The allure of jewelry

In the bustling, noisy open-air market, Marita leisurely browsed the goods displayed on the stalls, looking relaxed and cheerful. A jewel-encrusted black leather outfit covered her from head to toe, revealing only her bright sky-blue eyes. Long black gloves made Marita's appearance perfectly harmonious, much like her companion, Lila. They were Qasim's most beloved and proudest women, and this was their usual attire when they went out. The guards kept a careful distance from the two women, but passersby couldn't help but glance at Marita and Lila's fair, delicate skin. People boldly stared at them, but Marita, oblivious to the stares, thought of Qasim, a happy smile spreading across her veiled face. Today, he would end his business trip and return to her side. His absence had felt like an eternity. He had been gone for three weeks, and must have been as yearning for her as she was. For the past six months, she had been his favorite, and he had sought pleasure with her almost every night. This was their first true separation. Her body craved him, her desire burned, and psychologically, she felt incomplete. Before meeting Qasim, who she was was no longer important. Marita, the French woman from Martinique, once arrogant and willful, with an air of nobility, was no more. She was simply Marita, a willing slave, wholeheartedly in love with Qasim. Without Qasim's proactive and unrestrained sexuality, everything in her life was tasteless. How she needed a master like him: to impose his desires on her, to punish her subtly, to drive her to ecstasy. Only then could she express the hidden feelings of her physical desires. Qasim knew her inside and out, cherishing her most secret desires. Oh, Qasim. Marita's arm brushed against Lila's lightly. She turned and gave Lila a smile. Remembering the joy they had shared that morning, her cheeks flushed. That day, sunlight streamed through the latticed windows as she and Lila lay close together on a low, satin sofa. Marita had caressed her with her lips and tongue, finally using an exquisitely crafted model—one made specifically for that purpose—to bring her to the peak of pleasure. Lila, breathless, clung tightly to Marita's hair. She believed she could still savor the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of Lila's body. Indeed, Lila was a gentle, straightforward, and beautiful girl, exceptionally skilled at providing physical pleasure. But today, Marita craved more intense touch, yearned for the wonderful scent of a man, and longed for Qasim to miraculously appear before her. "These are beautiful, baby," Lila's low, hoarse voice rang out. "The colors suit you perfectly, don't they?" Marita picked up the cord of the amber rosary; the pair of heavy silver hooks were coral-colored. She stroked the shiny beads with her gloved fingers. The stall owner began his assault. Marita listened absentmindedly, a smile on her face. The stall owner then picked up several other pearl necklaces, polishing the glass beads between the silver pearls with his fingers, letting her choose. Marita pointed to the amber necklace, gesturing for an attendant to come and pay. She put away her necklace and walked away. Two guards stood a short distance away, arms crossed, while the other servants stood listlessly away from the city center, their backs drenched in sweat and their faces scorched by the sun. Marita couldn't help but miss her own boudoir. It was always cool and pleasant there, the fragrance of roses and lilies wafting in through the arched windows facing the garden. If she wanted coolness and comfort, a gentle breeze would bring her iced juice, and maids would serve her with peacock feather fans. Upon returning, she wanted to take a bath in the steam room, making sure to prepare herself meticulously. She instructed her attendants to apply oil to her skin and polish it until it shone. She would then don a few exquisite silk garments and wear a fine gold necklace, but she had to display the pubic hair that Qasim had always called "the Golden Fleece," the very part of her body that had driven him mad with desire. He said he had never seen such light-colored pubic hair, so soft and smooth, a perfect complement to her neat and lovely mons pubis. Marita's mind conjured up Qasim's handsome, imposing figure, his cold, dark eyes gleaming as his lust was ignited, and Marita couldn't help but tremble. The thought of posing as he requested sent a surge of both vulnerability and strength through her abdomen. She knew this position all too well: kneeling, thighs spread wide, shoulders back, chest thrust forward. She loved this submissive display, her body laid bare, open to his every whim. He might gently slap her, or command her to satisfy some need, and finally, he would enter her. Thinking of this, her clitoris, hidden deep within her, throbbed with warm pleasure. Lost in her sexual fantasies, Marita unknowingly left the stall and walked into a narrow, dark alleyway that connected to the open-air market on all sides. Lila turned and waved at her, her hand holding a shimmering blue glass necklace. She also raised her hand and waved back, blowing a kiss to the woman older than herself. Only a pair of bright, almond-shaped eyes were visible behind Lila's black leather mask, obscuring the captivating beauty of her fair, delicate face. Marita imagined those full, bright red lips smiling elegantly. She couldn't remember how many times she had kissed those alluring lips, how many times she had felt them teasing and sucking against her mons pubis, enjoying that indescribable pleasure. From the beginning, Lila had been deeply attracted to Marita, expressing her desire and adoration in various ways. These past few months in the palace had made Marita's body the most exquisite tool for satisfying her pleasure. Now, she needed physical comfort as much as she needed food. Ah, wise and intelligent Qasim would sense her desire, and their lovemaking lasted an unbelievable amount of time. The dark alley was cool and inviting. Two guards, leaning against white-painted bricks, peered around the entrance. A nauseating stench emanated from cow dung and rotting food. A emaciated dog wolfed down a pile of scraps, and the faint cries of a child came from an open door. Suddenly, a commotion arose in the shadows. Before Marita could react, something was approaching her. A rough, musty-smelling blanket was draped over her head, a leather mask pressed against her face, strong arms grabbed her, lifted her up, and quickly carried her away. She vaguely heard cries and the sounds of fighting and tearing; someone was screaming—was it Lila? Marita kicked and struggled wildly. But it was no use. She was breathless, her legs dragging on the cobblestones, one shoe coming loose. The blanket clung tightly to her face, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly she was lifted high again and lurched forward. Her abdomen struck something hard and wide, and she was entangled. Marita couldn't help but scream. Her side pressed against the high saddle. Her captor mounted the horse, and she heard curses. The horse galloped, and her body swayed. Marita's abdomen rubbed against the horse's back repeatedly, causing her to groan in pain. The heavy robe and blankets suffocated her; if they didn't immediately raise her upright, she would suffocate. As they sped through the narrow streets and alleys, a heavy hand was placed on her back, stabilizing her body. The iron hooves thundered across the cobblestones. Shouts and terrified screams filled the air. She couldn't fathom who had dared to kidnap her, nor could she imagine anyone daring to steal Qasim's most prized possessions. She gritted her teeth, finding some solace in imagining what Qasim might do upon discovering her disappearance. He would search these narrow streets thoroughly, offering a reward for her and Lila's return, and those who had kidnapped her would pay the price. Despite the physical torment and pain, a faint smile remained on her face. She thought that whoever it was, would pay with their life for this atrocity. Fear returned, and an ominous shadow enveloped her. Marita struggled to sit up. It was dark; night had fallen. A dull ache throbbed in her abdomen, as if someone had kicked her. