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We set out for the Armenian border in stages.
Mel put it about that I was indisposed and needed a rest, which explained my absence from the Grand Serail. I asked myself, again and again, why I was doing this? The plan was to go to war with the Mongol client kingdom, and to exact from the Khan the release of the Jews he held, but something told me this was a risky plan, not because I thought we’d lose, but because the Khan was a wicked and cruel man past whom I would have put nothing. What if he decided to slaughter the Jews? It would make no sense militarily, as it would take soldiers from where they were needed most; but for a man like him? Who could know? I needed to see him, to be there.
Going with Ana as her secretary seemed the best disguise. As Mel pointed out, no one really understood what she did, and no one noticed her, and, she added, “you do most of it yourself anyway, so it is not like anyone is going to catch you out.” It also gave me an excuse for being close to Ana. I was very conscious of the danger of what I was doing, and Ana’s courage and strength would, I knew, keep me safe. I clung to her that evening before we left. She stroked my hair and loved me. Mel told me that I would be safe, and kissed Ana and myself.
“Bring her back safely darling Ana, we both need her, and both love her.”
Her words brought tears to my eyes.
“I am so lucky to have you two.”
And so saying, I embraced Mel, kissing her. Ana did the same. And so, off we went.
We took our time getting to the border.
The Khan had given Ana and the Bodyguard carte blanche to enter as she wanted, but asked for a day’s notice, which she had given.
The heat was oppressive to me after the cool courtyards of the Grand Serail, and both Ana and I grew concerned at what seemed my increasingly inability to cope with it. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t used to it, but it felt as though something in me had shifted. I felt tired, and even though my sleep was, as usual, poor, it was more than that. On more than one occasion Ana put her arm around me:
“Rahab, if you are unwell, let us go back. This can wait.”
But I insisted on persevering, and, by the time we reached the border fortress, I felt well enough to carry on without having to act the role. I was concerned though. My menses were late again, this month, and they were becoming more irregular. In one sense I was not complaining, what woman would? But if they were, as I thought, an indicator of my health, then like my susceptibility to the heat, it seemed as though something was wrong. But it would all have to wait. Stern demands were about to be placed on me, and I had to have faith that strength would be gifted for the task ahead. I said a quick prayer:
“Save my soul from evil Lord.” It was all I could do now.
Ana was a familiar figure to the Captain of the Guard, and we were let pass without incident.
As we travelled the dusty road to the local capital, the difference etimesgut escort between our Empire and theirs was clear. Where we had inherited and maintained the roads we had from the Romans, here there were mere tracks. The houses we could see were poor affairs, ramshackle in construction and poorly maintained. This was an unhappy land. The peasants stared at us in a surly fashion. They looked half-starved. It was not just the Jews who were suffering.
As the afternoon sun began to set across the Ararat plan, Yerevan came closer, its Minaret towers caught the rays of the setting sun, which glinted off them; silhouetted against the horizon, it looked somehow utterly foreign, almost forbidding. Such feelings intensified as we got closer. Sensing my unease, Ana touched my arm.
“Don’t worry, strength will be given.”
I felt it, at that moment, as the sun went down, it was as though some energy had been transferred to me. My ailments vanished, and of a sudden faith was replaced by knowledge. There was a deep calm as we passed through the Gates of Yerevan, and the world suddenly seemed right. I could see that Ana had felt it, as she smiled and whispered:
“There, told you so, little one.”
As we entered the courtyard of the Palace, we were met by a man whose costume suggested he was important; or was that his air of grandness? Either way, he clearly mattered.
“I am Abdul, slave of the great Khan Hamid, welcome Ana of the Romans.”
That interested me. The Roman memory was a long one here, and they identified Ana with the old Empire rather than the new one. Was that, I found myself wondering, deliberate, or was it a reflection of an out of date frame of mind? What else might Khan Hamid be behind the times on? It would be interesting to find out.
It was a relief to me that all the attention was centred on Ana. I always found it hard to be the centre of attention. I was a natural pleaser, and it exhausted me at times trying to make sure that everyone who needed to feel that the Viceroy had paid them attention was satisfied. Ana was a natural at it, and I was able to relax, which pleased me greatly.
I did what came naturally, which was to organise things and to make sure our bags were taken to our quarters. We had thought it wise to take just ourselves and no servants; that way there was less risk. It meant I had to double up as her maid, but she smiled as she saw me bustling about; we both knew I loved it.
There was no question but that we would share the same bed. There would be no question of “when in Yerevan do as the Armenians did,” as quite apart from anything else, their women were veiled and submissive. We were not veiled, and any submission was entirely voluntary.
“Are we taking a risk, darling?” I asked Ana.
As always, she answered perfectly.
“We are under diplomatic protection. I do not ask these barbarians to eat pork or drink wine when they come to me, otele gelen escort so we shall all stick to our own customs. Now come here, maid Rahab, I have need of you.”
I looked at her, suddenly melting.
