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Intrigue, mystery and eroticism set in historical Middle East spanning the rugged Judaean landscape to the fertile Mesopotamian lands, where powerful men quest for wealth and dominion. Contains graphic scenes. For adults only.
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Dedicated to Sylvia,
You are an inspiration even when you do not speak,
A spark when the words hold back,
A light when doubt surmounts,
And a charm that beholds.
A time in the Middle East when conquests were common and barbaric acts the norm. But human nature has been, was and would be unchanging. The seedy side of men’s desire for wealth and dominion in each period of recorded history is repeated. This is a look at the life and culture of civilisations of yore.
From the Judaean rugged landscape to the Mesopotamian fertile lands, a story that weaved together folk tales and history and indulgences.
The sky grew dark as night approached. Women slaved tirelessly over the preparation of the evening meals. Tradition required the head matriarch of each household to perform cleansing and food preparatory duties, aided usually by the youngest unmarried women in each household.
Miriam's responsibilities were no different. As the wife of Jerusalem's most powerful Jew, her daily rituals consisted of no less rigorous duties, which included delegating upkeep of household chores to her servants, bonded or free. The two daughters in the family aged eighteen and twenty however were relegated the more outdoor chores of traversing the stepped pathways to collect spring water from the cobbled well. Water did not flow from spigots but had to be carried in earthenware jugs from the many springs that sprouted all over the city.
The younger Jabentha did not fuss much with the arduous role assigned to her, and would usually find distractions along the way to keep her playful spirit uplifted. With Mediterranean olive skin and hair bound in tidy loops, she could easily have been regarded as royal lineage. She wore her poise with dignified ease yet her smile commanded attention from people surrounding her. Never wearing any item of clothing of unappealing character, she had what one would define as ladylike charm.
Her elder sister Joclantha who was no less charming has rather strong features, an aberration from familial characteristics. Jaunty facial bone structures could have placed her in the ranks of court officials if not for her feminine head veil that bound her hair and wrapped around the front of her neck. Carrying the brunt of harder tasks as she took her responsibilities more earnestly than her younger sibling, she nonetheless bored no resentment nor had she ever uttered a quip of displeasure to their mother. She quietly but diligently went about her duties and was always the earlier one to return.
Joclantha reveled at this time of day, the onset of the evening. She loved peering out the kitchen window, observing the chattering of other young women returning to their abodes after a long afternoon of fetching water. She would catch the glimpses of neighbouring womenfolk who spoke in gleeful and at times shy manner.
The sun was disappearing behind the hills. She had completed her tasks of carrying water and there was abundant water stored in large cisterns at her home. But she now had her attention on the returning womenfolk, especially one in particular. Sylvia. A Greek foreigner from the island of Ios who lived not two doors away. She was rescued from a tragic merchant ship mishap and had been repaying her saviour master by serving him as his house maid ever since that day. But it was uncommon knowledge that she served up well more than the stated understanding. Gratitude has no bounds, especially when it involved lives being saved. Sylvia was a mere teenager traveling with her trader father when the dreadful incident happened. Her father was thrown off the galley when the ship was wrecked in that fatal night storm, and was never found. She and several shipmates were hanging by splinters of marine wood when salvation eventually came in the form of another merchant vessel. Her silk Ionian wrap draped wetly on her shapely body when she was fished out of the Aegean Sea. Her hardened nipples trembling in fear were clearly visible under the moonlight glow.
Sylvia was returning to her quarters and had to walk past the window of a half smiling Joclantha. An unusually preoccupied Sylvia did not return the probing glances and she slowed down her paces as she approached her master’s villa past the last window. A loud booming voice bellowed out summoning her immediate attendance. Her master, a man of resource and connection, required her presence, in his sleeping quarters. She quickly entered through the heavy cedar main doors, latched the brass bolts and answered his call.
Joclantha noticed the anxiousness in Sylvia when she disappeared into her master’s villa. With a knowing smirk, she climbed out of her window and stealthily snuck inside the villa which she was familiar with having done this many times before. Thrilling anticipation concentrated her core energies as she slipped through unseen secret alley on the side walls between pillars adjoining her own villa. She had developed a taste for watching subservient women performing sexual tasks satiating their masters, especially when done under duress. Her speed and agility at arriving at a hidden spot in her neighbour’s villa that had an ample panorama to the unfolding scene betrayed her innocent persona.