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. "Marita! Oh, thank God, your face is so pale and so calm. I thought you were dead." "Lila! Are you hurt? What kind of place is this?" Marita realized her feet were bound and shackled. She and Lila were tied to a wooden post on a riverbank. She could smell the river and mud. Some people stood not far away, their faces obscured. She couldn't see any horses. "I heard them saying we're going to set off by boat," Lila said. “Where are they taking us? Who are they?” Lila shook her head. “I don’t know, but one of them is a woman, and she’s the leader. What can they get from us?” She choked up, unable to continue. Marita grabbed Lila’s hand and pulled her closer. They held each other tightly, comforting one another. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” Marita’s voice trembled. A tall, slender figure approached them. “Are you both of you thinking straight?” the newcomer said, tossing back the headscarf from her outer garment to reveal a woman’s face. “It’s you!” Lila exclaimed. “Ah…”"You still remember me, beautiful Lila? It was so much fun when I punished your unwilling pubic mound back then. You were so unruly. But that was a long time ago, let's not talk about it. This one certainly doesn't know me. Qasim never sent her to the stables for punishment; he preferred to have her all to himself. I heard he couldn't even tolerate her exposing her body in public, so he redeemed her and brought her back to his private residence. Only he can control her, right?" Sita's lips curled slightly upward, her eyes fixed on Marita. "Perhaps she is indeed different." "My name is Citta, and I'm the head of the female guards. You, I often see you strolling in the garden, flaunting your beauty in the bathroom. You are indeed very beautiful, capable of captivating any man's heart." Citta reached out and pulled back the headscarf of Marita's outer garment, revealing Marita's light blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Marita was startled and moved closer to Lila. Citta's hostile words deeply stung her. She didn't recognize this woman. The female guards all dressed similarly and rarely spoke to the palace maids. She didn't remember any of them, so how could Citta have provoked her so much? "Stand up," Citta said sternly. "Once the ship arrives, I will take you to my new master Hamand's residence. But first, I must reward the men who helped me capture you. It's rare for ordinary men to fall in love with pampered beauties in a harem." As soon as Citta finished speaking, six men approached Marita and Lila. Realizing what they intended to do, Marita involuntarily backed away. "No! Please don't!" Lila screamed pitifully as two men grabbed her and another untied the shackles from her ankles. "Bring the lantern here!" one of the men shouted. "I want to see what I've got!" The other two snorted like pigs as they dragged Lila and Marita into the light. Marita struggled fiercely, but of course, she was no match for the three men holding her. Citta stood there, watching intently, her expression serious. When the men removed the black cloaks covering the two women, Citta's small eyes gleamed. Marita wore only a thin silk vest and loose silk trousers underneath. Lila wore a low-cut top and a long skirt. "Do whatever you want, but don't hurt them or leave any marks on them," Citta commanded. "Hamand pays us handsomely. If his goods are damaged, your ears and tongues will be cut off, and you won't get any payment." One of the men grinned. "Don't worry, madam, I have no intention of hurting them. I like my women to be angry, yet willingly accept my flirting." The other men laughed heartily. His hand slipped inside Marita's bra, groping her body. Marita's eyes were tightly closed. His touch was rough, but not brutal. He untied her cuffs and pulled her thin silk trousers aside. Underneath, she was wearing nothing, the cool night breeze caressing her skin. "Let us see," the other men crowded around. “Want to see?” the first man replied. “Then take a good look at your penis, my friend. Let’s see if it’s anything special, and watch how I’ll enjoy her—the most beautiful woman in Qasim’s harem. Oh, I’ll make her tremble and tumble violently. Just you wait! Do I not have the skill of the esteemed Qasim?” They pushed Marita forward, making her lean against a wooden crossbar. She endured without making a sound. One man grabbed her hands and stretched her arms out. Another spread her legs with his feet and tied her ankles to the crossbar. She was acutely aware of her half-nakedness. Her bare buttocks were exposed, her torn silk trousers fluttering in the wind, and her high breasts slipped out from under her vest. As she felt someone rip the thin vest away and caress her breasts with large, strong hands, shame and humiliation surged through her like a tide. Another man placed his hand on her bare buttocks and forcefully spread them apart. They commented on her pubic hair, marveling at it. Parting the pubic hair from her genitals, they showered her with praise for her beauty, but listening to their lewd laughter and mocking words, Marita trembled uncontrollably. "Ah, how lovely this hidden fountain of pleasure is! How fragrant! How alluring the rose petals!" "Tell me, which entrance will Qasim choose? The lovely vagina or the tightly closed lower opening?" Their eager fingers examined her body, and Marita's eyes were filled with tears. Her carnal body was exposed to them, and she felt her labia part and swell. Her tightly closed, dark brown anus was slightly parted, and she clenched her teeth, remaining silent. Although Qasim also enjoyed displaying her body like this and deriving stimulating pleasure from punishing her genitals with a thin leather whip, he couldn't help but feel hatred at the thought of these vulgar, ordinary men so boldly taking advantage of her. "She is so wet and attractive, her full, soft mons pubis is so lovely, and the color and texture of her pubic hair are so extraordinary!" Marita kept her eyes tightly shut as they pulled her pubic hair, making her itch. Before that, she had seen Lila being instructed to lie on her back in front of her. Although they had taken possession of her mons pubis, they were very careful not to hurt her. Seeing her companion's body so open and vulnerable, an almost unbearable sexual urge surged through Marita's body. Lila's wavy black hair served as a pillow, her head resting on it. Lila's full, large breasts and dark red nipples appeared so delicate and alluring in the lamplight. Her blouse was bunched up around her neck, her long skirt was tucked into her waist, exposing her lower abdomen and fair, rounded thighs. Her full, round buttocks were curled upwards, her thighs spread apart and pressed against her chest. Lila's shaved pubic hair was displayed in this position, just as Marita had been, accepting inspection and praise. Marita felt ashamed of the heat and urge in her groin, while Lila's dark eyes appeared deep and composed behind her white eyelids. One of the men was pinching Lila's nipples, his hands groping her alluring body. Lila began to moan, initially softly, but later with obvious pleasure in her voice. Marita opened her eyes and saw one of them kneeling between Lila's wide-open knees, and another kneeling beside her. The man in front rubbed Lila's mounds vigorously, his fingers sliding up and down her exposed clitoris, while the man behind moistened his fingers with saliva and smeared it on his erect penis. "Watch your friend closely, that will ignite your lust for me," said the man behind Marita. "Just relax and imagine yourself as a very wealthy tyrant inspecting the beauties of his harem." He rubbed his penis against her body, his hard, hot penis gently pushing against her buttocks and sliding upwards toward her parted valley. Marita wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Seeing another man's penis slide in and out of Lila's stunningly exposed vulva, Marita's lust burned fiercely. The first man rubbed back and forth against Lila's pubic bone, occasionally slipping his fingers to wet the