[fic: multi-chapter] harem part 3
Title: Harem (working title) chapter 3
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Turkey/France, various nameless humans
Warnings: shota, controversial issues of feminism and religion including slavery, human names
Summary: Pointless smutty shotacon. I felt kind of bad writing this chapter...
Also, I wrote myself into a corner and now I don't know how to resolve certain plot points. But I guess no one is reading this for the plot, why that would be silly. I don't believe I'll finish this story anytime soon, but if a great idea for a plot resolution comes to mind, I'll try to wrap things up.
[ part one]
[ part two]
He was distracted throughout the entire session at court, so much so that the sultan noticed Sadiq’s wandering attention, and permitted him to leave for the day. Sighing in relief, he hurried to the harem’s outer corridor, grateful that his flowing robes hid the increasing evidence of precisely what had occupied his mind that morning. By the time the eunuch brought out Francis, clearly woken from a nap, Sadiq had to use every ounce of self-restraint to look nonchalant in front of the boy.
Following Sadiq obediently to his quarters, Francis stifled a yawn, looking about him with sleepy eyes. But a light breeze ruffling his hair brought him to a halt, and he suddenly darted off to a side hall to find the source of freedom. The Turk shouted for him to stop and ran after him, but Francis laughed and kept running, always a little distance ahead.
Walls of pink marble had been carved to show tantalizing glimpses of the outdoors, and the refreshing breeze blowing through the lace-like apertures seemed to clear Francis’ head of the hazy harem air. Though it did not entirely erase his giddiness when Sadiq finally reached out and grabbed him from behind.
“Don’t you run off like that again, y’hear?” Sadiq growled into his ear.
Francis giggled and twisted around to peck the older man on his cheek, who thought that was apology enough and kissed him back absent-mindedly, grumbling something about kids these days. Without another word, Sadiq scooped the boy up into his arms and carried him through the gate at the end of the corridor, into the wondrous pleasure garden beyond.
They passed by elegantly trimmed bushes and colorful beds of fragrant flowers, and the path below Sadiq’s feet, strewn with crushed marble and mica and semi-precious stones, was lined with graceful trees either blooming or bearing early fruit. For the first time in a long while, Francis felt the sun overhead, and he closed his eyes and happily soaked up its rays.
Beyond a small burbling fountain, Sadiq entered a hidden alcove screened by pomegranate trees, and there he gently set Francis down onto the jewel-bright grass.
“What are we going to do here?” he asked, slightly wary as the other took off his mask and stared at him almost hungrily. A shiver of dread, dread or excitement, ran up his spine, and Sadiq must have noticed it as well.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Sadiq answered, his voice low and throaty like the sound of distant thunder. “What do you think I should do, kedi yavrusu?”
Francis glanced away, almost coquettishly, causing Sadiq to grin in anticipation. “In that case, I’ll decide for you.”
They kissed, Francis tasting like honey and almonds and figs, Sadiq something darker and smokier, and crushed jasmine blossoms released their perfume while Sadiq slid the robe off of Francis’ shoulders and laid it on the grass. Feeling the youth’s delicate hands skating over his back, plucking at his kaftan, he tried to hold back a smirk of triumph at how easy this was going to be.
In the privacy of the garden, Sadiq felt free to indulge his desires, and he could not resist sucking and biting at the body lying below him, lips and teeth latching onto a nipple through the sheer fabric and causing Francis to gasp in delight as he curled his fingers into the short black hair. He rolled the hard nub in between his teeth, wetting the material and causing it to cling to the boyish chest as he moved to work at the other nipple. His hands had already spread the gangly legs apart, pushing the tunic up and out of the way, and then the Turk tasted the succulence of those thighs, at once marking the alabaster skin with wine-red bruises. “This is mine,” each mark said, brutally clear.
Eagerly, Sadiq then took the small cock into his mouth, and the salt on the boy’s skin, the liquid wetting the tip, was as close to ambrosia as he could imagine. Somewhere above, Francis was making high-pitched breathy noises, tossing his head to side and trying to push the hem of his tunic back down in an effort to cover himself. As if he could hold the sensations back, no more than the tide could resist the pull of the moon.