Hiding just outside the master’s sleeping chamber, Joclantha peered through a hidden crack big enough to view the inside of the room but not too large to expose her presence. The scene had already started. Kneeling with her knees together and feet flattened to the marble floor, Sylvia’s lips were suckling her master's manhood. Her master sat on the edge of his large canopied bed leaning slightly backwards and looking down at the attentive slave quietly submitting to him. One hand was supporting his upper torso while the other lightly grasping her curled bangles. Sylvia’s tongue knew where to lap and when to withdraw. She needed no guidance to her oral movements, but the master’s hand remained at her head as though to remind her who has the authority over her. Still clothed in wraps which were lowered to her hips, her upper body was exposed revealing her smooth light Grecian skin and voluptuous breasts. One of her jutting nipples was pierced with a brass ring. Her head veil typical of Hebrew attire was pushed around the side to allow her to perform the act unobstructed and also to let her master view her face wholly.
Her virginity has long been taken by her master as a token of total belonging since the day she was rescued but tonight he wanted only, the sensual consummation with her oral orifice. He shall force her to complete his pleasure with her tongue and lips only and maybe even with an occasional nibbling of her teeth.
“Move your tongue.” The master commanded.
Joclantha could see the tensing up of the slave’s body when she drew too close to lick more of his manhood. And in doing so the engorged intrusion went deeper into her throat, causing a gurgle and some movements in her throat swallowing her master’s seminal fluids. The master need not repeat his demands; Sylvia performed her duties to perfection. She controlled her throat’s natural constriction and rejection of an unearthly sized phallic weapon and her gagging sounds were fleetingly momentary. After some moments, she slid back out to concentrate on sucking her master’s penis head with her saliva covered lips. His hand never leaving the top of her head and yet it did not physically force her to comply.
“Take my sags.” Another order issued.
She withdrew her mouth from sucking and lowered her head to embrace her master’s full gonads. Despite his advanced age and middle aged belly, he has always been able to retain his sexual prowess. His dangling sags were always heavy and full with manly vitality. He liked to have them licked and embraced worshipfully by his women and slaves alike. And Sylvia knew exactly what to do. She knew the sensitive areas to caress and she knew how her master liked her slow running of her wet lips across the undersides of the gonads. Crouching uncomfortable and leaning in, she proceeded to perform the tasks to her master’s pleasure. Holding the enlarging cock with one hand, she placed her other hand under his scrotum. From the sounds of her master’s heaving she could tell he was close to blowing his semen. She pointed her tongue towards his anus and lined a wet track to the undersides of his hairy balls. Pushing her flat tongue up against his nuts she licked back again towards his anus. His hand pushed aside her head veil revealing her hair tied up in a knot, he wanted a full view of her submissive facial’s expressions. The veil, unfolded, falling to the floor.
“Hmm.. I’m going to come. Use your mouth.”
Moving her hand faster to stroke his warring weapon, she could feel it shooting its salty contents. She quickly adjusted her mouth to engulf the powerful bursts. With her submissive nature, Sylvia would never look up to face her master throughout her exercise of sucking her master off; which was why this time was particularly waxing to Joclantha as she observed Sylvia holding the spraying penis in her mouth and turning her eyes towards her master’s face at the moment of sexual climax.
It wasn’t joy or satisfaction. Nor was it relief that she had finally seen the end of his perversion. It was fear.
Two hands appeared around the master’s neck. In her intense voyeuristic enjoyment of the slave’s subjugation, Joclantha had not noticed another presence in the room. Not one but two men dressed in desert warlord garb had grabbed hold of the master while one held a small curved blade. The stranger closest to the master held his head in a strong arm lock and sliced across the neck with the sharp edge of the blade.
The master’s ecstatic exclamations were cut short and turned to a low guttural sound. Blood splattered out from the cut veins as his head was bent back. His jerking motion increased while the second stranger held down his hand and body. Sylvia who has been trained to please dutifully let the last stream of sperm gushed into her mouth. She held down one of her master’s hands while the assailants secured the other. With flailing knees about her head, she maintained her composure while red streams flowed down her master's body. Her face streaked with fresh blood and dotted by the burst of live blood. There were no other emotions, just fear.
Joclantha almost screamed out loud. She instinctively cupped her mouth and held her breath. This wasn’t how all her voyeuristic misadventures were supposed to end. Did she inadvertently gasp out her shock? Was she discovered from her hiding place?
