageri. The original mansion was an old structure, perhaps five hundred years old. It had been a church and then a mosque, then a granary and, with the addition of low walls, Janissary barracks. More recently it had laid largely dormant, the Janissary corps having moved to far more elaborate quarters. Hamilton assumed the Sultan had rewarded him the one year, rent-free lease on Tesamayageri so that he would take the time to repair some of the older buildings. Hamilton didn’t mind. The compound was his for a year, and if he sold the Tigress, the ship that had brought them to Istanbul, there would be enough money to buy it. He could stay here for the rest of his life, in an outer district of Istanbul with Nasira.
Nasira pressed against him and shivered from a sudden chill wind. “I should return to England,” he said.
“Are you feeling guilty about using that slave?”
“Of course I feel guilty about that. I should’ve helped her to go home. But that isn’t it.”
“She is slave. I was a slave of the Padishah and now I am your slave. It is the way the world is.”
“I am happy you are mine.” He held her close. “I want to be a naval officer. I want to be a naval officer in His Britannic Majesty’s service. I’ve always wanted that. And now, now, I want to make post. I want to be a captain.” Hamilton paused. “And the war. I should go back because of the war, and that does weigh on me. But, in truth, I want to take ships into battle against France, fight and win, and be make post.”
“You are already a captain. You are captain of the Tigress.”
“I mean a real captain.” He hesitated. “As far as king and country are concerned I’m a just a Lieutenant, one who has languished in Istanbul for months without any good reason.”
“That is not true, master. But I will go with you wherever you wish. You own me.”
He put his arm around her. “I know.”
“When you commanded the Tigress you did whatever was needed in order to succeed. You took slaves in Italy, you fought Mor Cuanaich’s pirates off Ithaca and at the slave brothel on Naxos, and you killed him at Teleoussa. You have fought and lived like a Corsair.” Hamilton looked out across the compound, his compound, as he held his slave against the light winter wind. Nasira continued, “you may find it difficult to go from that to having to take orders from some English captain who cares more for polishing the brass work than engaging the enemy.”
Hamilton looked away and then changed the subject. “I wonder why the Sultan… the Padishah. I wonder why he would send me this particular American woman as a gift. My God, look at her, she is beautiful, if anyone was meant for the Imperial Harem it is her.”
Nasira poked him gently. “I do not think he sent her. We were rewarded with Tesamayageri. A generous gift. The Padishah has moved on to other things; he is more interested in tulips and poetry than anything else, including beautiful women.”
“I thought you said the document came from the palace?”
“I believe so. I think she may have been sent under orders from the Kizlar Agasi. He would have known at once when these Europeans arrived illegally.”
Hamilton nodded. The Kizlar Agasi, the Chief Eunuch of the Harem was one of the most powerful men in the Empire, below only the Grand Vizier and the Sultan himself. His purview extended far beyond the Imperial Harem, and he commanded a network of spies, informers and a small but efficient secret police.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Hamilton smiled, “and she is a very beautiful.” Nasira tilted her head and looked at him.
“You my love, are, of course, more beautiful.”
“I understand, Edward, and it does not bother me. There are women whose beauty surpasses mine, just as there are men more handsome than you. But I love you all the same.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton slowly. “Really? Like whom?”
“Antoine Garnier is quite –” A musket shot cut off Nasira’s reply. There was frenzied shouting near the east gate but shouts of pleasure not alarm.
“Van Schoonhoven and Ghanashyam have returned,” Nasira reported happily. “I am sure they bring good news!”
“I hope so. Let’s go down and see.” He held her tightly. “Garnier, really?” Hamilton had first met Pieter Van Schoonhoven in Tunis, where he was an English representative of a sort. He didn’t like Van Schoonhoven, but the man was the best one to approach the English diplomats in Istanbul. Hamilton wanted official recognition of his extended leave of absence. He did not want to be cashiered from the navy.
Ghanashyam was at the front of the first group of riders that entered the compound, the mud of side streets splattered over his horses and clothes.
“Welcome back, Mr. Ghanashyam,” Hamilton said warmly. Hamilton had known the Indian scholar and linguist since the voyage of the Tigress.
