Fascinated

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?'

'This, Megan.' He pushed inside her-three fingers-it felt like five. 'This is what I've dreamed about ever since I can remember. '

She sucked in air-consciously trying to relax her body and give him what he needed. The ceiling was superimposed by images: Muhamed relieving himself; Muhamed preparing for condemnation, when he turned and saw her watching him; Muhamed's face growing shuttered when he thought she was not going to stay with him for another day, another night.

Imagery gave way to the sound of Muhamed cursing the night as he found his first release with a woman.

He twisted his fingers.

Electricity shot through her.

She stared blindly at the ceiling, forcing herself to hold still and allow him to explore her. 'What did you say… in Arabic, last night?'

'I don't remember.'

He was evading her again.

His fingers surged more deeply inside her.

Megan bit her lip. 'Ela'na. What does that mean?'

''Damn.'' He crooked his three fingers inside her and gently raked the front wall of her vagina. 'You have a button inside you.'

A button!

Heat shot through her-hotter than fire, more galvanizing than lightning.

'What does… Lowsam-' She couldn't remember the word, could barely remember how to speak. 'What does mara-'

Her body independently surged upward. 'Oh, my God! What are you doing?'

He repeated the caress. 'Mara wahda means 'one time.' Does it give you pleasure, with just my fingers inside you?'

Pleasure was not the word she would use to describe what she felt. Agony. Torture. 'Yes, it gives me pleasure. Does it bring you pleasure?'

'Your flesh burns, Megan, with the heat of your desire. Yes, you please me. Can you obtain your release like this?'

'I… I don't know.'

'Then let us find out.'

He found the rhythm that her body needed, as if his fingers were his manhood, driving deep, hard, tips curled, so that each thrust, each withdrawal, teased the special button he had found.

Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over Megan.

She thought of the Arabic women who had been altered, and hoped that they were able to experience this, at least, the pleasure that accrued from having the inner wall of a woman's vagina strummed. And then she didn't think, she could only feel as a wave of blinding sensation broke over her, and her entire world shrank to the heat of his hand pressing on her womb while the heat of his fingers pistoned inside her.

Her body bowed in a perfect arch. Seeking to escape. Lifting for more.

He gave her more. Deeper. Harder. Always pressing inward against the inner wall of her vulva.

He gave her release. And did not seek his own.

Megan slowly became conscious of his fingers that were a part of her and the tension that surrounded her.

'I have read that a woman is inexhaustible,' Muhamed rasped. 'That she may reach a thousand and one orgasms in a night.'

'I do not think…' She took a shallow breath, unable to draw a deeper one. 'I do not think I will survive even one more orgasm right now, let alone nine hundred and ninety-nine more.'

His fingers curved around her stomach; at the same time they curled inside her vagina.

'There is a well nearby,' he said abruptly. 'Madron Well.'

It was a mile or so above Madron church.

'Yes.' Megan raised her head. Sweat glistened on his face. 'I know it.'

But how did he know about it?

'I would see it. With you.'

Her heartbeat drummed against her chest; her breast quivered with the force of her breathing. 'I would much rather see to your satisfaction.'

His mouth twisted. 'I have told you, Megan. Eunuchs are not like men.'

His fingers throbbed inside her, telling her he lied, either deliberately or unknowingly.

He was a man, and he could gain release. If only he would trust her.

'I need to… to return to my room,' she said.

'Why?' he asked, his voice suddenly guarded.

'I need to get…' How ridiculous it was, to blush over mentioning an innocent thing like underclothes when his fingers filled her and her body still shook with the release he had brought her. 'I need to get my cloak.'

'We will stop by your room and get it on our way out.'

'I would rather you have the innkeeper prepare us a picnic basket to take along with us while I dress.'

'You will not'-he prodded her more deeply, fingers straightening, reaching, as if he mapped her vaginal walls- 'change your mind?'

'No. I am hungry.' He reversed direction. She took a deep breath, internally following the slow withdrawal of his fingers, one knuckle, two… 'I did not eat my dinner last night.'

His fingers glistened in the dim light, moist with the essence of her release.

Megan glanced up. His gaze was waiting for her.

That slight half smile hitched up the corner of his lips 'I do not want you to go hungry on my account.'

'Then I suggest you feed me, sir.'