Sylvia was trembling when she finally released the dying man’s penis from her mouth. Still on her knees but upright and tense. She stole another glance at the perpetrators but quickly looked away. She would normally swallow her master’s seeds to please him and there were plenty to gulp down. But tonight, she tried and tried hard but simply could not accomplish that swallowing motion. And she had to fight back a retching revolt from deep in her belly. Creamy dribbles bubbled out from the sides of her shaking mouth and dropped onto her naked upturned breasts mixing with her master’s blood. She was complicit, thought Joclantha. Why else would she be holding down her master's hand. But fear also? Was she so angry at her master that she desired his death?
One of the two assailants put a finger to his lips indicating to Sylvia to remain quiet and kneeling. Still trembling from the treacherous act and possibly from a cold draft wafting through an open window, she sat on the sides of her knees and kept her arms protectively around her naked chest. Awash in fear and guilt, she cupped her face with both hands, her elbows tucked in and replayed the rapid sequence of events that just went by in her head. The two man bundled up the dead master's body and dragged it to a side door. Joclantha could not follow the movement of the strangers from where her hiding place was. After several moments one of the men came back to the kneeling slave who has by now started to sob softly. Now tears mixed with her master's sperm and blood.
Blood drenched blankets and pillows were reminders of the recent crime and a feeling of terrifying guilt overcame Sylvia. This warlord who was the one wielding the sickle knife came up behind her. She could hear his footfalls. Is this the end for her too, thought Joclantha. The man placed his palm on the slave’s shoulder eliciting a jerking motion and a gasp from her. Joclantha couldn’t hear the whispers spoken from the killer but it was clear he was instructing her. And if she wanted to stay alive she had better obey. She kept nodding her head when he softly spoke, causing more sperm to drip from her chin. The killer lightly tapped her other shoulder with the sickle knife. On seeing the cold instrument, her body tensed up even more, straightened upright rigidly. The killer turned her head around to face him. He had lowered his trousers and undergarment exposing his erect penis. She knew what else she had to do. The murder had excited him and only a compliant slave could soothe his flaming organ.
Joclantha by this point was simply aghast. Should I run? I might be found out if I move now. Her usually wet sex was now cold and frigid.
Sylvia tried to turn her body so she could readily and urgently service her accomplice. The killer would not allow her to get comfortable. He has a sadistic streak. He held her head turned sideways and plunged his dark meat into her open mouth. It was going to be difficult and painful. He pushed her head against the side of the bed not letting any room to escape his pounding. With the fresh blood seeping into her hair from the bed cot and the smell of aggressive warlord’s manhood at her front, Sylvia quickly and adroitly accommodated his wishes. Soft grunts came from the back of her mouth every time he breached her throat. But she dared not pushed him away. Her fisted hands held up instinctively at each gagging but only lay lightly on his thigh.
Joclantha couldn't take it anymore. She had to flee and do so quietly.
She gathered up enough strength to push her body through the crack whence she came from and ran back to her home; hid herself under her blanket cowering but unable to shake the image of the dying man from her mind.
– § –
Uzzinah returned home from his day’s official duties. Greeted by his wife, Miriam the matriarch of the family, he hugged and embraced her as he crossed the threshold.
“You know, if only you know what I had to go through today...” stated Uzzinah in his solemn courtly voice.
“Yes my Lord. It must have been an arduous day having to dispense with the foreigners who invaded our sacred land.” She offered, but quietly thought to herself, “Well, if only you know what I do to manage this household!”
“Where are my beautiful daughters? A kiss for your tired father.”
“Jaben.” “Joc.” He called out.
“Father, you are home! I have so much to tell you.” Jabentha was the first to emerge from her chamber and being the youngest gave her father much joy. She described her curious adventures in her day and asked about his work. Uzzinah loved her very much and would protect her maidenhead until the right man presented himself.
“Uhn?.. Oh. Probably still fetching water.”
“At this late hour? It is dark outside and the day is come.”
Jewish tradition dictated the start of day began at sunset and therefore a new day was already upon them.
Uzzinah called out again to his elder daughter.
The matriarch announced “Let us break bread and eat, my Lord.”
“But where is Joc?” the head Jew asked again.
“I’m not hungry. I think I’ll just sleep early tonight,” Joclantha could be heard hollering from her sleeping chamber, on the upper floor.
Jabentha looked at her father and mother, shook her head and twisted her lips giving them the I-don’t-know look.
The Jew and his family broke bread and ate together. His two other sons came back from the fields and also joined in supper.
Joclantha laid in silent shock inside her bedchamber unable to erase from her mind the terrifying events that happened today, or be able to speak to anyone about them. She would be chastised and be exposed as a perverted peeper, and the criminals responsible could well deny their involvement and accuse her instead of making false charges. Furthermore, the weight of a woman's witness account was not valued as highly as a man's.