Ghanashyam leapt down and handed the reins to one of the guards. “It is good to be back, Captain Hamilton!” He turned suddenly as one of the pack horses was being lead to the stables and yelled something in Turkish.
“Send the horse over to Antoine,” Hamilton said, “tell him to see that your bags are secured.”
One of the French Royalist soldiers took the reins and lead Ghanashyam’s horse towards the mansion. “I am surprised they allowed you to take documents from the Imperial Archive,” said Nasira.
“Oh? Oh, no, no, no!” the Indian beamed. “I did work for them the first day. They had letters of Yavuz Sultan Selim written in an older form of Persian which I have seen before. They were fairly mundane, just mediocre poetry and boring letters to his mother, but the archival scribes were delighted.
They let me borrow several incredible books!”
“Books?” Hamilton asked.
“Books, yes, and also some scrolls. Oh, a map on an old sheep’s skin that is supposed to be three thousand years old! And a set of fragments from clay tablets –“
Hamilton put up his hand. “Then everything went well.”
“Very well! The eunuchs were skeptical of my interests, they have been too long at the center of intrigues, but they allowed me access to many of the things I requested in Tunisian Arabic and Armenian. I read Herillus of Carthage in Greek but written with Ottoman ***********!” Ghanashyam said excitedly.
“I improved my knowledge of the High Ottoman just by listening to them. That is all the palace eunuchs will speak in my presence, at least, although I am sure they know the common forms well enough.” Hamilton answered with fast nod, his attention on another carriage as came through the gate.
Ghanashyam turned and saw the carriage. “The news is good, my friend, but I will let Van Schoonhoven tell you.”
“I hope so. Thank you, Mr. Ghanashyam.” The Dutchmen struggled from the carriage. His health had started to falter even before the Tigress reached Istanbul.
“Captain Hamilton, yes, yes!” Van Schoonhoven said as he slowly walked over.
“Hello Pieter. I hear the trip was a success.”
“Indeed, indeed!” Van Schoonhoven paused a moment to catch his breath. His personal slave Annalisa Jorgensen, who bore the slave name Rana, rushed out and leaned against him, supporting him as best she could.
“Thank you my Rana…yes. Ah, Captain Hamilton I did speak, yes, with Stidolph and Trumble. They have been in communication with the Foreign Office, with…Henry Abington himself, yes, Sir Henry.” The Dutchman paused to catch his breath. “To keep that to ourselves, yes? Also, you will be delighted, most delighted to know that they have been in contact with your Admiralty.”
“What did they say?” Hamilton asked impatiently.
“Officially, Captain, officially you remain on detached service from the frigate, uh, Ariadne, yes, Ariadne, and your status is pending a report from Captain Baynes… ah, do not look disheartened, Captain Hamilton! This is good! You see –” Rana glared at Hamilton as Van Schoonhoven stopped once more for deep breaths. “They cannot –” The Dutchman began to cough.
“They are unlikely to openly acknowledge the real reasons for your mission here, Edward,” Nasira said.
“Oh indeed,” Van Schoonhoven said with a nod. “They cannot, oh no!” Hamilton nodded. The mission to bring Katherine Abington was highly secret, it would not have been politic to let it be known that the Foreign Office was bribing the Great Sultan with the body of an English Viscountess even though she did go willingly.
“Where is the Ariadne?” Nasira asked.
“Convoy duty to India!” Van Schoonhoven coughed. “They are giving you several more months, yes, until the Sultan’s gift of this place expires. Quite generous.” Hamilton nodded. Rana, not waiting for a direct order, began to lead to the Van Schoonhoven towards the mansion to rest.
“Oh Edward, this is good news!” Nasira hugged him.
“I would have preferred having something official,” Hamilton stepped over to the wagon as goods from the district market were unloaded. “But what does it matter? My career is ruined anyway.”
“Oh Edward, no!” Van Schoonhoven stopped and turned. “Captain Hamilton. Speak to Daro.” Rana pulled her master away towards the mansion.
“Who is Daro?” Hamilton asked Nasira. As if on cue an Ottoman officers pulled his horse up and leapt down.