entrance of his companion's penis, his large fingers pinching the moist folds of flesh. His companion groaned, urging him to smear Lila's love juice on her taut clitoris. "Am I not suitable for you?" he said, glancing sideways, as he thrust deeply, his buttocks pressing firmly against her. Lila's head tilted back, her neck swaying back and forth, a layer of sweat glistening on her upper lip, her full, bright red lips like a wounded rose. Marita licked her lips, flustered by her aroused lust. Worry and fear made her nauseous. As she watched the men satisfy Lila, her own genitals grew warm and slippery. Stimulated by the scene, another man unzipped his pants, stroking his penis while watching his companion penetrate the helpless woman. Marita saw the man slide his foreskin back, revealing a wet, glistening glans. Suddenly, she felt an urgent urge to put it in her mouth. She imagined sucking the penis deep into her throat, licking the slightly salty, swollen glans. Now, a third man knelt before Lila, pressing his glans against her lips. With a painful groan, Lila opened her mouth and sucked on his glistening penis. Marita's lust burned even brighter, her body involuntarily writhing. The man behind her inserted his fingers deep into her vagina, her aching abdomen clenching, and she responded involuntarily. Her body moved downwards, rubbing her wet, hot vulva against his hand. If a man's touch hadn't aroused her to such a degree, she might have resisted. If these men were more brutal, or more vicious, she would have despised them. But they, out of helplessness, cautiously played with her body, as if she were the most precious thing. The way they controlled and possessed her reminded her of some of the unbelievable methods Qasim used in his indulgences. She tried to make herself disgusted with what they were doing to her, but...She couldn't bring herself to hate it, because it was all so incredibly exciting, and the fear only amplified the stimulation. Her body, accustomed to both pleasure and the pain that pleasure brought, seemed to act on its own. The fingers inside her moved gently and skillfully, their knuckles rubbing against her pouting, lubricated labia. When the hand was suddenly pulled away, Marita cried out in disappointment. "Now you understand, I told you I wouldn't hurt you," the man said softly, rubbing his nose against her neck while kissing the soft, tender spot behind her ear. His stiff penis finally slid inside her, filling her completely, and began to thrust violently. Another man knelt down and began to suckle her breasts, his hands kneading her two large breasts one after the other, then bringing them together, his mouth clamping down on both nipples, gently biting them with his teeth, his tongue constantly swirling around. This tingling pleasure made her gasp for breath. She was deeply ashamed that as the men took turns playing with her, she unconsciously swayed her hips back and forth. She didn't know which man it was, but one of them patiently fucked her, waiting for her to reach orgasm. He persisted until her body began to convulse and she cried out loudly, and then he powerfully straddled her. "That's it, don't be embarrassed at all." She wept with joy, her whole body trembling. She reached orgasm twice before he withdrew his penis. Sitta watched silently, a blush rising on her narrow, stiff face. She watched quietly as all the men took turns satisfying their own physical desires with Marita and Lila. Faced with Marita's obvious pleasure, her silent panting, and the way her hips swayed in anticipation of each new thrust, a faint smile appeared on Sitta's face. "You can't control yourself, can you? You're a shameless woman, utterly disgusting," she said through gritted teeth. "Qasim's proud pet. He meticulously trains you, making you fully enjoy physical pleasure, so that you can react to everything he does. But feeling so much, experiencing so much pleasure, is abnormal." Marita heard the envy, jealousy, and underlying mockery in Citta's words. She thought to herself: You wish I were you. Marita raised her head, looking directly into Citta's eyes. Those fiery eyes, fixed on the female guard leader's face, seemed to say, "I understand you." Marita knew, too, that Citta understood her gaze perfectly. She felt a surge of pleasure at having hurt the guard's pride; it was a small victory. She looked smugly at Citta's tense face, her thin, pale lips, and her small eyes filled with admiration and envy. Marita suddenly worried that Citta would hit her, but she stood rooted to the spot, motionless. Citta's eyes seemed to be inside Marita, scrutinizing and judging her. She couldn't suppress her excitement and trembled, but the guard was too rational to act rashly. After the last man finished with Marita, Citta walked to the beam where Marita was tied. Marita trembled uncontrollably; her muscles seemed tense and aching. Her waist was against the beam, her legs spread wide, her ankles still firmly secured to the crossbar. Her light yellow hair cascaded down, fluttering on the grimy cobblestone ground. Marita frantically pulled at her underwear, which was already torn and could no longer cover her breasts. She braced herself against the beam, struggling to stand up. Her thighs were stained with the men's semen and her own creamy secretions. Sita grabbed Marita's messy curls, pulling her head back and staring at her tear-streaked face. She gently placed Marita's blonde hair on her arm. "Still beautiful, despite the grime and the smell of sweat and androgyny," she said in surprise. Then, she casually began to caress Marita's breasts, which ached at the slightest touch. Her fingers slapped them, causing the breasts to sway violently. The sharp pain made it hard for Marita to breathe. Sita, with a suppressed urge to rape, continued to caress Marita's back and the area between her thighs. Marita tried to dodge Citta's examination of her vulva, but she couldn't escape Citta's rough, intense touch. Citta pinched her thick labia with her thumb and forefinger until the engorged mons pubis rhythmically burned with pain. She was more brutal than the men, her smooth fingers roughly rubbing the flesh covering the clitoris, then pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. Marita forced herself not to respond. Citta slid her lovely flesh back and forth, and the violated clitoris became erect again. Marita couldn't help but groan in pain. She bit her lip, trying to resist the pleasure, her thighs convulsing uncontrollably. Then, Citta inserted her fingers deep inside, exploring in a roundabout way. Marita's mons pubis twitched helplessly along with her fingers. She tried to pull away, but as Citta continued her exploration, her other hand pressed down on Marita's back. Marita was furious and couldn't help but sob. Incredibly, however, she reached orgasm for the third time, despite resisting the overwhelming, intoxicating sensation. She lowered her head, hating her reaction to Citta's ruthless violation. Citta's face convulsed, as if the pleasure Marita was experiencing was being reflected back into her. Soon, she regained her usual serious expression. She finally withdrew her hand, smiled slightly, bent down, and kissed Marita's lips, tentatively exploring them with her tongue. “You taste sweet and mellow,” she whispered. “I’ll be more than happy to punish you or satisfy me in the future, but I don’t like things that have been used.” She turned to the men and said, “Clean them up.” As the men rushed over, Citta stroked Marita’s hair, her movements now gentle. “You’re not hurt, are you? That’s your pride, isn’t it? I wanted to see if you were as passionate and well-trained as I’d heard. I’m not disappointed. Hamand must be satisfied with you. Now I know why he wants you.” A man wiped Marita’s buttocks and thighs with ice water, and Citta walked away from her. The cold water felt incredibly soothing to her burning, aching body. After being untied, Marita wiped away her tears, stood up unsteadily, and pulled her torn clothes around her body. When the men cautiously observed that both Marita and Lila were comfortable, Citta said sternly, "That's enough. There's no need to be so overly