I had come better to understand my own reactions since Ana and I pledged our love, and the presence of our darling Mel helped me to see that there was an insufficiency about the language we used to describe our sexuality.
Love between women was not really amenable to the language used to describe love between men and women, at least so it seemed to me; but what did I know of that? So, when a woman surrendered to a man, it smacked to me of conquest; the man taking the woman. I knew from talking to my fellow concubines of the Sultan, how that thought aroused them. They loved his maleness, his potency, his force, and there was in the taking the elements of a conquest. Was it too far to see in it the origins of the use of rape as a weapon of war when cities were conquered? Perhaps, but in female submissiveness to a man, there was an element of degradation, which excited both parties, so it seemed to me. Male strength lay in a potency which impregnated the woman.
But that was not true of the love of women. So, when I used the word “submissive,” I did not mean that I wanted to enter a state of sexual arousal where strength would overpower me. I meant to indicate a sense of intimacy where, in love, I was happy to lose myself to the desires of my lover; to be penetrated in my psyche rather than my cunt. It was a meeting of the psyches, a surrendering into a great intimacy in which the two became one. It was an extension of what came from my heart, and with Ana and Mel, from my very soul. In surrendering to Ana, I was becoming more truly myself.
That was because she, too, was not wanting conquest but connection. In allowing what I needed, she enabled what we wanted, another way of the two becoming one. It was that level of spiritual connection which infused the sexual with the intense pleasure it gave us.
So I came to her. Ana smiled.
“Take my tunic off, maid Rahab.”
Approaching her back, I lifted the hem of her tunic, raising it above her bottom. That arse, oh my, the very sight of it made me want to kneel and kiss it, but I was not here for me, so, as she bent to allow me to, I took it off. She turned. She looked into my eyes.
“I want you, now.”
That was good, as I felt exactly the same.
She lifted me up, her tall shapely body pressed against mine. As she carried me to the couch, I struggled out of my shift. By the time she threw me onto the couch, I was naked. As I landed on the softness of the cushions, my legs parted for her. I wanted her as much as she wanted me. As her tongue touched my wetness, I felt a bolt of lightning shoot up my body — my nipples were stiff, my sense raised to a new intensity; I felt myself wet. Then she began her work.
That skilled tongue kızılay escort took me to paradise regularly, but it, she, never ceased to amaze me every time. Ana knew by instinct, what I needed, and it was always what she, what we, wanted. Her broad tongue lapped between my swollen lips, and as she parted them, I could feel how hot and wet I was. Transformed into a wanton slut for her, hers, I writhed and squirmed as her tongue played with my bud, rubbing and then sucking it. Those bolts shot through me again. That voice which squealed its desire and pleasure, was it mine? It felt as though it came from some deep place. I pushed myself onto her face, which met my cunt by grinding into it. I touched my nipples, they ached, throbbed, as my bud did.
“You are MINE!” Ana whispered to me, looking up and smiling, her face wet with me.
“YOURS!” I moaned, writhing in a foretaste of the ecstasy that was building within me. That thought, being hers, shot further bolts through me. My sex was aching, wet, open, her tongue licking, her lips fastening onto my bud and sucking it. I shook with the pleasure she was giving me.
Then, climbing up, she gripped me, slid her thigh between mine, and pulled me to where she could kiss me, rubbing our sexes together. The taste of my own cunt and the smell of it on her face, sent further waves of erotic pleasure through me. I licked myself from her lips, and moaned as she pressed her sex into mine. Her bud touched mine and I shook. I could feel my orgasm building. I looked at her.
“I love you wife,” I said.
“And I love you, wife,” she responded, rubbing her wetness against mine.
We rubbed, we kissed, we felt each other tense. And then the flood hit us.
I screamed her name, and she mine. We climaxed together, shaking, falling, ONE.
I had no sense of how we ended on the couch, hugging and giggling, but we did. It was just the best, just so special. I was hers and she was mine. Had that been submission? Or was it simply the way we phrased and framed our joint desire? At the time I didn’t care. I was hers and she was mine, as we told each other over and over again.
“I am yours forever, my Ana,” I smiled and kissed her.
“As I am yours, my Rahab,” she smiled back, and we kissed a while longer.
Our souls were one, and there was nothing in the universe except US.
I smiled at her, smelling myself on her sweet lips, our scent filled the room. We gazed each at the other, wanting to prolong the moment for eternity. But eternity has no time, and yet here, many years later, I feel it as though it was now. Perhaps that is what eternity is? And I smile. She is there, and I am smiling at her, and she is smiling back. She knows. We know.
After that coming together we snuggled up, pulling the covers over our exhausted, sweaty bodies, and we slept the sleep of the Just — the just united as one. And, for once, my night was a seamless web as we slept in the arms of love. Two wives, missing only Mel, but sending to her all the love we felt.
And far out on night’s old ocean, we sailed together, lost to the world, but not to each other, under the stars and so in love, As I fell into a deep sleep I knew that whatever the morrow brought, I could face it; WE could face it.
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