Free Adora by Bertrice Small

that she is deflowered. I will be ready shortly for the mounting.”
    Theadora could not believe her ears. If Orkhan did not deflower her, how was it to be done? But she had little time to wonder. The chief eunuch gave swift orders and, moments later, he bent over her holding a long, thick, smooth, highly polished piece of wood shaped like a phallus. “The pain will be but momentary, Your Highness,” he said apologetically and then, in a lower voice which only she could hear, “Forgive me, princess.”
    She felt the cool, smooth wood against her shrinking flesh and silently wailed her shame. A swift thrust! A sharp and burning pain spread through her loins before gradually dying. Warm wetness trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wanted to faint, to escape all this, but she remained conscious. And now her attention was drawn away from herself to the sultan.
    He had watched without emotion as she was deflowered. Now he spread his arms wide and instantly the slaves removed his loose brocade gown. She was surprised to see that his body was as firm as a young man’s, if somewhat thinner.
    Theadora watched, mesmerized, as a naked girl with long, golden hair stepped forward, bowed to her master, and knelt before him, her beautiful hair tumbling about her as her headtouched her master’s foot in the age-old gesture of subjugation. Still on her knees, the girl raised her body and rubbed her cheek against the sultan’s groin. Now she was taking his limp organ and caressing it with delicate, slender fingers, kissing it with quick, teasing little kisses. Theadora felt a wave of desire as the girl gently took the swelling organ into her rosebud mouth. Horrified at herself, Theadora turned her head away to meet the amused gaze of one of the girls who was stroking her hard, hurting breasts. Shamed color flooded her face, and she closed her eyes. The sensations were intensified now, but she made herself keep her lashes lowered.
    The quick patter of running feet forced her eyes open. She was alone with the sultan. He moved across the room toward her, his manroot now enormous, its angry, red head glistening with moisture. He jammed a bolster beneath her hips to raise her, to make her body more easily available to him.
    She was mounted like a mare and she felt his penetration—hard and brutal—as he thrust into her. He rode her smoothly, his hands crushing her breasts, pinching at the nipples. Cruelly, he forced her head forward so he might look into her face. Afraid to close her eyes now, she met his impersonal gaze steadily, silently screaming Murad’s name over and over again. Suddenly the man above her shuddered and collapsed on top of her. They lay quietly for a few minutes, then he climbed off of her. Loosening the bonds on her spread legs, he shut them and pushed them up. Then he said the only words he had spoken to her during the entire nightmare. “Keep your legs up and closed, Theadora, lest you lose my seed.” Turning, he disappeared back into the darkness and she heard the door close.
    She was alone. Her whole body began to shake, and the pent-up tears poured down her cheeks. A few minutes later Ali Yahya emerged from the shadows and removed the silk from her mouth. Quietly he unbound her arms and gently rubbed her wrists. He brought forth a handkerchief from his robe and silently wiped her tears away. Then, helping her up, hewrapped her silk robe about her icy body and led her back into the corridor and to the litter. Soon Iris’ loving arms were about her and the slavewoman led her to her bed.
    Ali Yahya waited in the antechamber of Theadora’s apartment, warming himself by the tile stove. Finally Iris emerged and stood before him questioningly. In his high soft voice he told her all of it. “It is up to you to see that the princess does not become melancholy,” he finished.
    Iris laughed harshly. “And how am I to do that, master? The girl is young and has been gently reared. A wedding night is frightening