concerned for them like you would with an old woman. Wrap them in their coats. We should set off. The boat is here. Secure them firmly in their cabins and watch the door." Marita and Lila were pushed onto the boat and forced to go below deck. They were crammed into a tiny cabin, their hands and feet bound, watching the murky river flow by. Lila cried out in fear and exhaustion. “Oh! How dare those vulgar men do this! They're pigs, unworthy to kiss our feet. And Sit, she loves seeing us humiliated, I hate her!” “It would have been worse without her,” Marita whispered, though she trembled at the thought of Sitta's thin, cold fingers inside her. “Sitta can guarantee we won't be really harmed, otherwise we'd be dead. Someone paid her to kidnap us, she'll protect us. She mentioned someone named Hamand, right?” Lila lowered her head. “Just hearing his name terrifies me. He's Qasim's nemesis, a notorious pirate.” “Who is he? What's his relationship with Qasim?” "A feud?" "Hamand and Qasim have clashed more than once. Now he lives in a castle, making a living by plundering. He's said to be very rich, but no one has seen him for many years. People say his mutilated body is frightening." "God help us," Marita cried. "I wonder what our fate will be?" At dawn, the ship entered its home port. A mist shrouded the murky waters, and the gentle morning light cast orange rays upon everything around it, illuminating the messy huts and a wooden bridge that looked as if it might collapse into the water at any moment. A smooth, high wall stood at the front of the ship, and two steel-framed balconies were closed, with decorative wrought iron frames protruding above the water. Sita entered the cabin, and Marita suddenly woke up. Lila, who was beside her, also woke up, stretched, and when she remembered where she was, her face darkened. She struggled to drag her shackles and reached out to grab Marita's hand, but her fingertips barely touched hers. “What a wonderful touch!” Citta said, feigning humor, as she cut the ropes binding the two women. “Hurry, Hamand’s servants are waiting.” Citta stood aside, waiting. Marita and Lila moved their bound hands and feet, then straightened their torn clothes. Her small eyes scanned their bodies, partially covered by clothing, staring intently at Marita’s high breasts and smooth limbs. Marita turned away, her back to the female guard leader. She felt those cold, merciless eyes pierce her back, as if Citta desperately wanted to place her hands on her body again, but she didn’t dare. Marita wrapped her hooded coat tightly around her neck and stood up. "Come with me," Citta commanded. "We don't have a choice," Marita said, enunciating each word carefully, struggling to suppress her disgust. Citta gave a cold smile, opened the door, and her chin twitched slightly. "You should remember, Hamand is..."“A powerful person like him gets angry easily; if you obey him, he won’t mistreat you.” Before Marita could even take note of Citta’s advice, she and Lila had already stepped out of the cabin. The brilliant morning light was blinding. She looked up and saw the outline of a V-shaped notch in the walls of an ancient castle appearing on the horizon. On the muddy riverbank, a very luxurious carpet was laid out, and two men in coats stood waiting. Their heads were covered with hoods, and judging from their height, Marita judged them to be men; both were tall and strong. As Marita and Lila approached, Marita noticed that one of the men’s posture looked familiar; he exuded a certain confidence. The man, a head taller than the other, wore a dark brown robe. As Marita and Lila paused on the carpet to catch their breath, he stepped closer, shifting his headscarf slightly to reveal a strand of blond hair. The other man, in a dark blue embroidered robe, gestured to stop the taller man. His large, flowing hands were beautifully shaped, with a gold ring on his middle finger set with a domed, flat-bottomed ruby. "It is my honor," said the man with the ring to the one in the dark brown robe. His voice was deep and resonant, carrying a superior air of composure and benevolence. The taller man obediently stopped, standing to the side with his head slightly bowed. This piqued Marita's curiosity. The gold thread on his deep blue robe shimmered in the sunlight. As the man approached, Marita noticed the dazzling buttons around his neck—overly elaborate for a servant. She concluded he must hold a high position, perhaps even the empress. As he drew near, he gestured, and Marita and Lila immediately felt someone press down on their shoulders, forcing them to kneel. The carpet beneath them was soft and comfortable. A hand pressed Marita's head down, causing her to inadvertently catch a glimpse of a pair of red leather boots. "Show them to me," the command came, the tone still as smooth and deep as ever. Marita's black robe was pulled off her shoulders and fell to her feet, leaving her only in tattered, filthy silk clothes. Marita heard a sharp gasp. The man in the dark brown robe spoke for the first time. "What happened to them?" he said. "Were they injured?" The intonation of his accent sounded somewhat familiar, but Marita couldn't remember where she had heard it before. "Explain why their clothes are so tattered," another servant said arrogantly, flicking his headscarf behind him. "We tore their clothes in the struggle when we captured them in the open market," Citta lied fluently. "This one resisted fiercely, as brave as an Arabian mare." Marita sensed the tension and knew the well-dressed man didn't believe Citta. She glanced upwards furtively and saw Citta was remarkably calm and composed. The servant's head was now revealed—a middle-aged man with a handsome, broad face and well-defined features. Thick, brown curly hair flowed back from his high forehead, and there was a layer of dark down on his temples. His large, brown eyes were powerful and filled with fierceness; he was a man who did not appreciate disobeying orders. His gaze on Citta sent a chill down Marita's spine. Under his prolonged, sharp stare, Citta's face flushed crimson, and she lowered her eyes. "The men got their reward," she said, her voice low and slow. "They'll reward you handsomely, and so will you." The servant's words fell like chunks of ice. He slowly circled the two captives. Marita kept her head down as he circled her, his eyes fixed on her. He lifted a strand of her hair, placed it in his palm, and, as if appraising it, let it slip through his fingers. A large, manicured hand slid across her shoulder, then up her slender neck, the ruby on his ring brushing against her skin. Warm hands, warm gems—a finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at his face. "So these are the colors of his eyes! As blue as the glazed tiles on my bedroom wall! His fair skin is as bright as pearls," the servant said, turning to the motionless man in the dark brown robe. "You weren't lying; this one is indeed beautiful, just as you told me." Marita was startled. The man's tone suggested she had expected this. She had still thought the kidnapping was accidental, merely revenge against an enemy; now, the thought that she might have been chosen was startling. The man in the dark brown robe muttered a few words to himself. Something about him, inexplicable, made her feel a sense of déjà vu again. She wondered if Lila had also noticed the tense, suppressed unease emanating from the silently observing man. The attendant assessed Marita's features one by one. Marita felt her eyelids burning. She tried to maintain a composed expression, not letting her worry and fear show. When he circled behind her and stopped, she remained motionless. When he gently touched her waist, Marita almost recoiled. He gripped her waist with both hands and slowly tightened his hold. The attendant hummed with satisfaction. "Were you trained in corsets when you were a little girl?" He spoke directly to Marita for the first time, his deep, trembling voice like a gentle breeze. She nodded. Her bare skin felt his strong, warm hands, which continued to press down until their fingers touched, just as the pressure was about to become uncomfortable, he released