Free Cleopatra�s Perfume by Jina Bacarr Page A

tongue into me? Moving in and out, sucking, lapping up the moistness, but not withdrawing his tongue moving across my clitoris until I arched my back in total abandon. What was he waiting for? What macabre ritual was this? Anger pumped through me, replacing the ardent desire rising in me. I was about to demand he untie me when—
    “Remove the blindfold, Mahmoud.”
    Ramzi’s voice. At last. My body tingled. My spirits rose. Before I could take a breath, the veil of darkness lifted, but I couldn’t see with a clear eye. Subdued lighting cast eerie shadows everywhere, but it didn’t hide the nude Nubian, his bare arms shining with hissweat. I hungered for him to touch me all over, his black fingers rubbing my hard clit…oh, damn him, I couldn’t wait any longer.
    “Mahmoud, I—I…” What could I say?
    Panting, I tried to catch my breath, my eyes silently pleading for him to pleasure me. I lowered my gaze to my pubic region. He shook his head, his gesture indicating no. The game has changed, his eyes told me, but I was in no mood to act coy when Mahmoud blew his breath onto my throat. He smiled, bowed, then his teeth grazed my nipples, teasing them into hard buds, then flicking them with his thumbs until I cried out. I bucked and twisted my hips, desperate to quell the rising burn building between my legs.
    “Ah, my beautiful English lady wishes Mahmoud to arouse her.” Ramzi moved into the light, his magnificent bare chest hard and brown, his lower body encased in wide white satin trousers pulled in tight at the ankles, a deep red cummerbund hugging his hips. As he walked toward me, his feet bare, I noted a shimmer of light bouncing off the naked blade of a curved dagger hanging from his belt. I recognized the jambiya, a weapon native to the Arab world.
    “You wish me to supplicate you to receive your cock?” I dared to ask him.
    “Not tonight, my English rose.” He said something to Mahmoud in Arabic. The Nubian bowed then left the room. Turning back toward me, Ramzi kissed my nipples then pinched them, making me gasp. “When Mahmoud returns, I have a different game planned for you.”
     
    I was mad with desire.
    My body twitched and shimmied under the Nubian’s firm touch, his fingers slick with the spicy, melted perfume, the tingling sensations skipping over my skin, exquisite, and satisfying. I’d never experienced anything so pleasurable as the black man’s hands anointing my skin with this exotic perfume. Massaging my breasts, curving down over my rib cage, his hands gripping my hips, then inserting one finger inside me circling my engorged clit, then another exploring my anal hole with a dexterity that made me crave more.
    Ah, dear reader, I can’t tell you what joy I experienced the first time I surrendered to the spell of Cleopatra’s perfume. Certainly there were moments of incredibility, but aren’t these moments due to the limitations we place upon ourselves to accept what we deem to be the impossible? Wasn’t it merely my civilized mind trying to override what my body hungered for?
    I surrendered to my carnal needs, pushed all thoughts aside, my loneliness winning the mental game when Ramzi produced a pale golden alabaster box carved with delicate emblems outlined in black. Atop the container sat the nude, bare-breasted figure of a queen holding a scepter and perched on a throne. Cleopatra. He opened it and a powerful aroma overwhelmed me, what I’d describe as a combination of sweet, spicy and musky. The organic earthy scent sent my head into a dizzying tailspin, so strong was the smell. Tugging on the restraints, I leaned forward and sniffed again. Inside the box I saw a solid, waxlike substance also the color of pale gold nestled inside. Perfume as the Egyptians made it.
    I watched Ramzi nod to Mahmoud. The Nubian removed the unguent, then, rubbing his large black hands together, the solid perfume became more viscous as it melted in his palms. With sensual strokes, he applied the