“I am Daro,” he said in excellent English. He produced a document and handed it to Nasira. He said to Hamilton, “My name is Janko Danijelov, although you may call me Daro. I come directly from the Imperial Palace to discuss a matter of some importance about your ship.”
Daro paused, looking around casually as the carriages were unpacked and the horses slowly taken to the stables. Nasira turned her back on Daro and whispered to Hamilton, “he has been sent directly from the Kizlar Agasi.”
“Are you sure?”
“I spoke with Pieter Van Schoonhoven while he was on the grounds of Topaki Palace,” Daro said, clearly understanding what they were discussing.
“Very well,” Hamilton said as he walked back over. “What is your concern with my ship, Mr. Daro?”
“Just Daro.” He walked towards one of the scrawny olive trees that dotted the courtyard, away from the men who were unpacking the carriage and wagons.
“I will explain more later. But in short, Captain, your ship would be ideal for a short trading voyage of great importance.” “The Tigress hasn’t returned from Trebizond.”
“Yes, I am aware of that Captain. A slight delay, only, I assure you. The Russian have sent a small squadron along the Eregli coast, and the Tigress no doubt is taking steps to avoid them. For me this is not an issue as it will take some time to organize the cargo.”
“And what cargo is this?”
“The Empire is expensive to operate. With various military losses, the treasury is bare. One way to generate some ready gold is to sell a number of women from the harem. Perhaps fifty or so in Naxos. This would have to be kept quiet, of course, and you, Captain Hamilton, have experience with delicate missions of this sort.” Hamilton’s eyes narrowed.
“Lady Dunsbrooke is not one of those to be sold. Have no fear on that account. As I said, I have already discussed some of this with Van Schoonhoven. Later we shall talk more and discuss your compensations.”
“That would be good,” Nasira said, after Hamilton did not reply.
Daro turned and went to look over items being unloaded. Nasira leaned close to Hamilton and whispered, “this would be very lucrative plan, Edward. You have talked about buying the compound, perhaps you can make enough to pay for it and keep the Tigress.”
Hamilton nodded. “I wish they had sent me something official.”
“Oh, Edward,” she said with a sigh, as she walked with him towards the mansion.
##
The meal in the large dining hall of the mansion was larger than usual and much louder. Travelling from one end of Istanbul to the other was a journey that was vast in everything but distance. The transition from the interconnected neighborhoods, almost small villages, in the outer districts, to the ritualized, ornate, formal atmosphere of Topaki palace was like a visit to another world.
Hamilton sat back and listened, enjoying Ghanashyam’s enthusiastic tales of the archivist eunuchs, as he watched the antics of the slaves Disha and Galina as they served the food. Nasira in turn, recounted various dealings in the district over the past week, saving for the last the story of the newly acquired slave, Caroline Sutherland.
“You have great fortune in slaves, Captain Hamilton,” said Daro as he admired Galina.
Hamilton smiled and looked over to Nasira. “Indeed.”
“And to think, these are only the women he kept,” Garnier quipped.
“He lost me once,” Nasira said, to laughter. Other than Garnier and Daro, the others around the table, men, and women, had been on the Tigress. They knew that while bringing Katherine Abington to Istanbul was the official mission, Hamilton’s real goal was to find Nasira who had been captured by the Irish renegade Mor Cuanaich.
“Will Pieter be joining us?” Daro asked.
“Rana says he is too sick,” Nasira said. “He should stay in bed.”
“He has not been doing well since Naxos,” said Hamilton.
“It became much worse when we were in the Palace grounds,” Ghanashyam said. “I was worried he would not have the strength to take a coach back. Perhaps we should summon a doctor?”
Hamilton nodded. “Send for one in the morning.” There was a quiet pause, a moment when joviality seemed inappropriate. The beaded curtains swirled as the slaves Disha, Aysu and Galina brought out large trays with a wide variety of burek, Turkish pastries.
“Where is new slave?” Ghanashyam asked, as he watched the blonde Disha return to the kitchen. “I heard she is most beautiful.”