them. "Excellent, please stand up straight." She did as he asked. His refined, polite, and almost unilateral manner left her bewildered. He was not what she had expected. The servant knelt down, a dark blue embroidered robe forming a circle around him, the gold buttons around his neck gleaming in the sunlight. He grasped one of her ankles, lifted her foot, and examined it closely. Now, his voice was soft, hoarse, as if he were talking to himself: "Ah, high, beautiful arches, slender little feet, wonderful! Cute, even toes, each one perfect, glossy nails like seashells, skin smooth as silk, so delightful!" He then examined the other foot, gently stroking between the toes, causing her to tremble slightly. When he placed her sole in his palm, he couldn't help but frown. He paused for a moment, and Marita heard his rapid breathing. He immediately regained his composure, his fingertips tracing the veins on one side of her foot, the blood vessels showing through the delicate skin. After a while, he rubbed her heel vigorously. "Alright, now we must immediately be careful of that tiny flaw," he said, his tone as if he had suddenly discovered something to be concerned about. After the examination, he placed her feet on the ground, bent down, and pressed his lips to Marita's ankle. She sensed that he was unwilling to lose control of her; he caressed her slender calves for a long time and rubbed the sensitive skin behind her knees with his fingers, as if he was deliberately restraining himself from making any other moves. She was puzzled. This man's behavior was not that of a servant; even as the head of the harem, he seemed overly confident. His demeanor and bearing were somewhat arrogant and licentious, inconsistent with her assessment of his status. Clearly, he had derived a pleasure akin to sexual intercourse from touching her feet. The man took a step back, and Marita forced herself to calm down for the impromptu sexual examination. She was told to lie down and "not to react when your legs are spread." However, nothing happened. The man, as if knowing her thoughts, laughed inexplicably, gesturing for her to relax. He then roughly touched her breasts and genitals with stiff fingers, and Marita felt a wave of relief wash over her. The attendant turned his attention to Lila and proceeded with a similar procedure. Marita found the whole situation perplexing. What kind of person was this Hamand who employed such a strange man? After the cursory examination, robes were draped over the two women. Marita felt that the tall man in the brown robe was still scrutinizing her. From the moment she disembarked, she felt him watching her intently, and his close gaze made her increasingly uncomfortable. She could sense his menacing aura, like smoke rising slowly from a flame, visible to the naked eye. He barely spoke as the man examined them, simply observing. Suddenly, the thought flashed through her mind: he must be Hammond. His turbaned coat concealed his disfigured face; there was no doubt the servants had instructed against overly intimate examinations. Hammond seemed to want to keep his pleasure to himself. Marita was instantly filled with revulsion. If Hammond didn't want to reveal his face, he was probably indeed horribly ugly. Now she and Lila belonged to this monster. Lila had told her that Hamand was Qasim's mortal enemy, and what could be better than harming the one the enemy loved most? The handsome, stern-faced servant turned and led the way toward the castle, followed by another person in a robe. Marita walked slowly toward the gate leading to the "prison." Armed guards surrounded her, and Sitta glanced at her with pity. The footsteps of the person in the robe behind them, which had been as heavy as drums, now echoed in her mind as so gentle that Marita's knees trembled so much she could barely walk. As soon as Qasim stepped into his mansion, he knew...He revealed what had happened. In fact, Hemet was waiting to tell him, and at first he didn't show excessive shock. Whatever he needed to deal with immediately, he would find time to visit Marita, whom he had thought about throughout the trip, imagining the ecstatic lovemaking they would make together, as well as Lila, his Turkish favorite, and Claudina. But no woman could excite him as much as this fair-skinned Frenchwoman. "What is it?" Qasim asked Hemet calmly, hoping to end the conversation quickly and deal with the matter. "Have the slaves quarreled?" The servant bowed his head, and Qasim noticed that the man's face was pale, his hands, clasped together, were trembling slightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” Kasim said, his strong, sharply defined face now alert, his gaze fixed on the servant. “Well, master, I’m afraid I’m the one who brought the bad news. While you were away, a terrible crime occurred.” “What crime? Speak quickly, Hemet, I don’t punish those who bring bad news, just tell me.” “It concerns Marita and Lila. They were kidnapped in the open-air market, and our guards were defeated.” Kasim stared, speechless, frozen in place. A chill ran through him, filling him with fear. “When did this happen?” he heard himself ask. “Yesterday, Master, we immediately launched a search, but we couldn’t find them. The guards are still searching.” Kasim nodded. “I need to take a shower and change my clothes quickly, then I’ll go look for them too. You certainly don’t have any news? Sita is always meticulous and careful; hopefully, she can find some clues and evidence of the kidnapping of these two women.” Hemet’s face paled. “Forgive me, Master, I forgot to tell you, Sita is also missing.” “What?” "Was she kidnapped too?" Qasim asked incredulously, his voice low and weak. "Well, no. A witness at the open market saw someone who looked just like Sita ride away on horseback. She wasn't tied up, and a person wrapped in a blanket was hanging in front of her horse." Qasim ran his fingers deep into his shoulder-length black hair. He knew the seriousness of the situation, so he remained remarkably calm. He stood there motionless for a long time, his mind racing. Sita was missing, which meant someone had bribed her. In Algiers, few had the power to make Sita change masters. He had many rivals, but almost none dared to violate him so openly. This act of violence was intended to humiliate him, which further narrowed the scope. In fact, there was only one person. That was Hamand, his old nemesis at sea, cultured and intelligent. He was the only man in the world who harbored a personal grudge against Qasim, a grudge that left an indelible mark on his skin. Qasim strode into the courtyard, removing his travel-worn clothes as he went. Hemet trotted behind him, picking up the clothes. With his arms crossed, Qasim roared for food to be brought. Servants and guards rushed to comply, glancing at his face, noticing the twitching muscles on his cheeks. They all lowered their eyes. A fire of rage burned in Qasim's dark eyes. He thought, someone will pay a heavy price for this. His blood boiled, his ears burned. He realized—this was a mockery. Behind his cold expression lay a deep, piercing sorrow. He dared not think of what might have happened to the two women; they might already be dead. Oh, impossible. Even to harm an enemy, Hamand would not harm them. Yet, he was uncertain. Hamand was not like other men; his desires were more subtle, more mysterious, and Qasim knew the truth of the rumor. "May this man keep you safe, Marita, and Lila," he prayed silently. It seemed he had already paid the price, just as Hamand had hoped. Chapter Two: The courtyard of Hamand Castle was filled with people and livestock; the horse sheds and livestock pens were close to the walls. The place was less a palace and more a marketplace, filled with the smells of goats and green leaves. Chicks scratched at the dust, flapping their wings and squawking as guards passed by. The magnificent castle was Moorish in style, much of it abandoned, except for a huge tower and a jumble of small buildings that suggested it had been inhabited. A tattered skull flag fluttered atop the tower. The two women were urged through the noisy, bustling courtyard and through the arched ebony gates adorned with studs; they were then led into the tower. Inside the main building, the cacophony dwindled to a low hum. Marita and Lyra had no time to look around and analyze their illusory surroundings. They quickly traversed the stone corridor and reached the staircase. The staircase wound its way up the tower's inner walls. As they climbed, Marita glanced through the arrow-shaped windows at the courtyard and canal. To one side of the staircase were numerous small rooms and entrances to other corridors; the place resembled a large tenement. They continued upstairs, and soon Marita and Lyra were led into a spacious, furnished room. They were taken to a low sofa chair and ordered to sit. Their wrists and ankles were then bound with silk rope. "Wait here," a slave commanded. The room was quiet and cool, with a smoky fireplace emitting a lemony scent. The guards, the handsome servant, and the burly man with the turban all left, leaving them alone. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Marita looked around in fear, examining their cell for the first time. Brightly colored clay flakes hung like snowflakes on the walls, the dazzling tiles becoming scattered and broken. Two walls were entirely decorated with embroidered tapestries, but many places were covered in dust and torn. Several paintings hung on the wall further above the platform, covered with silk cushions. These Spanish and Dutch-style paintings, with their deep, rich colors and jewel-like brilliance, and their carved wooden frames covered in gold leaf, exuded luxury. What one saw gave Marita an impression of opulence and luxury, but also revealed a sense of decay due to years of neglect. Had Hamand not noticed that this castle was beginning to crumble? Marita concluded that he was either negligent or too arrogant to notice it. She glanced at the French-style secret room and felt an unexpected pang of pain. Her father had a similar secret room in his Martinique residence. Lyra was also lost in thought. "Who is Hamand living like this?" she asked. "Judging from the flags fluttering outside, I think he lives off the wealth you mentioned from plundering at sea," Lyra nodded. "He must be powerful and influential. Didn't you see the many guards and those living in the courtyard? This is the heart of the castle." They might never escape from their new master, that mysterious man in the brown robe, so terrifyingly silent and melancholic. Marita tried not to think about these things. “Now, Qasim must have discovered we’ve been kidnapped. No matter how powerful Hamand is, Qasim will rescue us,” Marita said confidently. She dared not have any other thoughts, otherwise, the fear in her heart would rise and suffocate her. Hearing Lila gasp, Marita became alert. Someone had already entered the room. Marita looked around, her eyes unconsciously fixed on the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. This woman had bright red hair, wore a nine-strand pearl necklace, and had a heart-shaped face with large, light green eyes surrounded by blue eyeshadow. Her clothes were striking; a lace-trimmed bodice tightly hugged her waist, which was almost as thin as a hand. The corset supported and lifted her bare breasts, making them stand erect in a provocative manner, the nipples deep red. She wore a ruffled, transparent miniskirt, underneath which she wore nothing. On her feet were a pair of ornate high-heeled sandals, ribbons crisscrossing around her ankles and calves. As the beauty approached her and Lila and stood before them, Marita's eyes remained fixed. Marita tried to smile at her, but the woman showed no reaction. "So, you are Qasim's proud favorites," she said coldly in perfect French. "My name is Roxlana, head of Hamand's harem. You must obey my orders." She stood with an arrogant expression, looking down at them. Marita felt a sudden aversion to Roxlana. She straightened her back and boldly looked directly at the elegant red-haired beauty. "I am Marita, of noble birth," she said proudly. "I bow to no one but Qasim, my universally acknowledged master." Marita glanced at Laila and noticed that Laila's arrogance towards Roxlana was also filled with anger and contempt, but her gaze was very cautious and discreet. “My name is Layla,” she said, “and Marita’s name represents me.” Roxlana burst into laughter, a silvery laugh that was quite infectious. “How funny!” she laughed, revealing her teeth. “However, you have no choice, you lovely little fools.” She grabbed their long hair and threw them forcefully to the ground. Marita was startled, and burdened by her ties and robes, she stretched out her arms and legs…Marita struggled to her feet, spread-eagled, as Roxlana approached. "Very well," she whispered, "you should learn how to obey my orders. I have some influence over Hamand, and if you want to have an easy time here, you must remember that, Laila. Watch out, learn." Laila managed to sit up, but Roxlana didn't recognize her. She kicked Marita to the ground with her sharp shoe, placing her feet on either side of Marita's head. Marita struggled desperately, but her disheveled hair held her back. "You despicable woman!" Marita yelled, struggling to move. "Let me up, let me go, or you'll see who the mistress of this place is!" Her lips turned white with rage, but all she could see was Roxlana's parted thighs, her pubic bone slightly parted and covered with sparse red curls. Roxlana's thighs parted a little more, and Marita could see the dampness in her mouth, the reddish-brown wrinkles, as if she derived a perverse pleasure from exposing her body. "You like watching, don't you?" she mocked. "Look closely, this precious flesh is the seat of power. Women can use it to control men. Of course, you know this principle. You've been well-trained in enjoying physical pleasure, haven't you?" As she swayed her hips lasciviously back and forth, she parted her labia with her fingers. Marita noticed that Roxlana's hidden genitals were somewhat swollen, with her labia minora drooping slightly downwards like the petals of a strange flower. Roxlana's fingers became wet. Clearly, this position of dominance over Marita aroused her desire. Her fingertips traced back and forth across the small fleshy canopy, the erect nipples peeking out from beneath its protection like shimmering pink beads. Roxlana groaned, her head tilting back, revealing her long, white neck, which trembled slightly. Her red nipples were hard and erect, and her buttocks thrust forward. Marita couldn't possibly miss her full, rounded buttocks, made even larger by her tight corset. "Look at me, am I not beautiful?" Roxlana's every movement, every sigh, seemed to speak silently. She continued to skillfully caress her genitals. Marita wanted to close her eyes, but they couldn't leave Roxlana's open canyon. For a woman trained to keenly sense her own and others' desires, the sight was incredibly stimulating, Roxlana knew this. "Don't you like this position, Marita?" she murmured. "I want to know if you're truly submissive. You are Hamand's slave, which is to say, my slave. I can demand you satisfy me." "Then you'll have to beg me first," Marita retorted. Her mind was a jumble, her instincts battling fiercely against the wanton spectacle. Roxlana's burning desire acted like an aphrodisiac, yet he would never have realized how intense her lust was; her breasts were throbbing and pulsating in response. Oh, she wasn't going to be this woman's subject; she'd definitely find a way to stop it all. Roxlana shifted her position, and Marita's hair pulled tightly to her scalp, causing her to wince in pain. She strained to break free of the ribbon on her wrist so she could slap Roxlana's smug face, but the ribbon was incredibly strong, and she was powerless. After a moment, Roxlana let out a soft sigh, her head drooping forward. Marita was enveloped in the sandalwood and rose scent of her hair. Roxlana paused for a moment, her tongue moving over Marita's sensual lips, then she removed her hand from her pubic bone, letting out a series of low, satisfied moans. Marita felt the hot, short spear seemingly already inside her. Thankfully, it was all over. She breathed a sigh of relief; her