“S-sadiq… Please, n-no more - ah!” and then Francis could do nothing else but moan loudly as the wild rush of pleasure centering below his belly caused his body to arc up, his head and shoulders sinking further into the grass. Sadiq’s fingers pressed deep into his thighs, holding him down effortlessly as he sucked out every last drop from his climax. Almost sobbing from the ecstasy, Francis gulped for air, one fist weakly rubbing at the tears in his eyes.
Pulling back, the Turk licked his lips, and then looked down with satisfaction at his work - the flushed childlike face, wide cerulean eyes glistening wetly, a slender body ripe and ready to be plucked. If only his other conquests yielded as sweetly as this French slave did, Sadiq thought, unfortunately, they were nations, and their people stubborn and fractious to a fault. But the pleasure of taking this child, whenever and wherever he wanted, should more than make up for his frustrations overseas.
He picked the dazed and panting boy up and settled him on his lap so that Francis’ legs ended up on either side of his waist. The tunic was promptly taken off and Sadiq’s eyes roved over the ravished nude before him, letting the sight swell and heat his aching loins.
Francis opened his mouth, but before he could protest, he felt a large callused hand at the back of his skull, pushing him to make contact with the man’s lips. He succumbed with the quietest of mewls, and gingerly wrapped his arms around broad shoulders. But Sadiq was not content with just kisses, and he slid a finger down the cleft of the boy’s ass, searching and then finding the entrance. In his lap, Francis jerked upward, breaking off the kiss with a surprised yelp.
“What? You don’t like that?” Sadiq chuckled to see Francis shake his head vehemently. He fingered him again, laughing as Francis whimpered and tried to struggle free.
“It feels weird… Please, stop,” Francis mumbled, sniffling unhappily.
“All right, some other time. But I’m gonna need your help now.” Without hesitation, he freed his prominent erection from his trousers and pulled Francis’ hand towards it. Francis stared at it in undisguised astonishment, nerves still tingling from Sadiq’s ministrations, but he curled his fingers around the throbbing cock, and pumped at it shyly.
“Like that?”
“Yes. A little more. Little harder.”
Using both hands, Francis squeezed the slick hot flesh a little as he neared the tip, feeling the organ twitch under his fingers, listening to Sadiq’s breathless approval. He sensed that the man was close, and quickened his rhythm. Sadiq reached out to grab Francis’ wrist, and grunted softly when he came, spurting over their hands before Francis could let go. As he did last night, Francis licked the sticky substance off of his fingers, and then proceeded to clean Sadiq’s hand as well, lapping up the cum with a small pink tongue before glancing up to catch his gaze.
Watching Francis, Sadiq was nearly about to praise him, but caught himself, realized that the boy was only doing what he was instructed to do in order to survive. The Turk settled for kissing him on the cheek, and promised to himself to take Francis outside another day, since he obviously enjoyed it, maybe buy him something pretty to wear. But for right now, he just wanted to lean back, close his eyes and rest a little---
“Hey, what are you doing?” Francis asked, bouncing a little on the other’s abdomen so that Sadiq winced in pain.
“I’m resting. Obviously.”
“Huh.” Francis tilted his head to the side like a bird. “I want to go play.”
Sadiq rolled his eyes. “Later, Francis. C’mon, lie down with me.”
“But I’m not tired.”
Without any warning, Sadiq reached up and wrestled him to the ground, causing Francis to shriek with laughter.
“Ah, I give in!”
“As you should, you brat,” Sadiq murmured, holding Francis close and wondering what had come over him. The great Ottoman Empire, Sadiq Adnan, acting like a foolish village boy mooning after a pretty girl, treating his own slave as if he were a foreign prince. Of course it didn’t help that Francis acted as if he really were a prince. He… should investigate that, Sadiq thought worriedly.