“Ah, plus beaux!” said Garnier. Hamilton held up his hand. “We’ll bring her out soon enough. First there is something I have to say,” he glanced at Antoine Garnier. The Frenchman stood up and disappeared into another room.
“My life has been enriched so very much by all of you, and in many ways.” There was laughter. “But there is one who means more to me than anyone ever could. Nasira.”
“Thank you, Edward,” said Nasira, blushing slightly.
“I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” Garnier returned with a long object wrapped in silk. He handed it to Nasira and gave a deep courtly bow suitable for Versailles, to more laughter, and returned to his place around the table.
“We are in the nineteenth century now, my love,” said Hamilton, “and so this seemed like a fitting gift for you.”
“In your calendar, Edward, that will not start until the year 1801,” she said, playfully, as she began to unwrap a gun. She held it up, her eyes wide and her mouth open. “Edward! Is it.. oh Edward, is it really?”
“It is indeed.”
“Is there something special about this musket?” Ghanashyam asked.
“It’s not a musket,” said Hamilton. “This a Ferguson, a rifle and breech loading at that.” Nasira took hold of the trigger guard and pressed to one side, it rotated around, unscrewing a block that exposed the breech. “The ball and charge go in, and then I close it,” she said as she rotated the trigger guard in to the other direction closing the breech. “I prime it, pull back and lock and fire.”
“Most men can fire four shots a minute,” Garnier added, “but you Nasira, will do five or six.”
“And these are rifle shots!” Naisra moved the breach screw back and forth a few times then set the rifle down and wrapped her arms around Hamilton. “I love you, my master.”
“Captain Hamilton, if I may,” Ghanashyam said, “we brought something back for you.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Ghanashyam, that is not necessary.” Hamilton laughed and said, “so, let’s see what it is!” The Indian gestured and one of the slaves turned and gestured. A small woman, with long auburn hair, was brought out. She was dressed in a simple wrap of the sort slavers used to present their wares. The new slave stepped closer to Hamilton and looked up, her eyes a grey color.
“Oui! Un esclave espagnol belle,” Garnier said with much enthusiasm.
“She is Spanish?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes, master,” the slave replied, with a delicate accent.
“Ah! She speaks English!” There was much laughter.
“They told me she was taken from the Balearics just a few months ago,” Ghanashyam explained. “Daro was the one who showed me the specialty stalls.” Daro nodded in acknowledgment. “I went for a walk and just happened by the Burnt Column,” Ghanashyam added, to more laughter. The Burnt Column was the official slave market of Istanbul.
“Thank you, Mr. Ghanashyam, and you as well Mr. Daro,” said Hamilton, smiling broadly. He ran his hand through the hair of the new slave. “What is your name.”
“Marga , master.”
“Show me your body Marga .” The new slave opened the wrap and let it fall to the floor. She had excellent breasts, with erect nipples and soft curves that Hamilton savored as he looked down over her hips and thighs. Hamilton let his hand slide over her body, moving up and down along the inside of her thighs and then slipping his fingers along the soft folds of her pussy.
“I like this one, Mr. Ghanashyam, I like this one a lot.” Hamilton turned to Nasira. “Now would be a good time to bring out Caroline.”
“Why don’t you enjoy your new slave Captain Hamilton,” said Daro.
Nasira, who still held her Ferguson rifle, smiled and nodded. “There is no hurry, master.” After Hamilton hesitated, she added, “the rest of us can speak in Turkish.” Hamilton stood up as the others laughed.
“I will be back soon enough, my friends.” He took hold of the new Spanish slave and lead her outside and up the stairs. The upper stories of the mansion were still in need of repair after decades of neglect. He lead Marga to a room facing south that was at least clear of scraps of wood and tile, with only an old desk and a few boxes inside. Marga followed dutifully behind him and dropped to her knees.
“How did you come to learn English, slave?”
“I was of Port de Maó, master.”
“Port Mahon?”
“Puerto Mahon, si. I am comare and learned some little from wifes of sailors English.”
He nodded. Port Mahon on the island of Minorca was the second largest English naval station in the Mediterranean. “What is a comare?”
“Women who was pregnant come to me, and some others with who are ill.”
“Like a doctor? For women?”