humiliation was over. Roxlana would never know how exhilarating her experience had been. Laila was utterly disgusted by Roxlana's lewd exposure. She said indignantly, "Now, are you satisfied? Let Marita get up. You've proven your control over her." Roxlana removed her foot from Marita's hair. Marita straightened herself, wondering whether to jump up and pounce on her, scratching her face with her long nails. Just then, she felt hot droplets on her face. Faced with this humiliation, she roared in anger, too indignant to speak. Laila spoke for her. "Oh! No! How dare you do this! It's unbearable!" Lyra screamed, watching in horror as Roxlana knelt down, spreading his knees to let the stream of urine spray onto Marita's face. Marita closed her eyes; Roxlana's genitals, inches from her face, exuded a strong musky scent. The urine smelled incredibly feminine, a few drops landing on her lips, salty with a hint of bitterness. It seemed like an eternity before the flow gradually subsided. Roxlana bent down and wiped Marita's face clean with her black robe, then stood up and stared at her. "Open your eyes," she commanded. Marita forced her eyes open, the flames of anger and humiliation burning within her once more. She saw a pale yellow liquid trickling down Roxlana's inner thigh, amber droplets glistening on her curly red pubic hair. "Have you learned it?" Roxlana asked sweetly. "Do I have to force you to lick my entire body with your tongue?" Knowing Roxlana would certainly do such a sudden whim, Marita reluctantly nodded. "I want you to say it," Marita said with difficulty, as if a bone was stuck in her throat. "I'm proud of you, and you deserve my respect." But inside, she was seething with anger, though she couldn't let it out now; she had to control herself. "Ah! Very good, now we know each other very well, don't we? Remember this punishment, this is the first time. Now, I should go. Hamand is probably waiting for me. Before you are allowed to eat, I will send someone to take care of you. You are dressed in these tattered clothes, like country bumpkins, and you both need to take a bath, especially you, Marita!" That silver bell-like laughter rang out again, and then she walked out of the room with grace. "Oh! That shrew!" Lila cried. "I swear I'll get my revenge! Are you hurt?" Marita struggled to sit up. "Just my dignity is hurt," she said with a wry smile. "It's like I have an enemy now." Lila said with disdain, "It's obvious. She's been holding it in for too long and is about to let it out, I swear." Marita looked at Lila in surprise. She had known Lila for so long, and Lila had always been polite and gentle. Now, her face was flushed with anger. “Be careful, my dear friend,” she said. “Roxlana seems to be able to do anything.” The conversation could not continue as the man in the brown robe who had taken them ashore entered the room, followed by several female slaves. He ordered Lyra to be taken out of the room, and Marita tensed. “Where are you taking her?” Marita asked. “Please wait, please, can we stay together?” Lyra’s fearful gaze swept over her shoulder and then disappeared through an ornate archway. Two female slaves led her toward a side door. Marita struggled desperately, but to no avail. The man in the robe was behind them. After ordering her to be separated from Laila, he said nothing more. His malicious following sent chills down her spine. They walked a short distance down the corridor and then entered a small room. Thick Persian carpets covered the floor, some of them torn. The room was dimly lit, with an Italian chandelier hanging in the center. Many candles shone through the stained glass, casting a rainbow of light. The ribbons binding Marita were loosened, the robe on her shoulders was removed, and then the torn silk garment was stripped off. She stood naked, her thick, wavy hair cascading down to her hips. Marita arched her back, her hands clasped together, instinctively covering her body, wondering what demands would be placed upon her. One of the female slaves, with a look of disgust on her face, grabbed a strand of wet hair. "Without a doubt, this is Roxlana's masterpiece," the robed man said without surprise, his cold voice sending a chill down her spine, as if the man were controlled by some intense emotion. She knew the man was scrutinizing her from beneath his headscarf, wondering if his mysterious identity would be a threat to her, and she was annoyed by her own obvious reaction. Hamand must know perfectly well that he had frightened her. Marita mustered her courage, straightened her body, and forced herself to place her hands at her sides. Her body, with its beautiful, alluring lines, had no reason to be ashamed of being naked; let him see. "Give her a bath and dress her as I instruct, and then take her to my private room," he said succinctly, his voice carrying a reluctant admiration. The robed man left the room, and Marita was led to an adjacent room with green tiles on the walls, several bottles of oil and perfume on wooden shelves, and a steaming marble bathtub fixed to a wooden platform. Soaking in the warm, fragrant water felt wonderful. In this comfortable and luxurious environment, feeling clean again, she momentarily forgot everything. She immersed her head in the water, washing away all traces left by Roxlana, along with the remnants of the guards' rape. The female slaves thoroughly cleaned her, rubbing her body with plant fibers to soften her skin. Marita realized they were...She was filled with curiosity. Just as when she first entered Qasim's harem, the slaves admired her captivating beauty, her fair skin, her slender waist, and her unusually light-colored hair. She tried to speak to the female slaves, asking them about Hamand, but they all shook their heads, covered their mouths, giggled, and exchanged glances. They were either fools or ordered not to give her any information, so she stopped talking to them. She lathered her hair with soap, rinsed it clean, combed it neatly, and sprayed it with perfume. They massaged her body and sprayed her with perfume, and she remained silent throughout. The clothes were already prepared, the entire outfit similar to that worn by Roxlana. It seemed Hamand preferred his women to wear the same clothes. The velvet corsets with ribbon embellishments fit perfectly; one slave girl fastened the front of the corset, while another tightened the back straps, making the waist even tighter than the hips. The tight-fitting clothes clung to her beautifully contoured body, providing the most intense sensual stimulation. Her two worlds seemed to have suddenly clashed. On Martinique, she had worn corsets since she was twelve, and dressing to shrink her waist was part of her daily life. In Qasim's harem, she had a certain degree of freedom in her clothing, able to wear loose, flowing garments, unless Qasim preferred her to wear tall slave collars and exquisite chains. The familiar tightness around her waist stirred a profound, albeit not novel, feeling within her. The upper part of the corset clung tightly to the underside of her breasts, pushing them upwards—a sensation exceptionally satisfying; her back seemed straighter, her posture more graceful. She took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of fresh air filling her lungs, making her breasts swell and rise in the perfect position. Something almost forgotten seemed to awaken within her; the months of confinement in the harem had altered her personality, and now it yearned to stretch, it demanded. "Tighten the waist a little more," one of the slave girls said, a smile playing on her lips as she saw the obvious pleasure on Marita's face. "She can hold on; when she's naked, I could almost measure her waist with my hands." Marita let them dress her, knowing that protesting was pointless. Seeing her body almost completely encased in tightly bound bras, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. This unfamiliarity fascinated her; she wondered how Lila would look in such clothes. They tied a sheer, trimmed skirt around her waist, bent down, and slipped a high heel onto her foot. Marita looked at herself in a light green mirror. She was surprised and