[to be continued...]
chapter two || chapter four
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Turkey/France, various nameless humans
Warnings: shota, controversial issues of feminism and religion including slavery, human names
Summary: Pointless smutty shotacon. I felt kind of bad writing this chapter...
Also, I wrote myself into a corner and now I don't know how to resolve certain plot points. But I guess no one is reading this for the plot, why that would be silly. I don't believe I'll finish this story anytime soon, but if a great idea for a plot resolution comes to mind, I'll try to wrap things up.
[ part one]
[ part two]
He was distracted throughout the entire session at court, so much so that the sultan noticed Sadiq’s wandering attention, and permitted him to leave for the day. Sighing in relief, he hurried to the harem’s outer corridor, grateful that his flowing robes hid the increasing evidence of precisely what had occupied his mind that morning. By the time the eunuch brought out Francis, clearly woken from a nap, Sadiq had to use every ounce of self-restraint to look nonchalant in front of the boy.
Following Sadiq obediently to his quarters, Francis stifled a yawn, looking about him with sleepy eyes. But a light breeze ruffling his hair brought him to a halt, and he suddenly darted off to a side hall to find the source of freedom. The Turk shouted for him to stop and ran after him, but Francis laughed and kept running, always a little distance ahead.
Walls of pink marble had been carved to show tantalizing glimpses of the outdoors, and the refreshing breeze blowing through the lace-like apertures seemed to clear Francis’ head of the hazy harem air. Though it did not entirely erase his giddiness when Sadiq finally reached out and grabbed him from behind.
“Don’t you run off like that again, y’hear?” Sadiq growled into his ear.
Francis giggled and twisted around to peck the older man on his cheek, who thought that was apology enough and kissed him back absent-mindedly, grumbling something about kids these days. Without another word, Sadiq scooped the boy up into his arms and carried him through the gate at the end of the corridor, into the wondrous pleasure garden beyond.
They passed by elegantly trimmed bushes and colorful beds of fragrant flowers, and the path below Sadiq’s feet, strewn with crushed marble and mica and semi-precious stones, was lined with graceful trees either blooming or bearing early fruit. For the first time in a long while, Francis felt the sun overhead, and he closed his eyes and happily soaked up its rays.
Beyond a small burbling fountain, Sadiq entered a hidden alcove screened by pomegranate trees, and there he gently set Francis down onto the jewel-bright grass.
“What are we going to do here?” he asked, slightly wary as the other took off his mask and stared at him almost hungrily. A shiver of dread, dread or excitement, ran up his spine, and Sadiq must have noticed it as well.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Sadiq answered, his voice low and throaty like the sound of distant thunder. “What do you think I should do, kedi yavrusu?”
Francis glanced away, almost coquettishly, causing Sadiq to grin in anticipation. “In that case, I’ll decide for you.”
They kissed, Francis tasting like honey and almonds and figs, Sadiq something darker and smokier, and crushed jasmine blossoms released their perfume while Sadiq slid the robe off of Francis’ shoulders and laid it on the grass. Feeling the youth’s delicate hands skating over his back, plucking at his kaftan, he tried to hold back a smirk of triumph at how easy this was going to be.
In the privacy of the garden, Sadiq felt free to indulge his desires, and he could not resist sucking and biting at the body lying below him, lips and teeth latching onto a nipple through the sheer fabric and causing Francis to gasp in delight as he curled his fingers into the short black hair. He rolled the hard nub in between his teeth, wetting the material and causing it to cling to the boyish chest as he moved to work at the other nipple. His hands had already spread the gangly legs apart, pushing the tunic up and out of the way, and then the Turk tasted the succulence of those thighs, at once marking the alabaster skin with wine-red bruises. “This is mine,” each mark said, brutally clear.
Eagerly, Sadiq then took the small cock into his mouth, and the salt on the boy’s skin, the liquid wetting the tip, was as close to ambrosia as he could imagine. Somewhere above, Francis was making high-pitched breathy noises, tossing his head to side and trying to push the hem of his tunic back down in an effort to cover himself. As if he could hold the sensations back, no more than the tide could resist the pull of the moon.