But despite knowing the social constraints of her people steeped in cultural propriety, Joclantha also knew her family would believe and support her. Her father presided as an official over arbitration of trade and court matters, and certainly wielded some clout. However, it just seemed to her that the exposing of the hideous crime would be an unnecessarily traumatising. After all, her neighbour’s family would eventually have to report it and it would be resolved outside of her involvement, leaving behind unneeded shame and stigmatising.
Still scared and disorientated she suddenly heard footsteps outside her window ledge. Jewish dwellings had low roofs and connected organically with neighbouring units making them rather accessible between each other, even from upper storeys. The cool temperate climate of the Mediterranean required only simple wooden slats as window sashes. Easily opened, the windows were also not much useful as a barrier for sound. The shuffling of footsteps sounded familiar. She knew they belong to Sylvia.
“Joc, open up, let me in,” In a hushed tone, Sylvia called out.
Joclantha dared not reply, she stayed still with eyes shut.
“I know you are in there. Let me in. Let me comfort you.”
Still not responding, Joclantha felt perplexed by her selection of words.
“I saw you.”
Joc’s eyes shot up. Now she was apprehensive. How did she know?
She quietly crawled out from under her blanket and opened the windows. The demure Sylvia looked radiant under the low moonlight. She had removed her bloodied clothing, washed up and wore a long sheer shawl that wrapped around her head and body exposing only her face and lower legs. Needing no prompting, she agilely climbed over the window sill into Joc’s room.
While the merry making downstairs was taking place with her family eating supper, Joc allowed the young slave to embrace her body. She loved the touch of women and she especially loved Sylvia’s touch. The lesbian lover wasted no time copulating in the only way she knew how with her lovely neighbour, and was quick to dispel her apprehension. Warmth started to return to her nether region when the submissive beauty slaved over her with exquisite oral skills.
Though Sylvia was never inclined towards lesbian adventures, she was a foreigner; and being one in a land of powerful territorial cliques, she had to quickly learn to please and accept the advances from Joc. She would always climb over through the windows every night to perform her Sapphic duties right after satiating her master. Still in her long broad shawls, Sylvia removed the portion that covered her head and tucked her hair behind her ears when she dutifully performed her act of bringing her lesbian lover to sexual climax. And as usual she never dared to disobey any perverse commands nor displease her jaunty masculine lover. As her tongue and fingers flicked in coordination, Joc’s nectar flowed as if being spilled from a honey jar.
But this time it was different. Those same tongue and fingers were manipulating a dying man’s sexual organs no more than an hour ago. Though excited and close to orgasm, Joc felt a change washed over her body. Perhaps a displacement of power, she no longer commanded the upper hand. After all, sucking her pussy right now was a murderer or at best a complicit abettor. How could she allow herself to be touched and pleasured by such soiled hands? She was a Jewess and had high standing in the community.
As though reading her mind, Sylvia rang up a notch in her intense technique, licking her lover with more vigour, devouring her inside, concentrating on her sensitive spots, but still not letting the final wave overcome yet. She too sensed a change in behaviour of her usually poised and authoritative lover. But she was only a vessel, to be filled with whatever was commanded of her. She has no status. Being allowed to live among the Jews was already a concession. She needed to do doubly hard on whatever tasks handed to her. And at that moment the task was to reach her curled tongue into the nether recesses of her Jewish lover and dragged the flesh under the clitoral region. With repeated tongue tickling of that sensitive tissue, she finally wrung out a thunderous orgasm. She quickly moved her mouth up to suck in the clitoris and repeatedly tapped with her tongue while thrusting two fingers into the vagina to simulate penile penetration.
Joc climaxed hard, squeezing her vaginal muscles around the intruding fingers, as her half squinting eyes gazed at the slave. She wanted to see the slave’s entreating eyes and her Grecian nose resting on her sparse tuft. Her naked torso lifted off the soft bed, one hand holding the slave’s head in place making sure the sucking continued. After a while, she slumped down from her high, mouth sensually opened, eyes in peaceful bliss. She could sense the slave had released the nub from her sucking mouth and switched to gentle licking of her engorged sensitive folds while tenderly hugging her thighs. Still basking in the afterglow of sexual release, her body started reacting intensely again to the slow licks Sylvia was giving her. Each slow lick across her wet vagina drew an abbreviated jerk and a satisfied smile from her face. Her juices overflowed, and she pushed the slave’s head to taste her Jewish honey, and made her deliberately swallow.
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