delighted by what she saw. Her waist seemed even thinner than Roxlana's, which gave her a wicked pleasure. Her slender upper body made her full hips stand out, and the rounded bottom of her corset made her abdomen appear flatter, making the "V" shape between her thighs more prominent. At the back, the pleats of the corset stretched upwards along the curves of her body, exposing her rounded hips and thighs. The upper part of the corset supported her breasts, pushing them upwards, and the black trim covered the bottom of her breasts, leaving her breasts and nipples exposed. Marita thought she was finished dressing, but she was wrong. A slave first rubbed her nipples until they were rose-red, then twisted and teased them until they were erect. Then, she clipped them with golden clips, each with a pearl hanging from it. Marita gasped for breath. She had never worn jewelry like this before. The clips were a little uncomfortable, but not painful. However, the firm pressure made her nipples throb and burn like fire, unsettling her. Marita raised her hands, cupping her exposed, erotic breasts in her palms. The white pearls contrasted sharply with the reddish-brown nipples, and a barely perceptible smile played on her lips. She hoped Qasim could see her; he would surely be unable to resist her allure. "Do you like it this way?" the slave girls said with smiles. "Hamand will be pleased. You are indeed beautiful. Roxlana has always been proud of her beauty." Hearing the name Hamand, Marita's heart sank. The taciturn, unpredictable man with a headscarf was waiting for her in the private room, while she was still lost in thought, admiring her reflection in the mirror. She turned her gaze away, the joy on her face quickly vanishing. The ribbons holding up her slippers were wrapped around her ankles, and the female slaves stood behind, admiring their creations. One of them traced the lines of her corset-covered bodice upwards, her eyes filled with longing as she looked at her own thick waist and full buttocks. "One more thing, spread your legs." Marita was full of doubts, but she did as she was told. The slave girl pinched her sparsely haired labia and clamped them with gold clips. A pearl at the end of a thin gold chain hung down her thighs. They weren't very tight, but Marita could still feel their unusual weight, drawing attention to the triangle area between her thighs. When she brought her legs together, the warm chain made her feel itchy. She glanced at the mirror one last time, and through the trimmed skirt, she could clearly see the pearl on the chain swaying slightly. Hamand pressed his eye against a hole in the wall—an eye from a painting in the next room—and sprawled comfortably on the sofa, peering into the other room. Ah! This French woman is truly a gem. How much Qasim must hate to lose her! A sense of immense satisfaction washed over him. Hamand had seen every detail of Marita bathing, applying lotion, and dressing; the French woman would never suspect anyone was watching her, which only added to the intrigue. Her questions to the slave girls made him chuckle. So, she was curious about him, wasn't she? He quickly put her at ease. Marita possessed qualities that strongly attracted him; her wantonness was tinged with a touch of innocence, a rarity for a woman who had lived in the harem for months. Her delight at the beautiful clothes he offered was genuine, natural, and heartfelt. But the next moment, when he looked at her face to face, she might tremble with fear and apprehension. Yet, from this secret room, he had already seen her true nature. It was truly exciting; Marita was as vibrant and delicate as a flower. Rox Ranardo's cloying pleasure paled in comparison. Hamand smiled, the usual cold lines around his mouth softening considerably. He rested his face on his bent forearm, completely relaxed, and Roxlana dabbed away the sweat with a sponge. He had just practiced swordsmanship. After Roxlana dried him off, she reached into his neck and shoulders, massaging away the marks left by his armor, and Hamand let out a sigh of relief. After a while, he let her smear him with lotion and, in his preferred manner, satisfied his lust with exquisite toys; it was definitely the French woman's allure that made his blood boil. He longed to fully enjoy all the charms of Marita, but a bitter, unspeakable urge welled up inside him, which he resolutely suppressed. He handled it quite well. For a long time, he had ignored his physical defects; for a man with a rich imagination, there were many ways to compensate, many exciting forms of entertainment. But when he possessed the soft night and all the stars, where was the rationality to call upon the moon? Therein lay the sorrow. But it was also at this moment that the taste of victory was truly sweet and intoxicating. He knew Qasim must be heartbroken; how could a man not grieve for losing such a treasure? He possessed not only Marita, but also Laila, this cheerful Turkish beauty. Hamand hadn't intended to kidnap Laila, but Sita had also abducted her, and he was delighted. Sita, of course, wanted some extra reward. He was as wealthy as the legendary Crest, and lifeless things meant nothing to him; Marita and Lyra were priceless treasures. Qasim would know this soon enough. Undoubtedly, he was now searching for his two women. He would be here soon with advice. Let him come? Qasim should know that his torment was only just beginning. Hearing Roxlana's impatient voice, Hamand's lips curled into a smile. He waited. She was silent for a moment, then tossed her head back, a wisp of unruly red hair flying across her forehead, and grumbled angrily; clearly, her curiosity had taken over. "You can take a look," Hamand said, lifting his head to peer at the French woman again. Roxlana stopped serving her master, walked to the wall, and peered through another hole, her sexy lips tightly sealed as she watched the French woman tightly bound by her corset. Roxlana remained silent, completely captivated by the scene in the other room. They were now rubbing against Marita's nipples and labia; Hamand licked his lips, making hoarse sounds. Roxlana watched for only a moment before withdrawing from the peephole, her face bearing a sharp and cold expression. Hammond couldn't resist teasing her. "Her waist is so slender, huh?" he said. "Fair limbs, and that color of hair—it's a wonderful pleasure for any man, even a woman." Roxlana glared at him angrily, tossing her curly red hair upwards, almost causing the pearl-studded string to loosen. "She's not as pretty as me," she said, her tone demanding his agreement. Hammond deliberately remained silent, while Roxlana...Her green eyes narrowed. "You're captivated by this woman," she said, noticing her voice lower. "I can see it in your face, Master. Just give me the order, and I'll arrange your meeting. This French woman will obey me, don't worry." "Focus on me," Hamand said calmly. "Don't presume to grant my wish ahead of time." Roxlana seemed about to say something, but clearly changed her mind, returned to her position, and began massaging her, her fingers cruelly digging into Hamand's broad, scarred shoulders. “Be gentle, my love,” Hammond said sternly. “Don’t forget your place; it’s not as secure as you think.” Roxlana leaned forward and kissed the back of his neck. “Forgive me, Master, this French woman has shown me the worst of my emotions.” “Then channel your anger into your work,” Hammond said, gesturing for Roxlana’s fingers to move downwards. “Your happiness is my happiness, Master,” Roxlana said softly. He felt a cool sensation as she applied the fragrant balm to the crease of his buttocks. She massaged his skin with her fingers, allowing the balm to fully penetrate the crack. As the balm heated and dissolved, she slid two fingers into Hammond's anus, moving them in and out. A firm press on that sensitive spot sent shivers of pleasure through Hammond. She leaned forward, kissing his long spine, her tongue playfully teasing his tense back. "Use the sex toy," Hammond groaned. Roxlana warm

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The allure of jewelry

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