“S-sadiq… Please, n-no more - ah!” and then Francis could do nothing else but moan loudly as the wild rush of pleasure centering below his belly caused his body to arc up, his head and shoulders sinking further into the grass. Sadiq’s fingers pressed deep into his thighs, holding him down effortlessly as he sucked out every last drop from his climax. Almost sobbing from the ecstasy, Francis gulped for air, one fist weakly rubbing at the tears in his eyes.
Pulling back, the Turk licked his lips, and then looked down with satisfaction at his work - the flushed childlike face, wide cerulean eyes glistening wetly, a slender body ripe and ready to be plucked. If only his other conquests yielded as sweetly as this French slave did, Sadiq thought, unfortunately, they were nations, and their people stubborn and fractious to a fault. But the pleasure of taking this child, whenever and wherever he wanted, should more than make up for his frustrations overseas.
He picked the dazed and panting boy up and settled him on his lap so that Francis’ legs ended up on either side of his waist. The tunic was promptly taken off and Sadiq’s eyes roved over the ravished nude before him, letting the sight swell and heat his aching loins.
Francis opened his mouth, but before he could protest, he felt a large callused hand at the back of his skull, pushing him to make contact with the man’s lips. He succumbed with the quietest of mewls, and gingerly wrapped his arms around broad shoulders. But Sadiq was not content with just kisses, and he slid a finger down the cleft of the boy’s ass, searching and then finding the entrance. In his lap, Francis jerked upward, breaking off the kiss with a surprised yelp.
“What? You don’t like that?” Sadiq chuckled to see Francis shake his head vehemently. He fingered him again, laughing as Francis whimpered and tried to struggle free.
“It feels weird… Please, stop,” Francis mumbled, sniffling unhappily.
“All right, some other time. But I’m gonna need your help now.” Without hesitation, he freed his prominent erection from his trousers and pulled Francis’ hand towards it. Francis stared at it in undisguised astonishment, nerves still tingling from Sadiq’s ministrations, but he curled his fingers around the throbbing cock, and pumped at it shyly.
“Like that?”
“Yes. A little more. Little harder.”
Using both hands, Francis squeezed the slick hot flesh a little as he neared the tip, feeling the organ twitch under his fingers, listening to Sadiq’s breathless approval. He sensed that the man was close, and quickened his rhythm. Sadiq reached out to grab Francis’ wrist, and grunted softly when he came, spurting over their hands before Francis could let go. As he did last night, Francis licked the sticky substance off of his fingers, and then proceeded to clean Sadiq’s hand as well, lapping up the cum with a small pink tongue before glancing up to catch his gaze.
Watching Francis, Sadiq was nearly about to praise him, but caught himself, realized that the boy was only doing what he was instructed to do in order to survive. The Turk settled for kissing him on the cheek, and promised to himself to take Francis outside another day, since he obviously enjoyed it, maybe buy him something pretty to wear. But for right now, he just wanted to lean back, close his eyes and rest a little---
“Hey, what are you doing?” Francis asked, bouncing a little on the other’s abdomen so that Sadiq winced in pain.
“I’m resting. Obviously.”
“Huh.” Francis tilted his head to the side like a bird. “I want to go play.”
Sadiq rolled his eyes. “Later, Francis. C’mon, lie down with me.”
“But I’m not tired.”
Without any warning, Sadiq reached up and wrestled him to the ground, causing Francis to shriek with laughter.
“Ah, I give in!”
“As you should, you brat,” Sadiq murmured, holding Francis close and wondering what had come over him. The great Ottoman Empire, Sadiq Adnan, acting like a foolish village boy mooning after a pretty girl, treating his own slave as if he were a foreign prince. Of course it didn’t help that Francis acted as if he really were a prince. He… should investigate that, Sadiq thought worriedly.
[to be continued...]
chapter two || chapter four