“Yes, master.” She stood, looking at him briefly and then letting her gaze drop down. She kept her hands at her sides, and her legs slightly spread.
“I’m impressed. You must be quite intelligent.” He walked around her, looking down over her body. “And you are also quite beautiful.”
“Thank you, master.”
“Now you are my property.”
“Yes, master.”
“You are under my discipline.”
“Yes, master.”
“Stand up.” She did. He put his hand in her hair and pushed it back over her shoulder. “You’re trembling.”
“I am sorry, master!” she pleaded.
“I’m not going to punish you for that, slave.”
“Thank you, master.”
“But I am going to flog you.”
“Master?”
“You are new to my house and I want there to be no confusion. If you disobey you will be punished.”
“Yes, master.” Marga ‘s eyes began to cloud as she watched him leave the room for the moment to rummage through a sea chest that had been left in the hallway.
He returned with a short whip. “Now, straighten up. Put your hands behind your head.”
“Yes, master.” Marga hesitated and then put her hands behind her neck, intertwining her fingers. She spread her legs slightly, for balance, and then a bit more. She was shaking as he moved behind her.
He swung the whip in a short arc, snapping it across her ass. Marga cried out but held her position. The leather tails bit into her again and again as he whipped her ass and thighs a half dozen times. Tears streamed down her face, and her knees began to shake, but she remained standing.
Hamilton stepped in front of her. “Move over there,” he pointed to the desk. “I want you to sit on it.”
“Yes, master.” Marga walked to the desk, turned around, and sat down on the top with her legs drawn together and dangling over the edge. She was breathing hard and winched as her ass landed on the hard wooden desktop. Hamilton took off his shirt and stepped closer, putting his hands on her thighs. He spread her legs, slightly and leaned in.
“Port Mahon is safe from Corsairs. How did you become a slave?”
“They solded me, master.”
“Sold? Who sold you?”
“Some men, sailors English and officer. They come to me that I help some English woman.”
“Go on. Continue.”
“Yes, master. My body was tied and they sented me to a small, I, I do not know your word. La cuina.”
“A ship?”
“Yes, master. They take me to be in a caged,” she looked at him sadly, but with little emotion in her voice. “I was solded to Tunis, then soldiers taken me from my master and I was put in cage to here.” Hamilton looked at her as the light from a small lamp illuminated half of her face. She was a pretty slave, and it was easy to see how she would draw the attention of men. He had never heard of English officers abducting women and selling them as slaves, but, then he had done so himself.
“Well, you are my property now.” Hamilton pulled down his pants. “Lie back, slave.”
“Yes, master.” Marga laid back on the table top as Hamilton pulled her slightly so that her ass was right on the edge. His cock pressed against her pussy. “Ahh….” she said in pain. She wrapped her legs around him and began to grind her hips, as she had been trained, to force her body to respond faster.
“It is a pleasure to once again own a slave who speaks English,” said Hamilton as he moved the tip of his cock against her slit and began to force himself inside. In some corner of his mind, he realized his statement was not true. Nasira spoke English. Nasira was a slave, legally and in practice, there was no question of that. But Nasira was much more than a slave.
“Yes, master,” Marga cried out. She tried to steady herself by spreading her arms across the table as he began to fuck her. Hamilton held his hands tightly to her hips, as he pressed in hard with each thrust, sliding his cock inside her tight cunt. He watched her, her breasts bouncing back and forth, her cheeks stained with tears from the whip.
Marga looked up at him and gave a weak smile. Hamilton could feel her body responding more. She shifted her head back and forth, with low moans, a slight action, but one which pushed him. He fucked her hard and then his cum was deep inside her. Marga had been well trained. As soon as he pulled back she slid off the table and went to her knees, looking up first for approval, and then sliding her tongue along his shaft as she cleaned his cock. She took him in deep into her mouth, her lips still feeling very good.
“You please me slave,” Hamilton said as he adjusted his pants and reached for his shirt.
“Thank you, master.”
“Now, go downstairs and into the kitchen. The slaves who are serving dinner will help you to clean up.”
“Thank you master,” she said quietly. Hamilton followed her down the stairs as he went to rejoin the party.
##