Fascinated

When his fingertips had plunged into her crevice last night, she had not wondered what would happen if only they had sunk a little lower, a little deeper… bad she?

'I think'-Megan swallowed, the stretch of her neck making it difficult-'that if an act brings pleasure to a woman… or a man… then surely it is a cause for rejoice, rather than shame. I think it is those who judge the needs of others that are shameful.'

'There are acts that are shameful.' The beginnings of pain pricked her scalp. 'Acts that some men require that are not natural.'

His manhood continued to throb between her fingers; a pulse throbbed at the corner of his mouth.

'What?' she asked carefully. 'What acts do you refer to? A man touching a woman… kissing her vulva? A woman touching a man… and kissing his manhood? You think those acts are unnatural?'

'No.' His hold eased. 'It is not those acts which are shameful.'

What did this man need-or require-that he deemed unnatural?

'I will do anything you wish, Muhamed, so long as you do not hurt me.'

'I wouldn't hurt you.' Something flickered in the depths of his black eyes. 'I have never hurt a woman.'

Megan believed him.

'I saw a young girl and boy once.'

The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. A stillness came over him; only the throbbing pulse inside his manhood was alive, clocking the passing seconds.

Muted sounds drifted up from the side of the inn-they came from another world, a place that had no bearing on a eunuch and a widow.

'The country, like your harem, is not always a place of privacy,' she continued softly, remembering… 'They lay together in a field. It was in the spring. The grass was newly green. I watched them over a hedge.'

'What did they do?' he asked hoarsely.

'The girl sat astride the boy's hips, while he lay back and fondled her breasts. She rode him like a man would ride a horse.'

'Did the sight arouse you?'

The very memory aroused her.

'Yes.'

His eyes closed, lashes thick against his cheek. 'You gave me pleasure last night, Megan. More than I had ever thought possible.'

His eyelids opened; his black eyes were bleak. 'I do not know if I will be able to share that pleasure with you again.

Eunuchs such as I grow erect, but it is… difficult… sometimes impossible… to obtain release.'

She did not want release if he could not obtain his own.

'Then there is no need for you to give me pleasure-'

'There is every need, madam.'

'Why?' she challenged.

'Because you are a very special woman, Megan. And I would know you.'

The protest rising inside her throat died.

'I felt your clitoris harden against my fingers last night,' he continued, voice and face strained. 'Now I want to feel it harden against my tongue. Lie back, Megan. Let me learn your body. Let me give you pleasure. It's all I can offer you. It's all I can offer any woman.'

Her chest felt as if she squeezed it instead of the washcloth.

Silently, Megan handed him the damp cloth and lay back. The ceiling had leaked at one time; a maze of brown water stains ringed it.

'Spread your legs.'

Firm fingers helped her. Opened her. Exposed her.

Something icy wet touched her-the washcloth.

She tensed-the muscles inside her vulva, the muscles inside her buttocks.

The cold washcloth warmed to her body, parted her body, delved inside her body.

He was… stuffing the cloth up inside her.

She winced, invaded by his finger, by more washcloth, his finger again, and yet more washcloth. Just when she lifted her head and started to protest that she was not a jar which needed to be cleaned out by swirling a cloth inside, he took her into his mouth.

Liquid heat. Scalding moisture.

Megan's head banged the pillow of crumpled blankets; the mattress squeaked in protest. She stared up at the largest water stain; darker circles rimmed the outer edges, more re-cent leaks, a part of it yet separate. Just as Muhamed's sexuality had been a part of his nature, yet separate from his life.

Thoughts of Muhamed and images of the circle of water slowly blurred until sight and sensation became one, and that one was his tongue and the washcloth that was tightly packed inside her.

He stabbed the very tip of her, his tongue hotter than had been his fingertip. Wetter. Faster.

A drop of cool water trickled down her vulva and into the crevice between her buttocks. There was no room for air inside her body, yet her lungs independently sucked it in, deeper, deeper…

Her peak of enjoyment hit her with the force of lightning, searing, rending. Dimly she had time to wonder who had coined the term 'peak of enjoyment'-there was nothing remotely enjoyable about the agony that rent her body asunder; was this what Muhamed was afraid of, this pleasure that consumed one's very soul-then she was crying out. At the same time her body convulsed. It felt as if his tongue were sucking out her insides.

She tightened her muscles-vulva, buttocks-and could not stop it. With each spasm another inch of her was drawn out.

No, not her... the washcloth.

He was slowly pulling the washcloth out of her even as her muscles clenched down, trying to stay the motion.

Suddenly there was no stopping it, her body bore down and gave up the washcloth… gave up her release… gave up a part of Megan that she had not known she possessed until an Arabic eunuch had taken the time to show her.

Megan plummeted back into her body, and once again she was staring up at the ceiling and the large water stain that was ringed by smaller dark circles, joined but separate. A hard hand pressed down on her stomach, as if feeling the contractions that continued to ripple through her womb. A facile tongue probed her vulva, as if feeling the contractions that continued to ripple through her vagina.

Slowly the contractions ebbed and his tongue withdrew. Something soft and silky and alive slipped through her fingers-hair.

When had she grabbed his head? she wondered dazedly.

'In the Orient, strung pearls are used instead of a cloth.'

Hot air seared her nether lips, breathing desire back into sated flesh.

'You have seen men,' she gulped air, 'insert pearls inside women?'

Hard heat abruptly invaded her-a finger. She winced. It was not padded by cloth.

'I have read about that act and many more,' he said hoarsely. 'In Arabia there are treatises that describe the various ways a man may please a woman.'

'And are there treatises that describe the various ways to please a man?'

'It is through a woman's vulva'-he inserted a second finger, a quick shock that rapidly gave way to tantalizing fullness-'that a man gains his pleasure.'

Tears burned her eyes. She determined to find a way to give Muhamed the same pleasure he had given her.

'Thank you for improvising with the cloth. I feel quite… cleansed.'

His fingers inside her throbbed. Or perhaps it was she who throbbed.

'If you could have anything you wanted, what would you wish for, Megan?' he asked unexpectedly.

'I… ' This. This time with him was everything she had ever wished for. 'I don't know.' Hard pressure pinched her vagina. 'What are you-what would you wish for?'